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Nova

Damaged.

Rotten.

Broke.

That pretty much sums it up.

I’m a damaged girl with a rotten soul. I fucking hate people. Not to mention I’m broke, living in a shitty camper on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t my first choice, but it’s mine, bought with the money I worked my ass off for.

I’m your typical sob story.

My daddy died.

My mother turned into a junkie.

She had men in and out of our shitty shack. She fucked them for dope, for cigarette money, and for food. We had a revolving front door that never stopped spinning, a different man coming through it every couple of days.

Oh, and it didn’t bother her the men she fucked, stopped by my room on their way out the door.

The last one took my virginity.

In more ways than one.

When I had enough at fifteen years old, I burned the fucking house to the ground with my mother and her boyfriend inside. I ran to a neighbor’s house, spewing bullshit about how they were high, and fighting. Next thing I knew, smoke was filling my room.

Everyone bought my story.

The state took custody and shipped me to a foster home. I thought my life would get better, but I was mistaken. The Lancaster house was a force to be reckoned with. I honestly thought if I could survive my mother and her men, I could survive anything.

I was wrong.

The Lancaster’s were strict and if you didn’t follow their rules, you were punished severely. There were six of us in that prison. We were home schooled, to shield us from sin and temptation. They thought keeping us sheltered, more like captives, would curb our wicked ways.

They didn’t teach us shit.

We were servants.

The two younger children spent most of their time on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with toothbrushes and Brillo pads. The two middle kids tended to the lawn and any outside projects, designed to make us look like one, big, happy family. Being the second oldest, I was in charge of cooking all the meals, doing laundry and taking care of the younger children.

Then there was Colt.

The sixteen-year-old, blue-eyed mystery boy who didn’t speak. He was made to wash the vehicles, perform maintenance on whatever needed it, and do the grocery shopping. Because he didn’t talk, they assumed he was safe to leave the home.

I’m not sure what kept him coming back.

He had access to their cars, and they gave him money to buy the things we needed. He could’ve run away and never returned.

But he always came back.

Before I realized he didn’t speak, I tried to talk to him a few times, but when he didn’t respond, I gave up. Assuming he didn’t like me, I kept my distance, tending to my duties all day, every day. I began noticing, no matter what I was doing or where I was, he was always close by. His blue eyes tracked my movements, never letting me out of his sight for long.

When I hadn’t spoken to him for two weeks, he came into my room one afternoon, after returning from the grocery store. He walked to the edge of my bed where I sat, tossing my favorite candy on the mattress. My jaw dropped as I stared at him, stunned. He smirked before walking away, like he didn’t just turn my world upside down. After that, Colt and I would sit next to each other when we could or watch movies together when we were allowed.

No talking.

Just sharing the same space.

I always looked forward to our time together. We didn’t need to speak, being present was enough. As months went by, we formed a unique bond. And him being around kept me out of trouble with our foster parents. Any time they came near me, Colt would stay close by, like I was his to protect.

I sensed darkness behind his beautiful eyes and a part of me always believed the Lancaster’s felt it too. They never gave him any shit and seemed to trust him for the most part, until everything changed.

One night when I was sixteen and he was seventeen, our foster parents confronted us about our relationship. I explained to them over and over that we were just friends. They didn’t believe me. Colt’s silence didn’t help matters, or the way he stood beside me, stone faced, his body filled with tension.

He chose the worst possible time to communicate with me, gripping my hand, squeezing it tightly with reassurance. Mr. Lancaster’s gaze tracked the movement, backhanding me and calling me a liar and a slut. Colt caught me before I hit the floor, his piercing eyes darkening with something evil. In the blink of an eye, he was on my foster father.

He tackled him to the ground, pummeling his face with his fists. I was frozen to the spot, mesmerized as Colt unleashed his rage on the patriarch of the house.

Bones crunched.

Blood from Mr. Lancaster’s face and Colt’s hands mingled together in a hypnotic dance.

So much blood.

Mrs. Lancaster was screaming for him to stop and when she reached for the phone, I pounced. Ripping the receiver from her hand, I smashed it against her temple, and she dropped to the floor, knocked out cold. With my chest heaving from the adrenaline, I turned to Colt, his intense gaze crashing into me, stealing my breath.

The Lancasters were both unconscious as he rose to his feet, closing the distance between us. He fisted my hair with both hands, pressing his forehead to mine. My eyes caught every spec of blood splattered across his face and my heart clenched with the realization that he did it for me.

He leaned in closer, his lips almost touching mine. “I have to leave.”

All the oxygen rushed out of my lungs at the sound of his deep voice. It was raspy from not being used, but it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. My chest fluttered as we watched each other for what seemed like forever, but in reality, it was only a few moments.

I finally found my own voice, my heart racing like never before. Tears filled my eyes at the thought of losing the only person I’ve ever connected with. “I know.”

His lips pressed against mine and the world tipped on its axis. The warmth and softness of his mouth shattered my soul and knowing he was about to leave, the tears I’d kept at bay finally fell.

“Don’t cry, Nova. I’ll never leave you.” He whispered against my lips before kissing me again. Hearing him say my name only intensified the pain. I didn’t want to lose him. If he left, I’d never see him again as long as I lived in that prison.

He pulled away slowly, his expression filled with agony and sorrow. “Give me a ten-minute head start and call the police. Tell them everything.”

“I want to go with you.” I whispered through my tears.

“You can’t right now. I’ll come back for you. I promise.” He swiped the emotion from under my eyes before rushing down the hall.

I stood in the middle of the living room floor, my foster parents lying motionless on either side of me. I had to call the cops and tell them what happened. It was self-defense, surely, he wouldn’t get in trouble. I’d tell them about everything that goes on in this house and how Colt always protects me. I’d never go against him after what he just did.

He came back a few minutes later with a bag filled with clothes. He walked towards me, gripping my hand once he was close. “They’ll take you away from here and put you somewhere safe.” He watched me closely until I finally nodded. “I’ll be around.” He kissed me for the last time, before walking out of the front door, taking what was left of my heart with him.

Two weeks later, I continued my daily routine even though I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

Colt was gone.

The cops didn’t believe me.

They blamed him, saying he was a troubled kid with mental problems. They didn’t remove any of us from the home, instead telling our foster parents to keep a close eye on us. Especially me because I was trouble. Mr. Lancaster spent a couple of days in the hospital from the beating Colt gave him. Mrs. Lancaster had a bump on her head from where I hit her with the phone.

I had a target on my back.

My name was no longer Nova, but ‘little bitch’. They threw random objects at me as I walked through the house. I’d cook dinner and then they’d send me to my room while the rest of them ate. I mostly survived on granola bars and chips that Carson would sneak to me after everyone else went to bed.

If I had the balls to meet their gaze as they demeaned me, I was slapped across the face numerous times until I fell to the floor. I tried locking myself in my room, but after the first time, they took the door off the hinges.

I was in hell.

Alone again.

This time it was worse because I’d finally known kindness. I had experienced what it was like to have someone care about me. And it was all ripped away in the blink of an eye. It would’ve been so easy to end it all, but I couldn’t do it. Not when they’d turn their hatred on one of the smaller kids. I was stuck and slowly started cowering, ignoring my instincts to kill them. I knew it’d look suspicious if people died in another house I resided in.

It all came to a head one night when they didn’t like the dinner I cooked. Mr. Lancaster picked up his plate and threw it across the room. As it exploded against the wall, Mrs. Lancaster started screaming at me, all the other children running for safety.

My legs started moving as I slowly backed out of the kitchen. From the corner of my eye, I saw the front door open, all the kids rushing outside.

Maybe they’re going to get help.

My foster parents paid them no mind, too focused on me, the object of their hatred. Inching closer to the door to make my escape, someone grabbed my wrist, hauling me through the doorway. Before I could look at my savior, they rushed inside, slamming the door behind them.

“He said to run.” Emily whispered, lacing her fingers through mine.

I didn’t have time to think about who he was. I had to get the little ones away from here. “Let’s go.” I nodded, herding the children to a neighbor’s house.

Before we made it across the street, the crackling of flames filled the night sky. The kids started screaming as I watched in awe, another house of horrors going up in smoke. Neighbors came running out of their homes, attempting to shield us from the scene. Sirens blared in the distance as we were shuffled across the street. Multiple strangers consoled the children, but their efforts were wasted on me.

As I watched the house burn to the ground, it took me back to the night I killed my mother. The adrenaline pumping through my veins. The unrelenting fear burning to ash. The relief lifting the heavy weight off my chest.

I didn’t set this fire, but I knew it was done for me.

By the quiet, blue-eyed boy whose darkness showed me the light.

Colt.