Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 66503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I step over the blood and grab the bear off the bed, staring at it for a while.
And for the first time in forever, I hear my mother’s voice, speaking to me in a language I’ve forgotten how to use.
Age 7
“And the little bear made its way back home to momma and papa bear, who happily welcomed him back into their arms with a hug,” my mom says, finishing the story.
She puts the bear underneath my blanket like she always does. “Slaap lekker, lief engeltje van me.”
She rarely talks in her native language, but when she does, I always appreciate it even though I don’t speak it myself. My father pushed me to go to an English school very early on. He always told me it was so we could return to America one day.
But I know some of the words she’s spoken. Because lief engeltje means sweet angel, and it makes me smile.
When she gets up from the bed, I say, “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?” She turns to face me. “What’s the matter?”
“Will you and Dad always be here with me?” I ask.
The look on her face fills with worry, and she clutches her own fingers. “Of course, honey.” She puts her hand over my chest. “Even when we’re not physically with you, we will always be here. Inside your heart.”
“Inside me?” I mutter, and she nods. “But what if you get locked inside?”
She giggles. “No silly, not like that.”
“Then how do you get out?” I ask.
She laughs and kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll explain it to you when you’re older. It’s time for sleep now.”
I huddle underneath the blanket with my little bear as she tucks me in.
“Sleep tight, little angel.” She gives me another peck and turns off the light before she leaves.
And for a few minutes, everything is quiet, peaceful, just like how it always is.
BANG!
The loud shot jolts me into an upright position, and I gasp for air, my heart thundering as loudly as that blast just now.
What was that?
Suddenly, my mom storms back into the room.
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
“No time,” she mutters. She crawls under the bed and grabs the gun they never keep loaded.
Until she finally fishes a box from the top shelves of the closet and puts the bullets inside herself.
“Mom, what’s happening?” I ask. “You’re scaring me.”
“Go to the bathroom,” she says, her voice more anxious than I’ve ever heard. “Hide.”
“What? Why?” I say, yawning. “I thought it was time to sl—”
“NOW!” she growls right in my face.
I gulp back the fear and tears.
“And be quiet. Don’t make a sound.” She puts her fingers over her lips. “No matter what you hear, do not come out. Okay?”
I nod a few times, trying to understand.
“I know it’s hard, but you gotta do what I tell you, okay?” she adds, and she adds another kiss. “Now go.”
I don’t wait for another second as I run out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. I close the door and hide inside the bathtub, then pull the curtains.
I’m shivering. Cold. Tired. Panicking all alone.
Don’t make a sound. Don’t make a sound.
BANG!
I cover my ears with my hands and make myself as small as possible, hiding in the corner of this bath, praying no one will find me here.
But nothing prepares me for my mother’s scream.
It’s so loud and high pitched that it enters my lungs and makes me hold my breath.
What’s happening to her and Papa? What’s going on?
I can’t move. Momma told me to stay here and hide, no matter how hard it gets, even though I really want to go out there and help her.
But how long should I stay?
Suddenly, the door opens.
I hold my breath and stay frozen to the bathtub.
The toilet seat is lifted, and it sounds like someone is puking.
I really want to peek, but I force myself to remain still, guarded and vigilant.
But a tiny sliver of the curtain isn’t closed, and I can see past it through the mirror where a girl with flowing black hair and pristine white skin is washing her face.
And our eyes connect.
My heart skips a beat.
I blink.
Just once.
But it’s enough to break my world.
The curtain is slowly peeled away, and my secret hiding spot is no longer secret.
Two big brown eyes stare into mine, coral lips slowly twitching up into a smile.
What am I supposed to do?
Is she the enemy my mom and dad always warned me about?
The girl plucks at the small pink flower in her hair and gives it to me, tucking it into my hand like she wants to tell me something.
Give me the one thing that’s slipped away from me ever since my mother told me to go and hide, no matter what I would hear.
Hope.
Present
“I remember this,” I say, staring at the bathtub at the far end of the bathroom, clutching the bear so tight it almost rips open.