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SMOKE BURNED EVA'S LUNGS AS she gazed upon the darkening sky. For once, snow did not fall from the deep gray sky to blanket the ice that had not yet melted.
The girl wished for something stronger than a cigarette—something that could truly distract her from her painful, irrational thoughts. She found that, even after the constant years of suffering, Eva missed her parents.
Emphasis on irrational.
But Eva's parents were the only ones she had left. Her older siblings, Matthew and Mallory, were unreachable—not only did Eva not know their numbers or current addresses, but she didn't even own a cell phone. She was alone.
Well, Eva argued internally, not quite. The Gallaghers were kind to take her in; they had become a part of her life, whether she liked it or not. But it wouldn't last, Eva knew. It never did.
And so she sat alone on the porch, intoxicating her lungs, enduring the cold air's harsh bite. She wore a heavy jacket and jeans now, but they did little to protect the skin beneath. Even when she took off her jacket and set it upon her legs, allowing the chill easier access to her bones, she could not avert her thoughts.
Mr. and Mrs. Healy did not love and had never loved their youngest child. Evangeline. A lifetime of misery...not even her older siblings could protect her. By the time Eva was twelve, they were eighteen and had graduated high school. At their first chance they fled, leaving Eva in the dust, begging for them to take her, too.
Matthew and Mallory never contacted the other Healys again. For all Eva knew, they could have been dead. And it was all right with her; they had left her to die, anyway.
Mr. and Mrs. Healy. They chose drugs and alcohol over Eva. Had let her believe, in their paralyzed states, due to ecstasy, that they were dead. They did meth for a while, and fed Eva the horror stories they believed were true—of the demons dwelling in their presence, soon to kill the whole family. They went crazy and bit each other and broke each other's bones. Eva would cry out, and they would beat her unconscious for the interruption; when she awoke, they would be next to her on the kitchen floor, naked, shameless in the presence of their daughter.
In several fights they attempted to involve Eva. They confided in her their sins and affairs, then threatened her should she ever spill their secrets. Once caught, Eva would be brought into the argument—then beaten viscously for not spilling the truth before. The only time she did so, she was beaten for accusing the other of such a thing, then beaten again for ratting.
Eva had been left bruised and bloody and broken and alone. Why the fuck did she miss those creatures?
Tears streamed down Eva's flushed cheeks. She struck herself in the face, but could not feel it. She touched the lit end of the cigarette to her arm, among an old scar, but could not feel it. Oh, but she could feel the internal pain. A pain with the potential to break bones, to paralyze, to kill. It dwelled deep in her broken heart, beyond reach.
