right.
Mark takes advantage of the privilege, sometimes telling me to clean his room nude.
Elijah’s not like that, though. He’s sweet. Considerate. Even when he has to put me away like he did last night, I know it’s not because he wants to. He doesn’t like it the way Mark and Papa do.
I step on a twig, pinching the bottom of my foot. Flicking it away, I look around me again. Papa is napping, and the boys are working on Papa’s truck. An oil change.
A pail in hand, I head toward to the compost pile Mark helped me make last summer. Papa lets me keep scraps in the pail beneath the sink, but once it’s half full, I have to take it out. He doesn’t want rats in the house.
As I near the bin, a figure steps out from behind a large bush. I freeze. I’m near the tree line. Too close.
“Hey.” It’s him again. He’s not as obvious without the orange and yellow clothes. Today, he blends in more with brown and green camo gear. I stare at him without moving, then look over my shoulder. We’re alone as best as I can tell.
“Shit.” He starts to walk toward me, his eyes focused on my legs. Papa was in a fit of rage when he brought that switch back into the kitchen last night. The welts and cuts have scabbed, but my calves, thighs, and ass are littered with them.
“Go,” I say in my angry voice. I don’t get to use it that often. Never, really. Except with Elijah every once in a while. He doesn’t take offense as easily.
“I was hoping I’d see you again.” He pulls out a phone. It looks like the one Papa keeps in his bedroom. Only he gets to touch it.
“What are you doing?” I ask, keeping my voice from carrying. “You can’t be here.”
“Look, I know what it’s like. Staying in a shitstorm because you don’t know any better.”
I blink a few times, but don’t speak. It’s not like he’s listening to me anyway.
“I’ve worked with girls like you before. A long time ago,” he clarifies. He taps on his device, then turns it toward me. It’s a picture.
I check to make sure we’re still unseen, then step closer. It’s a girl around my age. Her hair is knotted and messy around her dirty face.
“I don’t look like that.” I point.
He smiles. “No, you don’t. She was hurt real bad when I found her. She was being locked away in a cellar by her father.”
“She was put away?” I ask, then pull back from him. “She must not have been following the rules.”
He frowns. “No. No. It wasn’t her fault. Just like this isn’t your fault.” He motions toward my legs.
“My Papa loves me,” I say, defending the marks. “Papas who love their kids teach them lessons. It’s so we learn. It’s so I’m a good woman.”
“Is that what he tells you?” he asks with disbelief. “Here. Look. This girl got away from her father. I helped her. And look at her now.” He turns the phone around again and swipes his finger over the screen. “Here.” He shows it to me again.
It’s the same girl. I can tell because of her eyes. Bright blue. She’s clean, and her hair is brushed into soft curls around her face. She’s smiling. A man stands beside her, a wide grin on his face. She’s holding a piece of paper in front of her.
“That’s you,” I say, pointing to the picture. No beard, but it’s him.
“Yeah. I’ve put on a few, but that’s me.” He pats his middle. “She graduated from high school. Top of her class. She works at a youth center. She can help you.”
I pull back from him. Help me? High school? What is that? Why would I need to go to school anywhere but here? Papa taught me to read and I can write a little. I make the grocery lists for him. I can cook and I can clean. All the things that make a good woman.
“I don’t need help,” I say, but my resolve is wavering. The woman looked so carefree. So happy.
My feet hurt so bad. My skin still burns from the switch.
He drops his hand to his side, and sighs. “Is your mother here?”
I point to the corner of the lot where the graves are. “She lives there now.”
“Lives there?” He shakes his head. “No. She’s dead there.”
My mind swirls. “Right. I mean, I know.”
“Siblings?” he asks, checking