I could barely see through the tears. The world swam and blurred as if I were underwater. I couldn't breathe, so I might as well have been drowning.
Cowered in the corner of Lincoln's room, I watched the shadows shift on the wall. The streetlight outside cast an eerie glow through the window as the shadows of branches distorted and crept along the walls. I watched Lincoln as he slept, wishing I could find sleep.
But there were monsters in that house. Devils. They crept along the walls and hid under the bed. They lurked in the shadows and behind closed doors. I tried to keep myself in reach of the light, but the glow of the window was too small and I couldn't move to turn on the light switch. I didn't want to wake Lincoln either.
I tried to measure my breathing. Like Mom taught me. But they just came in short, choked gasps. Quiet. Erratic. My mind couldn't process or even conceive of what happened. The house was shrinking around me and I couldn't stand it anymore. So, I grabbed my jacket and slid Lincoln's window open. I turned to look at him once more and cringed. I slipped out the window and tiptoed down the roof. Shimmying down the lattice, I leapt the last few feet to the lawn. Upright, I swayed. The night breeze nearly knocked me over. With a heave, I vomited right there on Lincoln's lawn.
Through the tears and the gasps, I ran for where my bike was leaned up against the side of their house. Every part of my body screamed. My bones were on fire. My blood boiled. Every nerve was alive with terror and rage as I mounted my bike. I darted from their lawn and onto the street, racing far, far away from the monsters that chased me.
I fought the urge to scream, to cry out for help.
Desperate, I wanted nothing more than to find Dad, tell him what happened. But the shame and the guilt tightened itself around my stomach and pressed down on me like a blanket made of stone, smothering me, suffocating me.
And I knew.
I could never tell anyone what happened.
But most of all, I could never come back to this place.
Never.