Page 7 of Meet Me In The Dark
“I just thought you might want to know, in case you wanted to see her.”
“She wants nothing to do with me. You know that.”
“But—”
“No,” I cut her off, harder now. “You owe her nothing.”
“She gave me you.”
“She gave me up.”
She flinches before taking a slow sip of her wine.
Thankfully, she doesn’t argue. She knows there’s no winning this one.
Even if there was, I don’t need her to try.
I don’t remember much from that day, but I remember enough. I remember being six with my backpack strapped to my shoulders, following her down the stairwell of our rat-infested apartment building. My socks didn’t match, and my shoelaces were too tight.
She held my hand, which was strange because she never held my hand, but she told me we were going on an adventure, so I took it.
It wasn’t an adventure, far from it.
We had been there twice before at the same squat building with those peeling signs on the windows and the buzz of fluorescent lights. Inside, the same lady was at the front desk—the one who always gave me a lollipop and had a smile that made me feel like I was already broken.
My mother—my birth mother—told them she couldn’t do it anymore.
She shouted it, like it was something someone else had done to her.
“I can’t do it,” she kept saying. “I can’t do it. I can’t even look at him.”
They took me into another room and asked me my name. When I answered, they asked me if I wanted juice.
She was still yelling when the door closed, still yelling while I sat on a bean bag chair, legs swinging, pretending not to care.
I didn’t cry.
Even then, I knew better.
Crying was weak. Crying made you a sissy. That’s what she used to say when I scraped my knees. When I didn’t want to sleep in the dark. When I asked if she’d pick me up from school this time.
She never did.
A woman with red lipstick and a kind face took my hand and said she was going to take me somewhere safe. Somewhere new.
That’s when I cracked.
For the first time, I screamed for her and begged her not to leave me.
To just stop yelling.
To take me home.
She just stood at the end of the hallway. One tear slid down her cheek before she turned her back and walked away.
Just like that.
A hand covers mine, pulling me out of the memory.
