I remind myself of all the letters I sent him that went unanswered.
I remember every word I ever wrote, every plea he ignored. He broke every promise he ever made and left me to fend for myself against the worst kind of predator. No, there is no room left for him in this battered heart of mine, I just wish my brain would catch up.
Turning the corner, I head toward the park when a muffled cry snags my attention, followed by the sound of scuffling feet. My head snaps in the direction of the alley that separates the laundromat from the Chinese restaurant that closed down last month. I palm the knife in my pocket and listen again, and when I hear a terrified whimper, I run toward it.
“Come on, baby, just a taste. I’ll make it good for you,” a rough voice coaxes as it tugs at the clothing of a teenage girl around my age.
She must sense me there because she turns her head, her horror-filled eyes begging me to help.
Something in my brain flickers. Her inky hair becomes red, her assailant’s jeans and T-shirt morphs into a black suit. The past and present collide, sparking a rage so volatile inside me I feel my blood boiling in my veins.
The next five minutes happen almost in slow motion, with me feeling like a bystander, watching myself shove my knife into the asshole’s back before pulling it out and pushing it in a second time.
He howls in agony, the sound soothing something inside me. I watch him drop to the ground with disinterest before turning to the girl. Her face is so white she looks like a corpse. I slide the knife back into my pocket and reach out my hand. She looks at it, taking in the blood covering my fingers and down to the man who has now gone quiet. Slowly, she reaches out a shaky hand of her own and grabs mine tightly.
I don’t waste time introducing myself, I pull her behind me and run. I run until my legs hurt and my lungs burn, dragging the girl until we are in the part of town that is being rejuvenated or some crap like that. The children’s playground is closed as the area beside it has become a makeshift building site. I pull her around to the section of fencing that’s cut and bent at an angle just wide enough for us both to squeeze through and lead us to the massive climbing frame, slipping inside one of the colorful tubes that children crawl through as they chase their friends. For tonight, it’s the perfect hiding place.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, both of us trying to catch our breath, our fingers still linked together, neither of us willing to let go.
It’s a strange thing being one of the disregarded souls that wander the busy streets. We crave invisibility, and yet the absence of human touch becomes unbearably lonely at times. It always makes me wonder how in a city of thousands a person can go unseen and unheard as if they just up and disappeared. They don’t of course, it’s just once you become one of the many homeless people struggling to survive out here, people look away and stop listening to your pleas for help. It’s 21st Century magic, where a human can stand in a crowd and yet be invisible to everyone around them.
“You okay?” I finally ask her. She doesn’t answer me, though.
“What’s your name?” When I get no reply, I tug on her hand, making her jump.
“I can’t hear you,” she mumbles, so quietly I almost miss it.
“I… I’m deaf. I can’t hear anything.” She sniffs. I squeeze her hand tighter, letting her know I understand, but I don’t. These streets will eat you alive on a good day; they don’t care who you are or what you did to end up as a throwaway kid, but to try to navigate the dangers without one of your basic senses? God, I can’t even imagine.
“Thank you for what you did back there. I can’t go through that again.” She sobs, so I move closer and tug her until she rests her head on my shoulder, letting her cry herself out.
Letting another person in was something I never planned to do, but feeling her crying against me, I sense a kindred spirit in her. I know she can’t be out here without protection; she’ll end up pimped out at best or