1

  I watch through a drug-induced haze as the stranger rapes me. The pain of the encounter is dulled by the drugs my dad slipped into my drink. I can’t move. All I can do is watch. I don’t know how long it goes on for. I simply know I'm curled up on the floor in the fetal position when I open my eyes again. I have a massive headache. Somewhere in my addled brain, I realize it’s unfortunately Sunday, which means I'm stuck here with my dad. I know I'm in for another day of utter hell with no guarantee of food. I don’t even have Brenna, my former stepmother, to make sure I at least have something in my stomach.

  I hate that Brenna, the woman he married after murdering my mother, was totally oblivious to what he does to me. What he lets others do to me. Maybe she hated me. Maybe she never really cared. I believe that. I know I'm unlovable.  Or maybe she honestly didn’t know. It doesn’t really matter one way or another.

  “Get up!” my dad snarls, stirring me from my thoughts.

  I hadn’t heard him come in. He may’ve been here the entire time. It wouldn’t be the first time he watched someone rape me. He told them it was because he wanted to make sure they got plenty of use out of me. I know the truth. He wants to punish me for being born.

  He kicks me hard in the back when I hesitate. I'm still trying to piece together whatever caused the ache in my lower back and in my backside. Tears of shame burn my eyes as I realize I was sold again, but I blink them away. Crying only makes him angrier. It’s harder to hold my tears back when I realize I don’t remember what exactly happened because I was drugged.

  He did it again. Why is his money worth so much more than me? Who was it this time? Was it someone I know? I think as I obey.

  “You’re a stupid, filthy slut,” he tells me, spit flying in my face.

  I stare at the floor while he berates me. Being told how worthless I am hurts, but saying anything isn’t worth the beating I’d receive. I know I deserve being yelled at.

  “Get out!” he hisses suddenly, face red in rage.

  I’ve always enjoyed running, but not this time. It hurts horribly; each step reminds me how horrible the rape was and how bad my dad’s beatings were. But I'm afraid of being caught if I walk. It wouldn’t be the first time either him or one of his buddies (read: my rapists) followed me in their car and forced me to ride home with them.

  I run on shaking legs to the only place I’ve ever felt anywhere close to human: J&M Quarter Horses, owned by the Lopez family. I slow once my feet hit gravel; the last thing I want is to end up falling down. I don’t have anything with me except the clothes on my back, the cellphone in my pocket, and the backpack that keeps thumping into my bony, cut up back. I’ve only been there twice, but it feels more like home than my real home ever did.

  It takes a half-hour on foot before I see the large horse farm. Mares and their foals graze in paddocks on one side of the drive. Yearlings buck and play in paddocks on the other side of the drive. Beyond the mare and foal paddock are the stallion paddocks. Beyond the yearlings are the weanlings. Straight ahead of the drive is the house, a beautiful blue two-story house. A little to the south and to the left of the house is the main barn. The stallion, yearling, and mare barns are on the other side of the house. The main barn keeps the show horses and weanlings. The barns are matching in blue and yellow tin. About sixty yards behind the main barn are the two massive arenas, one indoor and one outdoor.

  I approach the main barn cautiously. I'm terrified of being busted and sent back to my dad.

  The door is unlocked, which doesn’t help my growing fear of being found.

  I make my way up the wide concrete aisle until I find the stall I'm after. A huge palomino is dozing inside, oblivious to my presence outside her stall. The plaque outside reads JM Wind Glider, with the gentle mare’s barn name ‘Lulu’ underneath.

  “Hi, pretty girl. I won’t hurt you. I just want a place to sleep,” I murmur gently, unlatching the two locks on the stall door.

  The poor thing is startled by the noise.

  “It’s okay. I just wanna sleep here,” I whisper, offering my hand to smell.

  The palomino nickers softly and bumps my hand with her nose.

  “I didn’t bring any treats,” I tell her.

  I curl up gingerly on the straw with the backpack as a pillow. It isn’t the worst place I’ve ever slept, and the smell of the horses is so comforting I almost drift right off. Until something sniffs my face. Lulu’s warm breath tickles my cheek for a second before she licks me and lies next to me.

  “You’re a good girl, Lulu,” I murmur, reaching over to pet her.

  She cranes her neck around and rests her huge head against my stomach. It feels nice. I almost feel safe; I haven’t felt that way since my mom died. Completely exhausted, I drift to sleep with my fingers knotted in Lulu’s white mane.

  I wake to the daughter of the owners, Lily, coming into the barn. She starts feeding the horses, which are beginning to clamor for her attention…and their food. All except Lulu, who is busy nuzzling my hair.

  Does she think I'm her foal? Maybe she knows I'm a mess? I guess groggily.

  “Lulu? You okay, pretty girl?” Lily asks, bringing Lulu’s feed.

  I scramble against the wall in fear. This makes me hurt more than I  expect. Gasping, I try to make my tall, skinny frame as small as possible. I know Lily enough to know she probably won’t hurt me, but I distrust people in general.

  “What’re you doing here?” she asks, dumping the feed in Lily’s trough.

  “I needed a place to stay,” I reply warily.

  “Lulu likes you a lot. How did you—You were being abused, weren’t you?”

  Ashamed of the horrid things I’ve been through, I nod.

  “Do you wanna brush Lulu after she eats? Did you bring anything with you?”

  “My phone. Sure!” I reply.

  “I thought Lulu was hurt when she didn’t start in about food.”

  “She was busy doing my hair.”

  I grin at her, but it feels fake.

  I'm trembling pitifully as I slide the hot pink halter onto Lulu’s head.

  “She seems bigger today,” I murmur.

  “She’s big for a mare. Sixteen-point-three hands,” Lily tells me, leading out a gorgeous black stallion who quickly tries to attack me.

 I slam the stall door shut in front of me. I’ve never been afraid of a horse before.

  “Hey! Bad boy! Sam, if you don’t start being nicer, we’re gonna sell you,” she scolds the horse.

  His ears flick but he’s only halfway paying attention.

  Lulu nuzzles my face lightly, almost as if she’ s checking to see if I'm okay.

  “I'm okay,” I whisper, rubbing her ears.

  “She likes that. She’ll go to sleep if you do it long enough,” Lily tells me.

  “Is it safe to come out?”

  “I have Sam in the cross-ties. He can’t hurt you.”

  I lead Lulu out slowly, hooking her halter on the cross-ties by her stall.

  “Are you entered in any shows this summer?” I ask, trying to be friendly.

  “A couple. One with Mr. Moody-Butt here and one with a new colt we got,” Lily replies.

  Lulu dozes while I groom her. I wince a few times when my shirt rubs my raw welts the wrong way or when my ‘other’ injuries are aggravated. Her golden coat shines when I'm done with her.

  I help Lily turn the horses out into the paddocks. Shame, pain, and fear have been my only company for so long I’ve forgotten it can be nice being with people.

  “I gotta go change,” she tells me, leading me towards the house and out of the cold.

  “Are we gonna go for a ride?” I ask.

  “Not right now.”

  I stand quietly by the front door. I have no idea if I'm allowed to sit in the living room or what I should do. The heat of the furnace makes me sigh in relief.

  “Have you met my parents yet?” Lily asks, coming down the simple oak stairway towards me.

  Flushing, I shake my head. I figure I’ll be punished later for not moving.

  “Follow me,” she says, guiding me through the beautiful, plush living room and into the equally gorgeous kitchen with breakfast nook and attached dining room.

  An adult couple is standing by the granite island, drinking coffee. The first thing that hits me is they actually smile warmly at me; adults have never smiled at me before or acted like they were happy to see me. The second is they look nothing like Lily; they’re on the medium side, color-wise, like me, while Lily is as fair as her name.

  “Mom, Dad, this is my friend, Avriel Chaim,” she says, smiling.

  “Um, hi,” I murmur shyly.

  “Hey. I'm Mariah, the ‘M’ in J&M. You came and rode last summer, didn’t you? Are you from around here?” her mother says.

  “Yes, ma’am. I've lived here a year; before, we lived in Israel. I ran away from my dad.”

  “Do you keep kosher?”

  “No, but my dad does. Are you gonna make me go back?”

  “Not unless you want to. Did your mom?”

  I shake my head quietly. Masochist is pretty high up on the list of things I'm not. I really don’t want to talk about my dead mother with them either.

  “I'm Jared. How old are you?” the tall, black-haired man asks.

  “S-seventeen.”

  I'm very scared of him. I don’t want to know how he’ll punish me for sneaking into his barn last night. I'm also afraid of being used by him.

  I pray softly in Hebrew with trembling lips. I need all the help I can get right now.

  “Jared, we need to get going or we’ll be late,” Mariah tells her husband.

  I'm scared they’re gonna dump me on the side of the road somewhere.

  I pad quietly after them to their black Impala. The knots in my stomach refuse to leave, even when I settle next to Lily in the backseat.

  But why would Lily have gotten all dressed up to watch you be abandoned? She’s so pretty. Okay, Avriel, focus on something other than the pretty girl. Was she adopted? She looks nothing like them, I think, staring out the window.

  “What happened to your mom?” Lily whispers, brushing her curly blond hair back from her face.

  “She died,” I reply bluntly.

  “Aw. I'm sorry.”

  She reaches towards my face slowly, and I freeze in expectation. It’ll probably knock me out if she slaps me and my head hits the window.

  “It’s okay; you have straw in your hair,” she murmurs, picking it from my dark curls.

  I'm not really surprised when we pulled into a church parking lot. I know from school that Lily’s a Christian.

  “I-I’ve never been to church,” I fret.

  “Avriel, it’s okay. If you don’t want anyone hugging you, tell them; they’re not gonna get mad,” Lily whispers.

  I'm scared to death as we go in. I don’t really know what to expect.

  The people are very nice. They make a genuine effort to welcome me and make me feel like I belong. No one’s ever done this before.

  Midway through the sermon, I have the strangest feeling. I long for something I should know but don’t. There’s a type of pull in my heart towards this, but I don’t know what it means.

  I break my eyes away from the guest speaker to try getting Lily’s attention.

  “What is it?” she whispers, not looking the least bit mad.

  I describe the feeling to her the best I can. Tears spring to her eyes at my words, but, before I can start apologizing, she smiles at me.

  “Do you wanna be a Christian? God’s asking you to come home,” she tells me.

  “How do I do it?” I reply.

  “I know you pray, and that’s exactly what this is. Repeat after me. Lord, I believe You sent Your only begotten Son Jesus to die for me. I confess I'm a sinner, and I confess my sins before You. Jesus, I'm asking You into my heart. Save me from my sins. Purge me of them. Give me a new heart and a new mind. Thank You. In Jesus’ name, amen,” she murmurs.

  I whisper the prayer quietly. I don’t care about the tears running down my face or the soft, broken sobs escaping my throat; I normally hate crying. Or was abused for it. Lily doesn’t slap me, though. She just clutches my hand tighter.

  After praying, I feel lighter. I feel more peaceful than I ever had. For the first time, I feel loved and wanted. Valuable, even. I feel like I could take on every demon in Hell and win.

  At their home, I try to make myself useful. I don’t want to be accused of freeloading.

  “Avriel, we’re gonna call Family Services after lunch and explain the situation. If they’ll let us, we’d like to foster you. But does that bother you?” Mariah informs me, laying some pizza dough on the floured counter.

  “No, ma’am, I’d like that,” I reply, kneading the dough.

  “What do you like to do?”

  “Um, I like being around the horses. And reading. I write some, but I'm not very good. Being outside. I'm active.”

  “I remember you rode a lot with Lily during the summer and on Christmas break.”

  “I got in trouble for it.”

  “Why? You were being good!”

  “My dad doesn’t like me.”

  My hands tremble as I slide the pan into the oven.

  “Lord , take my pain. Please. Before I lose it. In Jesus’ name, amen,” I murmured trembling.

  “What was it like in Israel?”

  I'm grateful for the distraction from the panic flitting around inside my head.

  “It’s beautiful there, but my life wasn’t…pleasant.”

  “Was it hard adjusting?”

 “Not really.”

  I wince as my shirt brushes my wounds again. I'm starting to feel more of the soreness from the rape. More than anything, I long to lie down and sleep off the pain.

  “Did he leave marks?” Mariah asks, her green eyes lighting up with concern.

  Ashamed, I nod. I'm afraid of being blamed; other people have done this. And I believe them. If I was worth loving, this wouldn’t happen.

  “I'm not gonna ask what he did; when you’re ready, we’re here.”

  “I'm not good,” I whisper again and again.

  I know I'm bordering on a panic attack. My pulse races in my ears, nearly deafening me. My chest aches; I feel like I can barely breathe. I end up collapsing against the cabinet, which really hurts.

  “Avriel, you need to breathe. Come on. Breathe, sweetie,” Mariah coaxes gently.

  I draw in a gasping wheeze obediently. It sounds horrible, almost like an accordion. I'm trying to think past my pain and my fear. But I can’t.

  Please. I can’t take this. You have to do something; I'm drowning in this pain and fear, my heart cries to God.

  And then something amazing happens.

  “Avriel, you’re not in this alone; I am with you,” a warm Voice whispers in my mind.

  I know without a doubt that this is God. Like an invisible blanket, peace covers me. It melts into my very soul.

  I whisper a prayer of thanks as I stand slowly.

  “Avriel, are you okay?” Mariah asks.

  “I'm better. I have panic attacks sometimes. God helped,” I reply.

  I tell her what God told me. She grins when I finish.

  I burn my hand trying to get the pizza crusts out. It isn’t bad enough to worry about; the back of my right hand will probably be red and sore for a few hours. I’d had much worse at my dad’s house.

  Mariah gives me a cold aloe gel to rub into the burned skin. I sigh with relief as it takes the heat out; I’ve never used it before.

  She laughs when I coat my mini pizza with cheese and veggies. The crust is barely visible when I get done.

  I press fearfully against my chair when Jared comes in. My knuckles are white as I grip the wooden armrests. I'm beginning to tremble. With shaking hands, I strip off my shirt and straddle the chair so my back is facing them. I know he’ll probably jump on the chance to knock me into next week; some of my ‘customers’ did.

  “Go ahead,” I whimper, gripping the chair tighter.

  “Avriel, I'm not gonna hurt you. We aren’t like that,” Jared murmurs gently.

  “It’s okay. I won’t cry or anything.”

  “What makes you think you deserve that?”

  “I had a panic attack. And I'm bad.”

  “Do you wanna let your cuts air for a while?” Mariah asks me, touching my hand gently.

  No one ever cared about things like this before. I nod quietly in response. Unfortunately, the movement doesn’t help my pounding head; my head started hurting during my panic attack.

  “Mmm,” I murmur, pushing the heel of my hand against my temple.

  “Headache?” Mariah asks.

  “Migraine, I think.”

  “From not eating? Or is it normal?”

  “Not eating and stress. I haven’t eaten for two weeks.”

  I whimper pitifully from the white-hot vises gripping my skull; the migraine is escalating quickly. It’s all I can do to keep from either throwing up or crying. My eyes are squeezed shut against the pain.

  I'm given some orange juice to sip, along with some Tylenol. The sweet liquid helps some.

  Mariah strokes my shaggy, black curls gently while I try to make the pain stop. I flinch and moan in pain; having my head touched makes it feel like molten lava spikes are being driven into my skull.

  “Is Avriel okay?” Lily asks.

  “He has a migraine. How was Twizzler?” Mariah replies quietly.

  “He needs to go to a trainer. He doesn’t understand ‘whoa’, his lope is so bad I only took him four strides, and he tries to eat the reins while you’re on him.”

  I accidentally doze sitting up for a few minutes.

  Next thing I know, Mariah’s gentle voice is calling my name.

  “Avriel, lunch is done,” she murmurs, her tan hand placing my pizza on the table.

  My stomach roars with hunger at the sight and smell.

  “Thank you,” I whisper gratefully.

  I join them in praying over the meal before digging in. I'm struggling to pace myself with the food. I want to hurry up and eat before my food’s taken away; I'm not sure when my next meal will be.

  “You’re the first kid I’ve met that likes veggies,” Jared grins.

  “I-I-I don’t really eat much meat,” I murmur.

  I have a good reason not to like meat. I ate spoiled beef once when my dad didn’t feed me for a week-and-a-half; I was sick for days. I was twelve when it happened. It was before he and Brenna were married.

  “Do you have a veggie you like best?” Mariah asks, breaking me from my thoughts.

  “Broccoli, carrots, squash, cucumbers, beans, and tomatoes are my favorites. Oh, and pickles,” I mumble.

  A few minutes later, the phone rings shrilly, making me jump. Jared leaves the table to answer it.

  “Hello? He’s here. He isn’t feeling well right now,” Jared says quietly, warning evident in his voice.

  “Looks like I’ll have to leave,” I whisper.

  “Look, Avriel is no problem. No, you listen to me, Mr. Chaim, I don’t know what you’ve done to your son, but it’s stopping,” Jared tells my dad firmly.

  After getting off the phone, he calls DCFS about the abuse I’d suffered. Someone will be coming to talk to me in the morning.

  “Are you happy here, Avriel?” Lily asks.

  “Yeah, I am,” I reply.

  “After lunch, I’ll show you your room.”

  Lily leads me upstairs after lunch. My room’s huge. It’s sky blue with lime trim. It works somehow. The bed’s big enough a friend won’t have to sleep on the floor. A maple desk rests under the window so I can look out over the horses while I do homework. Two Bibles rested on it. One is a Hebrew copy that includes even the books cut from the KJV. The other is a New King James Version. There is a walk-in closet. The bathroom’s closer to a master bath in size than a regular bathroom.

  “Wow. This is great! Thanks,” I tell her, meaning every word.

  The rest of the day drags by slowly. I’m terrified by every little noise. I never relax; I'm constantly afraid my dad will find me and drag me back. It won’t be hard if he decides to. Thanks to my terror, I’m awake all night long. On the bright side, I read up to II Kings in the NKJV and up to Exodus in the Hebrew copy.

  I jump when the doorbell rings while I'm eating breakfast. To me, this always meant horrid pain and money for my dad; I forgot about the man from DCFS coming. I decide to hide from whoever it was. I hear the front door open from my hiding spot in the pantry.

  “Hello. I'm Mark Stewart. I'm with Family Services,” a male voice says at the door.

  “Avriel’s in here. Um, he’s scared of men,” Mariah explains.

  Their footsteps are growing steadily closer to my hiding place.

  “He was in here. Avriel, where are you?” Mariah says.

  I don’t dare move.

  “Avriel Chaim, get over here.”

  Her tone warns me I’ll be in trouble if I don’t obey, and I don’t wanna find out how they’ll punish me.

  Head hanging contritely, I step out of the pantry.

  “Did he pay yet or will he pay after?” I ask timidly.

  “Avriel, did your dad sell you?” Mariah asks, appalled.

  I nod slowly. I'm so ashamed.

  “No one’s gonna do that to you here. I promise,” she soothes gently.

  Mark begins questioning me carefully. He examines my injuries gently.

  “What was this caused by?” he asks, lightly probing the deep gash on my side.

  “He whipped me wi-wi-with a cut-up garden hose braided with chain dog leashes,” I whisper unevenly.

  “Have you seen his back? It’s incredible the kid’s still alive.”

  Mariah peers over my shoulder at the deep wounds and scars marking my olive skin.

  “Is he gonna be taken from his dad?” she asks.

  “This is going to court. Avriel, when was the last time you ate?” Mark asks.

  “Before yesterday? Wednesday, two weeks ago,” I reply quickly.

  “I need to get pictures of your injuries.”

  I relax a little when Mark leaves.

  A phone call from Mark comes in just before Lily and I leave to catch the school bus. The court case has been set up for Thursday.

2: 2

                                                   2

  School always makes me nervous. I'm an easy target for bullies. And, with the court case in three days, I’m even more of a wreck.

  My stomach is knotted in my throat as I climb on the bus. Edward Jenkins, the 11^th grade bully, kicks my feet out from under me. Because I'm not one of the ‘haves,’ the bus driver looks the other way. And I'm afraid to defend myself; it’s never done any good before.

  “This is just the tip of the iceberg,” Edward promises maliciously, his dark eyes sparkling at the threat.

  “Leave him alone,” Lily growls, moving from her seat with her friends to help me up.

  “Chaim, Lopez, get in your seats,” the driver orders, finally noticing me.

  I follow Lily quietly towards the back of the bus. I ease my beaten body carefully into the seat in front of her friends; there’s no room for me to sit with them.

  Sighing, I turn sideways on the seat where I can be more comfortable. Thankfully, I'm in the quiet part of the bus where I could actually think. Unfortunately, thinking isn’t a good thing, though; it just makes me feel more anxious. The rest of the bus ride is your average, run-of-the-mill bus ride with teen monsters.

  I slink into English quietly. I'm early, but I always was for this class. The sooner I was away from the parent from hell, the better. I take my seat at the back of the room and wait eagerly for class to start.

  There’s a new kid today. She looks around nervously before coming to take the empty seat on my left.

  “Hi. I'm Talia,” she tells me, smiling.

  She’s very pretty. Caramel hair is pulled into an intricate French braid. Black eyeliner and purple glitter eye shadow highlight wide green eyes. Magenta lipgloss coats full lips and makes them look even more kissable.

  “I-I'm Avriel,” I reply, swallowing nervously.

  You’ve dealt with girls before. Lily’s a girl. This isn’t any—Holy crap, she’s hot! I tell myself inwardly, sighing when my train of thought derails.

  “I like that; it’s unique.”

  “Thank you. A lot of people make fun of me for having such a weird name.”

  Now you need to shut up before you make an idiot out of yourself, I scold myself mentally.

  “You look upset,” she tells me, mimicking the look on my face.

  “I'm not a very open person. So it kinda weirds me out that I just said that about my name,” I explain, raking a hand through my hair.

  I hope I don’t smell. I took a shower. I don’t have deodorant, though. That could be a problem, I worry.

  “Do you wanna sit together at lunch?”

  “Yeah. My table’s pretty empty.”

  I always enjoy English, and today it gets even better. We’re given a creative writing assignment. I enjoy writing, even though I'm not very good at it. The idea of someone else reading my work, though, makes me nervous.

 I begin outlining my paper, which is going better than usual—It usually takes me a half-hour or longer to work on an outline because I can’t come up with anything—when I'm pulled up by a sudden thought: In an hour, I’ll be eating with Talia and Lily, and I don’t know how they’d get along.

  Lord, let me get through this without going crazier or making an idiot of myself. Please. I can’t do it without You. In Jesus’ name, amen, I pray as I work.

  I'm fairly relieved when the bell rang, signaling the end of class. No sooner have I stood up than Edward attacks me. He shoves me hard to the floor. My head bangs into the tile with a sickening thud. I see stars, but I’ve had worse. He isn’t done yet. He slams his steel-toed boot into my prominent ribs until I feel some of them crack. The pain makes my eyes burn with tears I refuse to let fall. Luckily for me, one of his buddies distracts him long enough for me to attempt making a run for it. Unfortunately, Edward is big and fast.

  He slams me against the doorframe by my shoulder. My opposite shoulder screams with pain as metal connects with bone. I feel more of my ribs crack and some break, as well as my arm. He laughs as my face twists with pain. Glaring, I bring my knee up to his junk. Swearing loudly, he releases me. He shouts racial slurs after me as I hurry to lunch.

 “Avriel, are you okay?” Lily asks behind me in the lunch line.

  “I’ll be fine,” I reply, rubbing my arm lightly.

  I get the healthiest, meat-free foods I can find. There aren’t many choices, so I go with an apple, a stick of string cheese, a salad, and chocolate milk.

  On my way to a table, Edward attacks me again. He’s out for blood even more this time. Or payback. I don’t fight back until he starts choking me. Even with me kicking and trying to get him away from me, he still punches the crap outta me. My bones crunch sickeningly under his blows. My lunch is somewhere under me. I think I’ve snorted some of my salad dressing or chocolate milk up my nose; my sinuses feel like I’ve inhaled fire. It’s either that or he broke my nose, which is a good possibility.

  “Get off of him!” Lily cries.

  Edward spits in my face as his knee presses sharply against my junk. I wish I could say I haven’t been spat on before, but it’s nothing new. My vision swims in and out at the awful pain in my groin.

  Lord, help me please! I pray as Edward’s fists pummel my face.

  “Edward Jenkins, get off of him,” Mr. D’Angelo, the teacher on duty, orders, stomping over.

  Mr. D’Angelo is my favorite teacher here. He’s always nice to me, even on my bad days when I want to hide from everyone. He’s the one who talked to me the most about what was going on at home; none of the other teachers seem to care.

  “He deserves it,” Edward spits, kicking me in the face.

  Lily and Talia help me stand gingerly. Even though they’re being careful, standing is still horrible.

  “You okay?” Lily asks.

  “I'm fine,” I pant, holding my ribs gently.

  “He’s not gonna be able to do his classes,” Mr. D’Angelo tells us, glancing over my visible injuries.

  “I’ll be fine,” I whimper, spitting blood from my mouth..

  “Avriel, I'm calling your fosters to come get you.”

  Mariah looks beyond worried when she comes to pick me up.

  “Avriel, I'm taking you to get checked out,” she informs me.

  I'm hurting too badly to care right now. She could have asked me to ride Lulu bareback to the moon, and I would’ve agreed.

  She takes me to the ER. I curl up in a ball the instant I get settled in a chair. My ribs burn with each breath, my entire face hurts, my back hurts, and I just feel like crap in general.

  We aren’t in the waiting room long, maybe ten minutes, before a nurse takes us to an exam room. I'm starting to tremble nervously.

  “Avriel, they’re not gonna hurt you,” Mariah promises.

  The doctor is Edward’s father. He’s around fifty, bald, and overweight.

  “So, Avriel, how did this happen?” he asks, his voice cold and uncaring.

  “I was beat up by Edward at school. Three times. The first time—” Coughs wrack my skinny frame painfully—“ was on the bus. The second time, he beat me up in class; he knocked me on the floor and beat up on me, and he slammed me against the doorframe. He cracked some of my ribs and my arm those times. And then he attacked me in the cafeteria,” I reply, spitting up more blood.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He examines the black bruises on my ribs roughly. He doesn’t bother being careful around my whipping injuries.

  I bite back a groan at his roughness. He glares at me when my face twisted.

  “He’ll be fine,” he says, smiling cruelly.

  This makes me notice how yellow his teeth are.

  “We’re getting a second opinion, Avriel,” Mariah tells me in the car.

  I try to nod without flinging blood all over the leather interior of her Impala. While she’s driving, she calls their family doctor and asks if I can be seen.

  The new doctor, a physician’s assistant named Karen Carver, is much nicer. She wants X-rays done on my chest, arm, and head.

  We stay at the doctor’s office for the results because they’re afraid I’ll go into shock. It takes a half-hour.

  “Well, Avriel, you have internal bleeding, seven broken ribs, a crack in your humerus, and you broke your nose. Plus a slight concussion,” Dr. Carver tells us.

  I nod weakly.

  “You’re going to the hospital; we need to admit you immediately,” she tacks on.

  I’m taken in for surgery quickly. I'm in the hospital until the day before the court case.

  The day before the court case is just like any regular day. I'm beginning to learn the Lopez family can be trusted not to hurt me.

  I'm terrified to face my dad in court. My fear and paranoia are increased by the fact I couldn’t sleep last night. The good thing about my sleepless night is I can study both Bibles all night. I’m up to Ezra in the NKJV and up to Numbers in the Hebrew one.

  “C’mon, Avriel! We’re gonna be late!” Mariah calls from downstairs.

  “I'm comin’!” I shout back, stumbling into my shoes.

  Hurrying downstairs with broken ribs isn’t the best idea.

  The drive to the courthouse is spent in silence. I'm afraid I’ll throw up if I speak.

  My dad’s dark eyes glare at me hatefully as he stalks into the courtroom.

  Unfortunately, there’s no denying he was my father. We have the same light brown eyes. The same nose. The same lips, fuller than I think a guy’s should be. And the same strong jaw.

  Our side’s up first. The lawyer makes a good argument that I need to be away from my dad. She takes one look at me, gripping my seat with white knuckles and staring nervously at my dad, and leaves me be, instead calling the man from Family Services as a witness.

 Dad’s lawyer calls me to the witness stand immediately.

  “Now, Avriel, your father never hurt you, did he? He was always very loving, wasn’t he? You did this to yourself as a pathetic act of teen rebellion,” the man purrs seductively.

  I know this man. I know his voice. And it’s all I can do to avoid cussing him out—I’ve never cussed—and spitting in his face and going back to sit with the Lopezes; he was one of the guys who my dad pimped me to frequently.

  “He beat me ever since I could walk, killed my mother for defending me, and then sold my body to strange men because he didn’t want to work. So, no, he wasn’t a loving man who never hurt me, and I didn’t hurt myself. You know that, though, don’t you? You came to his house and paid him so you could have your way with me,” I growl, my good hand clenching into a fist.

  The crowd gasps in shock. He wisely decides not to question me further.

  Our own lawyer decides to cross-examine me. I'm honest with what happened, describing the beatings and horrid cruelty in detail. I tell them how he had starved me. How he had sold my body, beginning when I was only ten and we had still been living in Israel. How he had kept me locked in either the basement or in a dog crate once we had moved into our house here. Several of the spectators—even the judge—gasp in horror and shock at what I had went through.

  They cross-examine my dad next. He lies about abusing and selling me. He tells them I'm a horrible, naughty child who had to be beat and starved. He tells them I was a whore and brought strangers in so I’d have money to support my drug habit, which doesn’t exist. He claims I was a thief.

  The Lopez family is questioned next. They tell of how evident it is I’ve been abused. The way I hide from the doorbell, which makes my cheeks flush in embarrassment, and the way I act as if my food is gonna disappear are just two of the things they tell the court.

  The judge declares me a ward of the state of New Mexico and places me into the care of the Lopez family.

  I get very squished as Jared, Lily, and Mariah hug me. But I don’t mind a bit.

3: 3

                                                           3

  I'm dazed and afraid when I wake up the next morning. I'm extremely disoriented. The sky blue walls are unfamiliar and alien. The whinnies of horses coming from outside only increase my fear. I still ache from the beatings Edward gave me and the ones my dad gave me before I ran away.

  What happened this time? Who bought me this time? I wonder, sitting up slowly.

  There’s none of the usual pain that came after someone used me, just the pain from the beatings. The realization that I hadn’t been used calms me down a little.

  Someone touches my shoulder gently in the dark, freaking me out.

  “Avriel, it’s okay,” Mariah murmurs from the side of my bed.

  The realization that I'm home calms me down the rest of the way.

  “I'm sorry,” I murmur, my voice gravelly from thirst and sleep.

  “It isn’t your fault. You’re still getting used to being here,” she tells me.

 She leaves me alone to shower and dress.

 I wander downstairs for breakfast once I'm clean. Jared has already left for work, so it’s just Lily, Mariah, and me. Lily’s fixing her makeup or something like that upstairs.

  “Avriel, if he bullies you again, tell one of the teachers. That’s what they’re here for,” Mariah tells me, giving me a glass of milk and a bowl of fruit.

  I agree quietly.

 The ringing of her cell phone startles me. My whole body protests when I flinch. Even though I know it won’t happen, I'm afraid of being sold again.

  “Hello? This is Mariah. It happened at school! You can talk to Avriel, but we did not do this to him. I don’t see why you have to move him. He’s perfectly fine right here,” she tells the person on the other line before passing me the phone.

  “H-hello? This is Avriel,” I murmur into the phone.

  I hate cellphones; I only use mine if I have to or to play games on if I’m bored.

  “This is Mr. Stewart. Avriel, we have decided the Lopezes are not a good fit for you. What did they do to you?” the man on the other end tells me.

  “I like them! They’re good to me! They treat me like I'm theirs. They didn’t do this to me! A bully at school beat me up.”

  I'm starting to get upset and panicky. I love these people. But apparently my life isn’t supposed to be pleasant.

  “I'm sorry, Avriel, but this is the way things work. We’re gonna find a good family for you. Don’t worry. It’ll be tomorrow before we get you out of there.”

  He hangs up.

  “Avriel, what’s going on?” Mariah asks worriedly, taking the phone from my trembling hand.

  I hate crying, especially in front of people. I’d rather drink molten wax. Crying has never fixed anything before; it won’t fix anything this time.

  “They’re placing me in a different foster home. They think you did this,” I whisper hoarsely.

  “I'm so sorry, sweetie.”

  I’m even more embarrassed and upset when Lily sees me crying.

  “What happened?” Lily asks.

  “Avriel’s being placed in a different home,” Mariah explains.

  Lily tries cheering me up while Mariah calls Jared. It doesn’t work.

  “I’ll see if you can still come ride,” Lily promises.

  “I’d like to do that,” I murmur.

  “At least you have one day,” Mariah tells me when she got off the phone.

  I nod silently. One day is better than nothing.

  I'm too shocked by the news to muster any enthusiasm for school.

  Talia picks up right away on the changes in me.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “They’re taking me away from the Lopezes,” I answer, my voice dead.

  “Here’s my number. Call me when you get settled,” Talia tells me, handing me a small slip of paper.

  The rest of my school day goes without incident. Amazingly, even Edward leaves me alone.

  I enjoy what might be the last night I’ll ever have with the people I consider my real family. We watch movies and play games. I get hyped up on caffeine. They tell me a million times they loved me, and I tell them a million and one.

  First thing in the morning, I meet the possible fosters.

  “I'm Rachelle,” the pretty, petite blonde woman tells me, offering a smile that doesn’t reach her dark blue eyes.

  Her husband’s name is Tony. He glares at me almost the whole time. Something in his gaze scares me. It’s too much like my dad’s or the men my dad sold me to: Perverted and sadistic. He looks at me like I'm steak.

  After just fifteen minutes, I can tell they dislike me. They don’t seem to care about me. Tony thinks it’s funny when I cringe away from him.

  They’re cleared to foster me for some reason. Rachelle grins at the news and hugs my shoulders tightly. She’s trying to be the perfect picture of an ideal mother. The perverse hunger in Tony’s gray eyes grows brighter at the news.

  I catch Tony ogling me as I clamber into the backseat of their bright red, brand new Expedition. I haven’t felt the combination or this level of disgust, anger, shame, and fear since I came to the Lopezes.

  Here we go again. Lord, help me get through this. In Jesus’ name, amen, I think, curling up in a ball.

  “How old are you, Avriel?” Tony asks quietly.

  I don’t like the way he says my name. It sounds wrong. It’s this purr that sounds far too sexual.

  “I just turned seventeen,” I reply carefully.

  “So you’ll be out of the system soon.”

  “I haven’t been in that long.”

  I'm not finding it easy to be polite. He reminds me too much of my dad to avoid being a little snarky.

  “Be polite!” Rachelle snaps suddenly, slapping my calf hard.

  I flinch at the blow but say nothing. What can I say? It won’t do any good.

  The rest of the hour-long drive is made with Tony making innuendos that get a little more obvious each time and utter silence from me.

  I'm dragged from the car by my wrist by Tony the minute the car stops in their driveway. I recoil at his touch; it makes my skin crawl.

  “You’ll learn to like my touch. To beg for it, even,” he snarls, jerking me towards the house.

  Their house is small and, although we live in New Mexico, lacks the warmth of the Lopez home. There’s nothing to tell me who these people are. What they do. Or like to do.

  Tony doesn’t take his hand off me until the door is safely locked. I can’t help a small sigh of relief when he releases my good wrist. The relief doesn’t last long.

  “You’re fat,” Rachelle tells me, pushing me.

  I stumble into the wall. There is no way I can be fat; part of my rib cage juts out through my skin. I mumble a timid apology. I'm not really sure why I'm apologizing; it seems like the best thing to do.

  “You’re going on a strict diet. Anything outside it, and I’ll teach you what sorry is,” she snarls, slapping me.

  I don’t have time to react before Tony drags me off by my arm. I go limp, a tactic I learned when dealing with my dad. It only makes Tony mad; he turns and kicks me in the ribs. The pain takes my breath away and makes my eyes swim with tears.

  “Get up or I’ll kick you where it counts,” he snarls.

  I obey his command reluctantly. I wish I hadn’t. Tony beats me and then he rapes me.

  After he finishes with me, I'm given the list of what I’m allowed to eat. The list includes portion sizes for one meal.

1. A fourth of a small peach.
2. A half plum.
3. An eighth of a serving of oatmeal.
4. A fourth of scrambled eggs w/o cheese.
5. Two cherry tomatoes or one thin slice of a reg. tomato.
6. One lettuce leaf w/o dressing or croutons.
7. One-third teaspoon of peanut butter; no jelly.
8. One-half slice American cheese.

  That’s just some of the stuff on the list. I know surviving on that is going to be next to impossible.

  “Lord, please help me. In Jesus’ name, amen,” I pray quietly, still clutching the list.

  “Shut up!” Tony snaps, kicking me in the face.

  I crouch defensively against the wall. I'm shaking with fear as he spits curses at me.

  When I continue whimpering prayers, he flogs me with his belt. I'm still pretty used to belt beatings. I refuse to cry.

  “Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping,” Rachelle offers, smiling sweetly.

  I’ve been secretly hoping maybe the lack of food will be all I’ll have to really worry about from her. I can handle a couple slaps, being pushed, and being starved. But I'm so wrong words barely exist to describe it.

  I gaze despondently around the room she led me to; it’s the laundry room. The vinyl floor is so dirty I can’t tell what color it is. It’s moldy and rotted through in places. The walls are covered in mildew and mold. It reeks. There’s a filthy red blanket-rug thing spread out along one wall on the floor. The door’s a pristine white, which really shows compared to the filth in the room; it has slats on it and has a locking doorknob and deadbolt.

  “That’s your bed,” she tells me, pointing to the blanket-rug thing.

  There are no blankets or pillows, except for the one I'm to sleep on. I have nowhere to put my few but precious belongings. But I'm grateful for someplace to sleep.

  I'm locked in the laundry room while they do God only knows what.

  Crouching on the rug, I learn it’s actually very soft. I decide to text Lily and Talia and let them know what’s going on.

  Within seconds my phone is vibrating in my hand. It’s a text from Talia.

  Hey, cutie. Keep your head up; it’ll get better. J  the text reads.

  Her words make me smile. I really like Talia. She’s kind, friendly, and funny.

  I'm trying. I'm scared. L  I text back.

  I tell Lily about the diet when she texts me with more encouragement. I also ask how Lulu is. Lately, I’ve noticed changes in Lily. Whenever she and I are around Talia, she becomes sarcastic, cutting, and almost cruel to either of us. I'm not really sure why.

  I think she misses you. I miss you. L Lily’s next text reads.

  Sighing, I tug my homework from my backpack.

  I try to ignore my growling stomach as I work on my English paper, which is due tomorrow. I'm writing about how God has helped me to change. I finish the paper just as the couple walks into the house.

  They leave me locked in the laundry room while they eat. I whimper hungrily; even though it’s meat, it smells amazing.

  “Save some of that for later, slut,” Tony snaps, kicking the laundry room door.

  I'm let starve tonight. I don’t understand why they’re doing this, but I know people don’t need a reason to be cruel.

  Tony rapes me again before the night’s over. He films it this time; he threatens to post it on the Internet if I misbehave anymore while I live with them. Since I have no idea what they consider ‘misbehaving,’ it’s pretty much guaranteed to end up online.

  Why couldn’t they leave me where I was? Where I was safe and happy, I wonder, hugging my knees as I curl up on the blanket.

  At school, Edward is bent on torturing me. Every chance he gets, he either hits me or makes snide remarks. I let it go; fighting has never gotten me anywhere but in more trouble.

  “Avriel! Are you okay?” Lily calls from across the cafeteria.

  Even though I know her, I back away timidly. It takes me a few minutes to decide to drag my sorry butt to her table.

  “No, I'm not,” I admit, dropping my eyes to the bruises on my arms from being dragged out of the laundry room earlier.

  “Do you wanna come over today?”

  “I need it.”

  “How’d your paper go?”

  “I got an A.”

  This would’ve made me happy before; now, it’s all I can do to give her a broken half-smile.

  I feel at  home when I get to the barn. Lulu whinnies excitedly when she sees me.

  “Do you wanna learn how to do halter?” Lily asks.

  “I don’t wanna leave,” I admit quietly.

  “They’re trying to get you back.”

  I have fun today. I manage to let go and relax. Until my foster family’s car pulls into the drive.

  “Avriel, go in the house,” Lily tells me.

  “I’ll be fine,” I reply.

  I will not run away like a coward. I will face them and get the beating I deserve.

  Tony is red-faced with anger as he climbs out of the SUV.

  “You miserable brat!” he yells as he strides towards us, startling Lulu.

  “Easy, girl. Whoa. It’s okay,” I soothe, petting her neck until she quiets.

  Tony’s carrying a DVD of the films he made of me. I never hated anyone before, but I hate this…person. I hate how he treats me, how he touches me. I hate everything about him. But there’s nothing I can do. Telling won’t help; I’ll just be sent to someplace worse.

  “Guess what, you little whore? This is going on the Internet when we get home. And I placed on ad on Craigslist. You’ll be earning your meals now. And making me some cash,” Tony says lightly, smirking as he waves the DVD case in the air.

  I hear a choked sob followed by a broken, plaintive ‘No’. I hate that I'm so pathetic now I’ll plead. I hate that Lily knows what I am. I hate that I’m living a rerun.

  “Did you just say no?” Tony barks, slugging me in the ribs.

  I gasp under the blow but say nothing.

  “Get away from him! He didn’t do anything!” Lily begs, trying to get between us.

  He shoves Lily hard; her back strikes the white paddock fence with a thump.

  “Don’t touch her! If you wanna push someone, push me,” I growl, moving to stand over Lily.

  “Oh, aren’t you sweet? You’re gonna be black and blue by the time I'm through with you,” he barks, slugging me in the stomach.

  Just when I think things couldn’t get any worse, Mariah comes home while he’s beating me to a pulp.

4: 4

                                                        4

 “What are you doing to him?” Mariah shouts angrily, rushing towards us.

  “He deserves this!” Tony snarls, shoving me into the dirt.

  “How? Avriel’s a good kid.”

  I hate this. I’d rather be beat up by Edward a hundred times than have people I care about see this happen.

  Finally, when I can barely stand and am gasping for breath, he stops.

  “Family Services doesn’t wanna do anything about this,” Mariah spits angrily.

  “He deserves this,” Tony says again.

  I nod brokenly in agreement.

  Three weeks pass slowly. I’ve become dangerously depressed. I’m a wreck. I feel dead and beaten-down inside. I never smile or laugh or joke around with anyone. The only time I look remotely near happy is when I’m with horses, but not even horses ease the pain. I’m broken. School becomes my only way out during the week. During the weekend, I'm either locked in the laundry room or dumped with the Lopezes, which I need. I’ve started cutting to cope, but I'm careful to hide it from everyone.

  “Avriel, do you wanna go out?” Talia asks, touching my forearm gently as I sit at my desk.

  We’re waiting for the English teacher to come in; we both get there early so we can talk. Usually, it’s fine, unless she decides to bring up my dating life or, rather, lack thereof.

  “I'm not good enough,” I reply, moving my arm.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “I don’t care! I don’t deserve a girlfriend!” I snap angrily.

  I don’t know why I am so angry. It isn’t really Talia. It’s just everything. Life in general.

  She doesn’t pressure me to date her, which is definitely more respect than I’ve had from anyone in a long time. Especially Tony.

  After he put more of the videos on the Internet last night, he raped and beat me. I can barely walk from the abuse. I still ache from it. I have more abuse to look forwards to when I get home; Tony informed me I have a ‘client’ after school. But I deserve it.

  I get pulled aside after class by Ms. Thompkins. It worries me; I don’t think I was doing anything bad. I was, though, apparently.

  “Avriel, are you okay? You really have me worried,” she says, gently resting her hand on my scrawny shoulder.

  I don’t bother flinching. There’s no need to make things worse.

  “I'm fine,” I lie.

  ‘Fine’ doesn’t mean feeling dead inside or feeling like hurting myself is the only way to get some relief from this…pressure inside my head.

  “You need to see the school counselor. The way you behave isn’t normal for a seventeen-year-old boy.”

  Her voice is gentle, but I still feel like I’m being punished.

  I lift my dead brown eyes to her face. Or where I assume her face is. I have been blind for a week. Rachelle accused me of checking out her husband, so she burned my eyes with a lit candle while Tony held me down. The pain was bad enough I blacked out.

  “Are your fosters hurting you?” she asks carefully.

  Would you people please just leave me alone? You aren’t helping. I don’t wanna talk about it. Any of it. So just stop, I think irritably, shifting my backpack on my shoulder.

  I sigh softly. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to tell her about my blindness—No one knows I’m blind, not even Lily or Talia—or the other tortures that currently make up my life. As far as Lily and Talia are concerned, I’m just sick and in need of extra help.

  “You’re gonna see the counselor after school,” she tells me.

  I have to have Talia help me around school, since Lily is away at a horse show. I hate being so reliant on others, but I don’t have that much of a say. It makes Edward bully me more often and worse.

  “What happened to your eyes?” Talia asks pointedly at lunch.

   Great. She finally happens to notice.

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” I reply, trying to shut her out.

  “You’re worrying me, Avriel.”

  “I'm fine. I have to see the counselor after school’s over.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Of course she thinks so. She isn’t the one needing fixed. But I don’t care. I'm not going to open up to anyone. Or let anyone else in.

  My resolve crumbles in Mr. Burr’s office. For one thing, the office is comfortably warm to my always-cold body. The rock music playing softly in the background is somehow comforting. He’s nice enough to make me forget strange men scare me. He listens quietly as I tell what they did. I don’t open up much; I'm afraid to. What I do tell him is enough to make me fall apart a few times. He comforts me gently during the breakdowns…when I let him anyway. Most of the time, when I break down, I simply curl into as tiny a ball I can manage and refuse to let him touch me.

  “Avriel, I wanna see you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday,” he tells me.

  “I wish I could run away,” I admit unwillingly.

  “What they’re doing to you needs to end.”

  I am in so much trouble when I get home!

  “You filthy little whore! I hate you!” Rachelle screams, slamming me into the wall.

  I whimper softly from the pain. Apologizing won’t do any good, so I say nothing. She slugs me in the junk with one hand and in the head with the other. I crumple to the floor. She laughs at me and starts kicking my ribs apart.

  “Please. Stop,” I beg, hating myself as I do.

  I am weak for doing it. This is why I’m always being hurt; I am weak and pathetic.

 I’m beaten until almost every inch of my body is bloodied. By the time Tony comes home, I can barely get up. When he gets done selling me for the night, I have to crawl. I hate myself. But not as much as I hate them. And then I'm locked in the laundry room with no water. Because that obviously makes everything so much better.

  At this point, I feel as if God has abandoned me. If I could, I’d take my own life.

  I begin to shut myself off from everyone. I don’t open up in counseling any more; counseling isn’t going to help if I’m going to die. I no longer speak to Lily or Talia. Forget self-harm. I want out of this big, awful, horrible nightmare I call my life.

  I start rapidly refining my plan for suicide. I don’t care how wrong it is; I am tired of living like this. Running won’t help; I’ll be forced into a worse home. It isn’t worth it anymore. Not life, not riding, not my friends, none of it makes my suffering worth anything. It only takes two days for me to decide how to do it. 

5: 5

                                                          5

  The knife has just been lifted to my wrist when my phone rings. Startled, I drop the knife. My wrist is cut in the process but it’s shallow and not life-threatening. Unfortunately.

  Angry, I answer my phone. I'm not sure why; I’ve been letting my calls go through to voicemail.

  “What?!” I snap.

  “I was gonna ask you out,” Talia says meekly.

  Great. Now I’ve managed to upset one of the few people who might actually give a crap.

  “Sorry I scared you. You can’t date a dead person, which is what I'm gonna be in a little bit.”

  Maybe I'm going crazy. Maybe part of me wants to live. I don’t know why I am saying this stuff. Why I don’t just hang up.

  “You’re gonna kill yourself?”

  “I don’t wanna keep living like this.”

  “How long until you’re eighteen?”

  “I have about seven months.”

  “Stick it out til then and then leave. Lily and I will be here for you.”

  “Maybe I wanna die.”

  I can feel something inside me beginning to break. Funny, I thought I was already completely broken. Apparently, completely broken can lead to being shattered.

  “I know you. You used to love life.”

  I can hear my foster family’s car pull in the driveway. If I don’t get off the phone soon, I’m going to be suffering even more. The fact I'm not in my room isn’t going to make them any happier.

  “Used to. They’re coming!” I hang up the phone hurriedly.

  I try to get in my room before they know I broke their precious rule. But I accidentally bang the stupid door too hard and they hear me. Rachelle is the one who chooses to punish me. She backs me into a corner of the laundry room. She reeks of booze; the smell makes me nauseous.

  “Who were you talking to?” Rachelle asks, slashing something sharp across my lifted forearm.

  I don’t know how she knows I was on the phone. I'm so stupid!

  Great. I'm cornered by a sadistic drunk who plans on slicing me up. At least my plan would’ve been faster, I think, swallowing nervously.

  “N-n-n-no one,” I stammer quickly.

  “Liar!”

  She slashes the knife across my thigh.

  I want her to kill me. But I also want her to stop.

  “Who called you?” she asks, slicing my side.

  “A friend,” I reply, wincing in pain.

  “And what did I tell you about talking on the phone without permission?”

  She slides the knife over my stomach. It’s shallow. I don’t know how I feel about that; if the cut was deeper, I’d bleed out quicker.

  “It’s against the rules.”

  She continues slashing away at my skeletal body. I’m partially glad someone else is doing the hard work for me. And partially terrified she will kill me.

  She apparently does have a heart because she calls an ambulance when I start bleeding heavily. I’m starting to get woozy, but it isn’t enough for me to pass out, just enough to make me unsteady.

  I’m conscious—barely—during both the trip in the ambulance and while having my wounds stitched.

  Let me die! Just stop trying to save me; I don’t wanna be saved! I scream inside my head, my bony fingers curling into fists.

  “Any chance these are self-inflicted?” a nurse asks, her lilting voice concerned.

  “The woman claimed she did it; I believe it. Look at these marks,” the male doctor’s thin, reedy voice pipes, brushing a light hand by the wounds on my bony shoulders from this morning’s beating.

  I lash out at his touch. Judging from his gasp, I get him somewhere good.

  “Why would anyone do this to a kid? Especially one that’s blind.”

  “Because some people are downright sick. Are you in pain?”

  The doctor seems to have recovered from the punch I gave him.

  I shake my head quietly. So what I’m hurting? When has that been anything new?

  “We notified your previous foster home, the Lopez family, and they’re gonna be taking care of you until Family Services decides what to do,” the doctor informs me.

  It doesn’t really make sense to me for them to place me with the Lopezes when they’ve been accused of hurting me. But I guess they know what they’re doing.

  I’m transferred to a regular hospital room for the time being. I'm just starting to get sleepy from one of the meds in my IV, but I’m afraid of what I’ll dream of—or wake up to—if I sleep. Lately, I’ve been having nightmares about the abuse.

  Just as I begin to drift, the sound of multiple footsteps startle me awake. The first thought in my head is Rachelle and Tony are coming to hurt me.

  “Knock, knock. Can we come in?” Mariah asks from the hall.

  “Sure,” I sigh, relieved.

  “Lily didn’t come; she’s pretty hurt.”

  “I'm sorry I hurt her.”

  “She isn’t hurt from just that; one of the horses hurt her.”

  “What happened?”

  “Avriel, we’ll talk about that later. Right now, we’re here to talk to you.”

  As painful as it is, I roll onto my stomach. I might as well get it over with.

  “Fine. I know I was bad,” I tell them.

  “Not that kind of talking. An actual conversation, Avriel,” Jared explains patiently.

  I just look at them. I don’t care if Jared decides to paint the room red with my blood; I’d like for him to. It’ll happen eventually anyway.

  “We’re gonna take care of you for as long as they’ll let us, but you gotta help us, Avriel. We’re putting you in therapy. We want you to wanna get better, okay? We know you were trying to kill yourself before this happened,” Mariah tells me.

  “I wish they would’ve let me die,” I answer quietly.

  “Avriel, you know life can be good.”

  “No, it’s only good for a little while. Just when I think someone might actually give a crap about me, the rug gets yanked out from under my feet. Besides, I'm blind. No one wants a blind kid.”

  “We were already warned about your blindness, and we’ve got everything set up to make things easier for you.”

  I'm slightly surprised, but I know it won’t last. I'm unlovable. Unwantable. So why should I try? Why should I get used to it? If I do, it’ll just hurt worse when everything falls apart again.

  “When do I leave here?” I ask, my voice hard.

  “Next week probably. They wanna get you stronger before they send you home,” Jared answers.

  “Great. I don’t wanna be here.”

  “Avriel, you have to be here,” Mariah tells me firmly.

  I try to ignore them after that.

  It’s not their fault I'm angry. They could’ve fought harder to keep me! But at least they’re nice to me. That won’t last long. Once they see how screwed-up I am, they won’t want me. And then I’ll be on the streets or in another crap home! When are they bringing dinner? I'm so hungry! I argue with myself, huffing angrily when my hunger distracts me from an important mental conversation.

  The sound of light footsteps entering the room startles me. Whoever it is brought food; it smells too good to be anywhere near hospital food.

  “Avriel, I brought you some food,” Talia tells me, setting the food on the bedside tray.

  “McDonald’s habanero ranch quarter pounder, large fries, chocolate shake, large Coke, and an apple pie?” I guess.

  “You knew that just from smell?” Mariah asks, surprise coloring her voice.

  “Blindness strengthens hearing and smell,” I explain, trying to keep the anger and coldness from my voice.

  The food tastes amazing! It’s been forever since I’ve been able to eat my fill.

  During the next week, either Mariah or Jared visits with me, and the other stays with Lily. Talia brings me food. But I remain closed off and distanced. Getting close to them—feeling safe—will only hurt both them and me.

  “Avriel, I promise you’ll be safe,” Mariah tells me after I’ve been in here for a week.

  I snort and roll my blind eyes in reply. I’d rather not talk to them about what I’ve been through; I know they’ll hate me.

  She smoothes my frizzy hair gently as she keeps talking. She tells me about the new filly they bought and her obsession with playing in water. I know she isn’t expecting any answers from me; I don’t feel like giving any polite ones.

  “Soon as the doc comes in, you’re free to go home,” she tells me.

  I'm not happy about needing assistance to get in and out of the car.

  “I promise I'm fine,” I lie, pasting a charming smile on my lips.

  Tears spring to my eyes when the sounds and smells of the horses hit me; I wish this really could be home. But if they see inside—see how shattered I really am—they won’t want me. In fact, I bet they’ll trip over themselves to see who could throw me out faster.

6: 6

                                                                      6

  “You’re in your old room,” Mariah tells me.

  I nod silently.

  “Everything’s been rearranged to make it easier on you,” she adds.

  “Thanks,” I mutter gruffly.

  “You’re welcome, Avriel.”

  I find my way around the room sightlessly as I unpack.

  Light, cautious footsteps sound in the hall and snag my attention.

  “You’re home,” Lily says, disbelieving.

  “I don’t have a home,” I reply.

  “Do you wanna visit Lulu? I could guide you if you wanna go for a ride.”

  “Maybe later. Didn’t you get hurt?”

  “Yeah. I'm okay. Twizzler bucked me off, and I broke my arm.”

  “Look, Lily, I'm tired.”

  She leaves me be.

  I don’t care that I was rude to her. I know she’s probably only my friend because she pities me. I know I'm a pathetic excuse for a person.

  The more I think this, the more depressed and in need of a fix I become.

  Shaking with nerves, I step into my bathroom. I go by feel until I find one of the razor blades I brought with me. A tight smile forms on my lips at the feel of the cold metal in my fingers; it means relief. I’ll get to feel something besides this awful pressure in my head and around ribs keeping me from breathing. It’ll make the voice in my head shut up for a while. Physical pain I can control is better than this mental stuff I can’t. I press it just hard enough to my wrist to draw blood, but it’s hard to tell how deep I'm cutting without eyes. The pain of the cut and the feel of my hot blood dripping down my hand stops my world from spinning out of control. For now.

  I'm quick and careful to hide the evidence. If they were to find out, I don’t wanna know how they’d punish me. I mean, I guess nothing’s worse than being blinded by having a burning candle pressed to your eyes. But I don’t wanna find out.

  I shrug on a long-sleeved shirt and attempt going downstairs. I was barely graceful when I could see; now, I'm about as coordinated as a figure-skating elephant. I stumble over something—probably my own foot—and fall down the last three steps.

  “Avriel, are you okay?” Mariah asks, starting to help me up.

  “I'm fine,” I snap, standing slowly.

  I glare at her sightlessly. I do not want her help. I do not need her help…or her pity. That’s all she could possibly have for me anyway. No one could ever love someone like me.

  “Watch your tone,” she tells me firmly yet gently.

  Part of me wants to beg her forgiveness but the other part, the stronger part, doesn’t care what she does to me.

  “What’s going on, sweetie? I know things were rough, but I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong,” she says.

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” I reply coldly.

  “Alright.”

  I stalk out to the barn. I know where Lulu’s stall is by memory: First stall on the back wall to the right of the rear door. I need the mare right now. The only time I feel safe and secure is when I'm around the horse.

  “Hey, Lulu. How are you, pretty girl?” I murmur to the mare, rubbing her neck.

  She snorts and nuzzles my hands. I’d nearly forgotten how soft her muzzle is. Her nose bumps impatiently against my pockets.

  “No treats,” I tell her, sinking to the stall floor.

  Lily finds me sleeping in the straw. I haven’t been sleeping good, so I'm really tired.

  “Avriel, do you wanna go for a ride?” she asks.

  I nod quickly. I'm halfway civil when I ride, but I'd still rather be alone.

  She lunges Lulu while I ride. It feels so good to have a horse under me. To feel the wind whipping my face and the sun warming my back. I feel free.

  Next thing I know, Lulu twists and bucks under me. I can’t do anything but try to hang on. I fly off and end up with a face-full of dirt.

  “Whoa!” Lily yells.

  Something heavy and hard pounds into my arm and back.

  “Whoa! Easy girl! Avriel, are you okay?” Lily calls.

  Finally, the hoofbeats stop.

  The burning in my arm and back, however, has only increased.

  “Avriel? I know you’re alive,” Lily says.

  “I'm hurt,” I whisper.

  “What’s hurt?” She kneels next to me in the sand.

  “My back. And my arm.” I'm in a lot of pain.

  She ties Lily up and runs for the house.

  Groaning, I try to stand. It hurts way too much.

  “Can you stand?” Mariah asks.

  I shake my head.

  “I'm not moving him,” Mariah tells us.

  I'm almost grateful for her concern, but I choke the gratitude before it can blossom into something dangerous.

  It takes over an hour for the ambulance to get here. I hated ambulances when I could see, but I find them terrifying now that I'm blind.

7: 7

8: 8

                                                                           8

  Friday, the day of my surgery, comes too quickly. I'm afraid of what could go wrong, despite the surgeon’s constant assurances I’ll be fine. Because the procedure’s an offshoot of LASIK, I won’t have any bandages or stitches. Fortunately the surgery goes well.

  It seems weird being able to see again. Everything’s blurry, like I have water in my eyes. I can’t help staring at everything I see; it’s so fascinating.

  Maybe I’ll be good enough now? Ha! As if. I’ll never be good enough for anyone, I think, staring out the window on the drive home.

  Wanting to stay out of the way, I curl up on my bed with the journal I was given when I first started living here. I flip past the happy pages when I was sure they could love me until I find a blank page. My hands are shaking as I start to write; I don’t want to be caught doing anything that could get me in trouble. I let my pain and fear pour onto the pages.

  I don’t remember a time, really, when I didn’t feel like this. When I looked at the sunrise and honestly thought it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Well, metaphorically, since this is the first time in months I can actually see the sunrise. It’s been a long time since I’ve found beauty in anything. Not even the horses help. I don’t know how to get better. I don’t even feel alive. I mean, yeah, I have a heartbeat and I'm breathing, but I'm not really alive. I'm just here. I'm just a lump of skin and bone. I am broken, I write, not caring that I can barely see to write or read what I’ve scribbled down.

  Sighing, I shove the journal under my pillow and stumble downstairs. I need to find something to do before I go crazy. The depression is so bad today it’s almost a physical pain.

  “How’re you feeling?” Mariah asks.

  “Okay. Seems weird seeing again,” I reply.

  “Talia called while we were gone. She wanted to know if you were free tonight.”

  “I don’t wanna date.”

  “Have you told her that?”

  “She’s stubborn.”

  Without meaning to, I’ve gotten closer than I should. I scramble around in my head to put the walls back up. To jerk the mask back in place.

  “You’ve had an eventful week,” Mariah notes.

  “It’s been okay,” I answer stiffly.

  “Go call Talia. She’s probably waiting to hear from you.”

  Talia is excited to hear from me, to say the least.

  “Are you doing better? I wanna visit you,” she bubbles.

  “Not really. I'm treated millions of times better here,” I begin.

  “You’re still depressed?”

  “Yes. Talia, I'm no good for anyone. I'm not good enough to date you.”

  “Are you and Lily dating?”

  “No, I don’t have anyone. I don’t want anyone.”

  “You deserve love and happiness as much as everyone else does.”

  “No, I don’t. I deserved what I got.”

  “You know, just because you’re broken right now doesn’t mean you can’t be put back together. You gotta be broken to be fixed.”

  “I can’t be fixed, Talia! I'm not salvageable. I'm irreparably damaged. I'm ruined. Don’t waste your time trying to fix me ‘cause I'm not worth it.”

  She’s quiet for a few minutes. I'm frustrated with her.

  “Do you wanna get better? Avriel, people believe in you. People wanna help you. But it won’t do any good if you don’t want to help yourself. If you don’t wanna get better,” she says softly.

  “I'm not sure if I can get better. I want to. I don’t like feeling this way,” I mumble.

  “Feeling what way?”

  “Never mind. I said too much.”

  “Are you still praying?”

  “I gave up on God a long time ago.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time to un-give up.”

  I sigh angrily. At least I'm feeling something.

  “Why? I became a Christian, and I got sent to that place,” I snap.

  “Because God can put you together better than the doctors can. Better than the meds. Better than your own way of trying to feel. Without Him, you’re not really whole,” she tells me calmly.

  Something stirs inside me. A whisper to surrender, to go back to God. To let Him heal me.

  “What if He doesn’t want me? Why should He want me? I'm not good. I'm not good enough. I’ll never be good enough. I don’t deserve love,” I whisper, panic beginning to creep into my voice.

  “He still wants you, Avriel; that’s why you survived. Because He made you. No one’s good enough to be saved. No one deserves anything God gives, but He doesn’t ask us to deserve it. He asks that we accept it,” she murmurs.

  Like a starving man being offered bread, I want to go back. I want to let Him love me. My resolve’s beginning to crumble.

  “Am I too broken?” I ask.

  “God can fix you; you have to let Him, though,” she answers.

  The last piece of my resolve teeters on the edge before crashing and shattering into pieces.

  “T-Talia, will you pray with me?” I whisper, my voice rough and uneven.

  “Yes! Lord, I believe You sent Your Son Jesus to die for me, a sinner. I failed You, and I need You to save me. I confess my sins before You now. Lord Jesus, I'm asking You into my heart. Save me. Purge me. In Jesus’ name, amen,” she squeals.

  “Thank you. I feel like an idiot,” I tell her.

  “You’re not an idiot. You’re welcome. I won’t ask you about dating; I'm okay with just being your friend.”

  “Maybe when I'm better. I’ll see you Sunday?”

  “Yep. See you then!”

  Lily’s glaring at me from the top of the stairs when I hang up.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, backing away instinctively.

  “Boys are idiots,” she replies, stalking over to the door.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “I don’t wanna talk right now, Avriel.”

  She stomps out to the barn. Frustrated, I go back in the kitchen with Mariah.

  “Welcome home, Avriel,” Mariah tells me, smiling.

  “Thanks. What’s up with Lily?” I reply.

  “She’s upset because she doesn’t think you like her.”

  “Ugh! Can I borrow Lulu and go be a hermit in the woods?”

  “When your arm and back are healed.”

  It takes me a few seconds to recognize she’s playing, not seriously giving me permission. And then I laugh, really laugh, for the first time in months. Laughter feels alien but good after not doing it for so long.

  Even weirder is the feeling of being alive. For months, I’d felt dead inside. I was a zombie. Nothing helped, not even horses; the horses only took the edge off. Cutting helped somewhat but was only temporary. I'm not sure how to respond to feeling again. It scares me. I'm afraid it’ll be gone and I’ll be stuck feeling nothing again.

  And then tonight, the depression hits me like a tsunami, sending me into my worst anxiety attack ever. My chest hurts so badly I almost think I'm having a heart attack. I can’t breathe, but somehow I'm managing ragged, gasping sounds that scare me worse. I can’t think past the way I'm feeling. I can’t concentrate on whatever Mariah and Jared are telling me; Lily’s still too mad at me to help. No matter how hard I struggle, I can’t get control. Mariah pulls me close and starts stroking my hair soothingly. Despite the fact this reminds me of my mother, I'm still an inconsolable wreck. Finally, I'm given a sedative when all other methods have been exhausted. It takes enough of the edge off for me to breathe.

  “Goodnight, Avriel. Jared said he wants to stay in here with you because you’re not doing well,” Mariah tells me, leaning down to kiss my hair.

  She must think my panic attack’s close enough to over for me to be safe, I think, managing a tiny nod.

  My panic attack is far from over. I'm still wrestling for control at two in the morning. Jared stays with me without complaining. By six, I've made it through the panic attack. I’ve never been so glad, so grateful for Sunday to come.

  “You feeling up to goin’?” Jared asks.

  “I need to go,” I whisper.

  “Okay. Go ahead and get ready.”

  Today is still a bad one. I'm pushing against the cloying cloud of numbness threatening to overwhelm me again.

  Go ahead and cut. No one has to know. Just one little cut. Go on, Avriel. Pick up the razor blade, an icy voice whispers in my head.

  Instead of obeying and slicing my arms open again, I choose to take a stand. I will not let the devil bully me any longer. I will not let him have authority over me any more.

  “Satan, I bind and rebuke you in the name of Jesus. You have no authority over me. You have no right to attack me. I am a child of God, and I have authority over you. I command you to go back to Hell where you belong, in the name of Jesus,” I growl, digging the four razor blades from the drawer.

  I toss the blades into my trash can. I know that part of my life is over, and I will never go back. Part of me still longs for the past, but I ignore the tiny pangs.

  Grimacing, I slide the rubber bracelets onto my wrists. I am beyond ashamed of my cutting scars and the still-fresh cuts. I'm praying for understanding from them. Love and not condemnation.

  But I deserve condemnation, I tell myself, fastening my Star of David and cross necklace.

  I glance in the mirror long enough to see my hair’s not frizzed out before hurrying downstairs. What I saw in the mirror bothers me; I look as shattered as I feel.

  I don’t deserve to be whole. I made these decisions, and I deserve to suffer the effects. I deserve to stay broken, I think bitterly on my way out the door.

  No one questions me on my cuts. Broken as I am, they accept me all over again. And I am home again.

  A few minutes before the start of service, a strange Man beckons me to Him. I know to distrust strangers, especially men, but I plan on causing a ruckus if anything suspicious happens.

  The Stranger is plain in looks but a kind of power emanates from Him. He’s smiling at me warmly like He’s known me my whole life. I feel as if I know Him too, although I’ve never seen Him before.

  “Avriel, will you let Me make you whole?” He asks.

  His voice is warm. Loving.

  “How? Why?” I whisper as it begins to sink in Who I'm talking to.

  “Will you trust Me? You don’t have to stay broken,” He tells me, lifting my face.

  Looking at His face, I know I'm looking at love itself. At life itself. There’s no condemnation anywhere in His features.

  “I don’t deserve it, Yeshua,” I mumble, looking away in shame.

  “No, you deserve freedom, Avriel. Let Me pick up your pieces; no child of Mine has to stay broken,” He answers patiently.

  At these words, I fall to my knees at His feet. He’s offering me everything I don’t deserve. Everything I need and want.

  “Will you let Me heal you?” He asks softly.

  Unable to speak, I nod. I am undone.

  “Thank You. For healing me. For redeeming me. For seeing everything I am and was and who I really am and loving me anyway,” I whisper, finally finding my voice.

  “Be made whole and rise, My child,” He tells me.

  Instantly, everything broken in me is restored. No, not restored. Made new.

  To my shock, He’s gone. I'm left with the scent of anointing oil in the air and the beat of my fixed heart in my chest.

  Shocked and smiling, I make my way to my family.

  “Who were you talking to?” Mariah asks.

  “You didn’t see Him?” I reply.

  “No, there was no one there.”

  “Yeshua healed me.”

  “Your scars are gone.”

  I lift my arm tentatively to look. Both the scars and the cuts are gone. It’s as if I never cut in the first place. And it puts me more in awe of Him.

  “What was it like?” Mariah asks.

  “Amazing. Unreal. Terrifying,” I reply.

  “Terrifying?”

  “Because I'm human. I'm unclean. I made a mess of my life. Who am I to be allowed into the presence of a holy God? He shouldn’t have welcomed me into His presence; I deserved destruction instead.”

  Everything seems new today. It feels like I’ve never seen colors before or felt the sun warm my face. Like living for the first time. But it feels unreal, as if it could all disappear in an instant.