Page 3 of Where's Molly

The sound of Layla’s screams is silenced as I shut the door behind me, my anxiety worsening and gnawing at my stomach. Her poor little throat will be sore, and I’m sure her head will be hurting by the time I get back.

She hates it when I leave her alone, andIhate what that implies. There are days that I wonder if it’s more than just an attachment to me that puts that fear in her eyes when I walk away.

If Dad is hurting her like he hurt me…

I don’t know what I’ll do. Except when I’m finished, I’ll be covered in blood.

My hands tremble as I speed-walk to the gas station a few blocks down the road. It’s a warm and breezy fall night in October—likely one of our last before winter approaches.

Reaper Canyon, Montana, is surrounded by the Electric Peak range, and it's where I was born and raised. The daunting name of this small town is fitting, considering it's where everyone's dreams go to die. This state exudes beauty, but even the mountains off in the distance can’t take away the ugliness of my world.

I keep my head down, focusing on the hole in the tip of my dirty tennis shoes. My feet are too big for them now, but I haven’t had the money to get a new pair yet. All of it goes to Layla or buying my parents drugs.

On my sixteenth birthday, Dad threatened to kick me out of the house if I didn’t get a job. Said I needed to start pulling my weight around the house, as if going to school, doing all the chores, and getting their drugs for them wasn’t enough. Let alone being at his and Mom’s beck and call twenty-four seven.

My entire first paycheck went on their cigarettes, beer, and drugs. Now, they rely on me to buy our food, and everything for Layla.

The overhead bell chimes as I walk into the local gas station, drawing the clerk’s attention. Aside from Layla, he’s the only person in this world I actually like.

“Hey, Mol,” he greets, a smile stretching across his face, laugh lines forming in his brown skin. He's one of the few people I know who is always happy. I don't believe I've ever known that feeling. Maybe when Layla smiled at me for the first time. But it was fleeting. It didn't take long for my parents to steal away the joy again.

“Hi, Mario,” I return, waving at him before disappearing down one of the aisles and heading straight for the coolers where the beer is held.

I’m not old enough to buy alcohol, but Mario now knows my dad well enough to understand that if I don't bring it home, I’ll show up with bruises on my face the next day, pleading for him to let me buy it. He’s tried to call the police, but each time, I geton my knees and beg him not to. I didn’t want to risk Layla being taken by CPS and put in the system.

Families love young girls to adopt, but so do predators, and I won’t take the risk. At least at home, I can protect her.

So, despite Mario’s hatred for my parents, he risks his license and sells me the alcohol, seeing as he knows it’s not for me anyway. He's already made me pinkie swear to wait to drink until I'm old enough, though he told me to stay away from cigarettes forever.

I readily agreed. I've seen addiction in my mother, who, at one point, was valedictorian and had a full ride to college. But then she met my father, and all those dreams and aspirations didn't seem to matter so much when she had euphoria coursing through her veins.

I grab Dad’s favorite beer, diapers and formula for Layla, and a few packs of ramen for the next couple days.

Dropping the items on the counter, I pull out my cash while Mario turns to get a pack of cigarettes from behind him. Dad’s favorite.

“How are you tonight, sweetheart?” he asks me, clicking the keyboard to ring everything up.

I sigh. “Same ol’, same ol’.”

“Dad still giving you trouble?”

I give him a dry glance. “Always. I’ll be spending my birthday at the diner tomorrow. I was supposed to have the day off, but I didn’t get good tips today and, well—” I wiggle the measly bundle of cash. “—it’s all gone now anyway.”

Mario shoots me an unimpressed look. “What’s stopping you from taking Layla from them?”

Shame prevents me from meeting his eyes.

This isn’t the first time he’s asked, but every excuse I’ve come up with falls flat. Because the truth is condemning, and as much as I like Mario, what if I can’t trust him?

When I refocus on him, my heart squeezes. His stare is soft, and he radiates genuine concern. I feel my resolve cracking.

“Please, Mol, you can tell me anything.”

I sigh, and the last of my reservations crumble at his feet.

“My parents have proof of me buying drugs—theirdrugs—but it doesn’t matter. It looks bad. They know I want her, and they’ve threatened to show it to the court if I try to take custody. Dad has pictures and videos I didn’t even know he was taking, but he showed me them before he hid them. And if I just take her… I’ll be kidnapping her. I’m legally an adult, but the moment I found out my mother was pregnant, I got comfortable in my prison. I can’t leave her, Mario.”

My friend shakes his head, utter disgust emitting from his brown eyes. “They’re sick. Sick, sick people. And they’re blackmailing you! Maybe a lawyer—”

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