Page 3 of Diesel
I’ve only ever met boys with the name Max. “That’s your name?”
She shakes her head, her hair bouncing back and forth like it’s alive. “I don’t like theothername.”
I don’t ask why. She won’t be here long enough to find out. Girls never stay.
Her hand suddenly slips into mine, warm and soft. I flinch, I don’t mean to, but no one ever touches me like this anymore. I stare at her pale fingers wrapped around mine. She’s not hurting me, not doing anything and I know I should pull back, but I can’t move.
Doesn’t she think I’m weird? A monster? Lazy?
She’s not recoiling. She’s not looking at me with disgust or hate.
The noise in my head settles into something quieter. My pulse slows. My shoulders drop.
Her chin wobbles. No, no, no. Sharon will lose her shit. She hates crying. “I’m scared,” Max admits.
As the first tear rolls down her cheek, I quickly scoop it up. “No tears.” I keep my voice low like I’m talking to a wounded puppy.
She sniffles. “Why?”
Because they’ll beat you.“Because they’re not nice here,” I say finally.
Her lips part in shock before she glances toward the closed sitting room door. I can only imagine the things going through her head. “Why did they say you don’t talk? You’re talking to me.”
I am, and I don’t know why. I never talk to anyone. Not adults, not kids, not social workers or the police. Not even my mother.
I try to unpack it as quickly as I can in my mind, try to work out why she’s different. “You feel…” I frown.What?“Safe.” I settle on that word even though I don’t know what it means in this situation. She’s a stranger, not safe in anyway, and yet…
She brushes her hair off her face, the movement clumsy. “How old are you?”
“Eight.”
“I’m seven.” Older than I thought, though not by much. Laughter comes from behind the door, and she flinches. Maybe she can hear how hollow it is, how performative. “Are they going to hurt me?”
Those words cut through me worse than any beating I’ve ever had. This small fragile girl standing in the lion’s den asking if she is going to be eaten gets to me in a way nothing has for a long time. I stare down at our still joined hands. So small… So delicate.
“You don’t have to worry,” I say. “I won’t let anyone touch you.”
I give that promise, even though I have no way of keeping it.
“Why?”
I open my mouth, then close it before I say, “Because you’re mine.”
She frowns. I don’t blame her. I don’t know why I said it either, but the moment the words leave my mouth the knot in my chest untangles just a little.
She’s the first person who has made me feel human, and I want to keep her safe even if I don’t know why.
TWO
MAKENNA
NOW…
I glanceover my shoulder as I fumble with the key. My body is on alert, as if I’m expecting him to appear out of the shadows.
I swallow down the pain spreading through my chest. I have to keep moving. Because when he realises I’m gone, he’s going to hunt me down and drag me back. I’m not savvy enough to outrun a man like him. And I’m not ready to face him. Not yet.
Distance gives me space to breathe. To think. So running feels safer than staying and less painful than watching the life I built trickle down the drain.
