They found me when I was six, covered in dirt from head to toe, smelling like my own piss and shit. Nothing but skin and bones, they told me.
I was in the corner of the basement near the unused taps for the washer. It leaked, I remember that much, and that's why I was there, trying to source any form of water for my dry mouth and even dryer throat. I'd tried to turn it before, tried to get more than just the occasional drip the tap would offer.
I was weak then.
I was weak always.
The sound of quiet footsteps on the stairs had my eyes widening and I winced at the pain of my chapped lips cracking when they formed to a smile.
Dad finally remembered me, or so I thought.
I stood taller, my hands behind my back, trying to be the perfect little boy for my parents. Only it wasn't either of my parents who appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh my god," she whispered, her eyes wide as they took me in.
She looked like an angel: curly blonde hair and light grey eyes and the warmest smile I'd ever seen. "You not my mommy," I told her.
She shook her head, her footsteps slow as she approached.
I puffed out my chest and stood taller again, smiling wider at her. She wasn't smiling, though. She was crying—silent cries made obvious by the tears in her eyes. And if there was one thing I was familiar with—it was tears.
She got on her knees in front of me and looked at my naked form. Then she reached out, her finger running across my ribs—something I'd done numerous times before.
I'd count out loud, "One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three." It was as far as I could count.
"What's this?" she asked, her hands moving from my stomach to arm.
"Poo," I whispered, my smile still in place.
She covered her gasp with her free hand and I tilted my head to the side, completely confused by her reaction.
"Where are your clothes, baby?" she asked.
I shrugged.
Then footsteps sounded on the stairs again, heavier and louder than hers, and I looked over her shoulder and waited.
"You not my dad," I told the man standing on the last step.
The angel grasped my hand tighter as she turned to face him. "Evan..."
The man just stood there, unmoving, his eyes right on me. They were blue. The same blue of the sky I could sometimes see from the basement window.
I looked at his hair, black and crazy-like, just like mine.
For a moment they just stared—at me and at each other.
Then the man looked away, sighing as he shook his head from side to side. He planted his hands on his waist and without looking up, he said, "We have to go."
I dropped my gaze, along with my smile and looked down at my feet, biting down on my lip to stop it from trembling. I didn't want to cry—not in front of them—but it was all too much. They were the first people I'd seen in so long and they were leaving.
A single sob escaped before I could stop it and I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn't have to watch them leave. That was the worst part—watching them leave and not knowing when I'd see them again.
"Evan..." the girl cried, her hand tugging mine.
I heard him approaching, but still refused to open my eyes. "It's okay," he said, his breath warm against my ear as he draped his jacket around my shoulders. "We're going to go on a little adventure," he told me, and I nodded even though I had no idea what he meant.
They took a hand each and led me up the stairs. Blindly, I followed them, grateful to be taken away from the basement. "It's okay, baby," the girl said and I breathed for the first time since Evan spoke. Then I opened my eyes—just for her. "I'm Tessa." She smiled down at me. "What's your name, little boy?"
"Chase."
