When Stella and Anita got in the car, Stella was breathless, "What an ass," she said.
"What happened?" Gracie asked.
"Greg had some not-so-nice things to say about your mothers after you left," Anita said.
"I may have said some unkind things back," Stella admitted, "But I couldn't let him sit there thinking he was better than us because of his money and prejudice framed as family values."
Gracie fumed at how could someone could harbor so much hate for people based on who they love. Her mothers' marriage had no impact on other people's lives whatsoever, so why did it bother him so much? And then another thought crept up on her; if Gracie was forced to live with him, and he found out she was gay, what would he do to her then?
She'd heard of some kids being sent to church counselors and conversion therapy camps where they were told daily that they were wrong or broken just for being themselves. Parts of their identity bullied and beaten out of them until they confirmed to what a cruel society deemed acceptable.
Although life had dealt her a bad hand, Gracie was grateful she'd never had to go through that.
"Does this mean I can't come home?" Gracie asked.
"Not tonight, I'm sorry," Anita sighed, "But we have an appointment with the judge tomorrow, and he'll decide if you can go home while we wait for a custody hearing."
It was the best Gracie could expect. She knew months ago that getting adopted by the Tuckers was too good to be true. As mad as she was at Greg, she was angrier at herself for getting her hopes up, she should've known better.
Anita gave Gracie and her moms five minutes to say goodbye again, while she went into the group home to update Linda on Gracie's situation. One good thing that came out of everything she'd been through was that Anita had been working harder than ever to keep Gracie safe, if it wasn't for John, Gracie was certain she'd still be bouncing around group homes.
Stella and Lilah sat on either side of Gracie in the back seat, wrapping their arms around her and cherishing the moment of privacy.
"Maybe I should just go live with him, I don't want you to have to keep paying lawyers if the judge is just gonna rule in Greg's favor anyway," Gracie was trying to be mature about it, but she was in tears at the thought of being away from her family for another night, let alone moving out completely. But right now, anywhere seemed better than sleeping in the same room as Amber again.
"No, love, you don't need to worry about that, we promised we would fight for you and we will not stop until you're legally ours," Stella squeezed her daughter tight, dreading the moment she'd have to let her go again.
"Just another night, and we'll be back here in the morning," Lilah was crying too, "We love you," she and her wife kissed Gracie on each cheek and walked her to the door, holding her hands and rubbing her back.
Gracie did her best to gather herself before stepping inside, it wouldn't be good for her if Amber saw her crying, but as they walked up the path, Gracie saw some of the girls in the window, looking at her with her mothers. Laughing. Making crude hand gestures. Pretending to gag. She panicked but didn't say anything to her moms, seeing no use in worrying them further. She dropped their hands, said a quick goodbye, and rushed inside. Instantly, she was wracked with guilt for being embarrassed about them.
After dinner that night, the girls were cleaning up the kitchen, it was just Gracie, Amber, and Molly again. Gracie was cleaning the surfaces, Amber mopped the floor, and Molly was tying up the trash bags. Amber hadn't stopped staring at Gracie since she got back, none of the girls had. They'd all been whispering as Gracie walked by, but none of the other girls were as much of a threat as Amber.
When Molly left the room to take the trash out, Amber saw her opportunity. As Gracie was crossing the kitchen, trying to keep some distance from her, the older girl took her by surprise when she grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her backward. Gracie tried to squirm away but then she seized her shoulders and thrust her against the fridge.
"So that's why they keep you around," she menaced, lowering her arms to fold them across her chest, "They're dykes too." Amber wasn't touching Gracie anymore, all that kept her in place was a fear that paralyzed her as she flashed back to all the times Amber made her suffer. "Makes sense, keep the freaks under one roof. It's safer for the rest of us," she said as if she wasn't the bigger threat out of the two of them.
She plucked up the courage to speak directly to Amber for the first time in the two and half days she'd been there, "Let me through."
"Oh, so you can still talk? You know I've missed our little chats."
The life she had led so far taught Gracie to avoid confrontation as a means of survival, and eventually, she started to think maybe she didn't want to be alive anymore. But then she met the Tuckers and they showed her the value of her life, and the importance of standing up for what you believe in to make life better for everyone.
She was cowering away mere seconds ago, but now she was angry. The terror that Amber inflicted usually had Gracie too scared to stand up for herself, but it wasn't just about her anymore. Gracie wanted to stand up for anyone who had ever faced the kind of hate Amber expelled into the world.
She peeled herself off of the fridge door and stood up straight, planting her feet firmly on the floor, "You mean the little chats where you say something about my hair or the way I look and take a whack at face? Or when you tell me how worthless I am and you kick me in the ribs?" She mimicked Amber's stance, and folded her arms, asserting her dominance, "Or maybe it's like that last time, you call me some kind of slur and I end up in the hospital?" By the look on Amber's face, it was clear she wasn't used to her victims opposing her. "Yeah, those were the days," she said sarcastically, "Tell me, is that why no one can stand to be around you?"
Amber took a step back, it was working, all Gracie had to do now was drive the knife in.
"Is that why you have no friends? No boyfriend?" Gracie saw the look on Amber's face, she'd struck a nerve with that last comment and suddenly Amber's relentless torture started to add up. She knew she could have stopped there, but Gracie kept going, "Maybe the reason you're such a bitch is because you can't admit who you really are. What you really are."
Gracie saw it coming when Amber shoved Gracie back with both hands, she managed to stay on her feet, but she was caught off guard when a fist struck her eye, and she stumbled backward. It started throbbing immediately, but the pain wasn't going to stop her this time. Usually, when someone hit Gracie, she'd run away, but she couldn't let Amber win again.
She took a few steps closer to Amber, and got right in her face, "Come out, come out, little girl. You're just like me."
A sense of empowerment rose in Gracie as she shoved past her tormentor, she'd won. Maybe now Amber would finally back down and Gracie could stay in her group home without fearing for her life every time she crossed paths with her roommate.
Gracie turned her back on Amber, smug about her verbal takedown, and went to the sink to start washing the dishes. The room fell silent except for the clanking of dishes and sloshing water, it was almost peaceful.
She reached up to grab a scrubbing brush from the cupboard above her, and while her arm was still outstretched, a force hit the side of her body and she jolted to the side. Amber's hand was on her shoulder again as she rammed Gracie into the edge of the countertop, she felt like she'd been split in two, but then another feeling overpowered the sting in her spine.
A cold sensation landed inside her belly and the wind was knocked out of her. It was almost like she'd been punched except she hadn't felt the impact of a fist, and the sound of something tearing was new. Amber was leaning over her, one hand on Gracie's shoulder, the other wedged between the two girls, seemingly caught on something. No, holding something.
The sick smile that Amber usually wore was gone, and she looked at Gracie through glowering eyes, breathing fast and deep through gritted teeth, close enough to Gracie's face that she could feel her hot breath against her clammy skin. Gracie couldn't move, her eyes darting around Amber's face, noticing the beads of sweat on her cheeks, and the bulging veins on her forehead, but it was the look in her eyes that caught her gaze. Amber looked as scared as Gracie felt.
Gracie looked down cautiously and saw that her white t-shirt had started to turn a deep, but vibrant shade of red, spreading across her torso, down her thighs, and dripping onto the floor. Amber was pressing something against Gracie, and slowly her hand turned red too. Her body jolted as Amber pulled on whatever it was, and something in Gracie's abdomen shifted slightly as she felt her insides go from cold to scalding hot in a split second. She let out a small breath as her skin and muscle tissue grew hotter, then a loud moan as her feet slipped on blood and she sank onto the floor.
Leaning against the cabinet, her vision started to blur and the searing pain only got worse. Gracie brought her hands to her stomach and felt the warm liquid seep through her fingers as she tried to stop the blood from spilling out of her.
Amber stood over Gracie, watching as she tried to make sense of what happened, another new expression on her face, but Gracie couldn't figure it out. Amber wasn't just upset, there was something else there. She dropped the object she was holding, and a bloody blade clinked on the floor at Gracie's feet.
"What..." was the only word Gracie could muster. Breathlessly, she tried to talk again, but each shift in her body made her wince and her lungs grew weaker with the rest of her. Small moans and groans slipped out of her mouth without her permission, but still, in the presence of Amber, she didn't let a single tear fall. She stayed as stone-faced as possible so Amber wouldn't think she was weak, but it was too late for that now.
Each minute crawled by, the girls still staring at each other, until eventually, spots started to appear in her sight, and Gracie could feel herself losing consciousness, but it was happening slowly. First, her senses diminished, the burning in her belly started to subside, then the pain itself became a tingle and her bloodstained hands dropped to the floor. Now, with no pressure on the wound, she could feel the blood seeping down her side and pooling around her hip in a warm puddle. Then she felt nothing at all.
She heard footsteps approaching, Molly had come back into the kitchen. She dropped to her knees beside Gracie, who was still looking at Amber. She watched Amber stumble backward, cover her mouth, and start crying. Why was she crying?
"Oh, God," Molly immediately pressed her hands onto Gracie's abdomen.
The feeling came back with a vengeance, she let out a squeal. She knew Molly was doing the right thing, but it felt like the blade was inside her again.
"Help," Molly called out, "Someone help!"
Linda ran into the kitchen, she started yelling something at the other two girls, but Gracie couldn't pay attention.
All she could think about were her moms at home. She pictured them sitting at the kitchen table when the phone rang. She saw their faces change when they were told that their daughter was dead. She saw her sisters burst into tears when they heard the news, she saw her brothers trying to keep it together for the sake of their family.
Gracie's eyelids grew heavier and heavier until she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore, her muscles relaxed and her body went limp. Her whimpers were silenced when the pain started to fade again, and she fell into a deep sleep.
She opened her eyes, blinking a few times as she adjusted to the light. The surface beneath her was cold and hard, but familiar. She sat up, looked around, and realized she was back at the Tucker house. The lights were off and the sun had set, only the street lamps outside offered a little bit of visibility in the dark. She stood up from the hallway floor, and called out, "Hello? Is anyone here?"
Her voice echoed through the house, and there was no reply. Then out of the darkness, she heard laughter coming from upstairs. She reached out to the banister and pulled herself up, it was her family that she could hear, "Mama?" She shouted, "Mom?" No reply.
She started to run up the stairs, but with each step, she got further and further away from the top until she was looking up into a black abyss, the laughter fading away. Realizing it was a pointless endeavor, she stepped back down into the hallway and scanned her surroundings again. The house was completely bare. No family photos on the walls, no pile of shoes at the side of the stairs, and no coats stacked up on the banister. Was the rest of the house the same? Her anxious curiosity took her to the kitchen, the heart of the Tucker home. But when she opened the door and stepped inside, it wasn't the kitchen, somehow she'd ended up in a hauntingly familiar yellow bedroom.
The paint on the walls had faded to a dull beige and a layer of dust had settled across everything. She stepped closer to the bed, her eyes drawn to the spot where what was left of her childhood was taken from her. Her skin tingled as she thought of stubble scratching her face and nails dragging down her back and legs.
And then she heard the footsteps, she turned around to face the door and saw his silhouette. Except, when he stepped into the light, she saw his orange jumpsuit. His arms and legs were shackled together with a thick chain that clanked as he moved. The dust on the floor was dragged along with him as he started approaching her. She drew backward until her shoulder blades were against the window frame, and she reached for the latch to open the window. In one movement, she pushed it agape and dove back out of it.
The wind blew over Gracie as she plummeted downwards, she was anticipating the pain of the impact of the ground but it never came. She kept falling and falling, her limbs flailing around like she was a ragdoll. Her stomach churned, and her head grew cloudy until suddenly she was somewhere else again.
The floor she was lying on was soft but slightly damp, like lying on dewy grass on a hot summer's day. Only she wasn't outside, she rolled over and saw the familiar wallpaper; blue and pink pinstripes with little flowers weaved throughout. It was her childhood home. Looking to her left, she saw the bathroom door and put the pieces together. She stood up slowly and carefully, knowing that she'd been lying in bloody water, she braced herself before looking down at her clothes. Resembling someone from a slasher movie, there wasn't an inch of her that wasn't completely red.
She'd never been scared of blood, not even after her dad died, but seeing herself covered like that made her feel sick. She could taste it on her lips, and feel the metallic odors wafting up her nose. Overwhelmed, she stepped back, dreading the sight of her father's body in the room in front of her, but she stepped too far and went tumbling down the staircase. She hit the floor and kept her eyes closed, praying for the nightmare to be over.
Dark walnut cabinets with chipped edges, sandy-colored countertops, and yellow floor tiles. In the corner, the tiles seemed to have a strange colored shadow on them, but when Gracie looked closer, she began to make out the distinct red. The shadow on the tiles was a large bloodstain. Her blood. Little yellow markers were dotted around the room, one propped up next to a bloody knife.
Someone walked into the room, and Gracie stepped back, but the man didn't even see her. He walked right up to her and crouched down to his knees. She saw the words written in yellow on the back of his dark blue jacket; Crime Scene Investigation.
Gracie tried to recall what happened but it was blurry, she knew she'd been hurt, she knew it was at the hands of Amber, but she couldn't have been killed, could she?
"I'm not dead," her words sounded muffled, "Hey!" She shouted at the man as he picked up the weapon and dropped it into a clear bag, "Hey, I'm not dead!"
The man turned to leave the room, and Gracie followed him, waving her arms and shouting the same words over and over again, but every time she said them, she became quieter and more muffled until no sound came out of her mouth.
She reached her arms out to push through the door, but it opened by itself. Her eyes were drawn to the knife. It was the same knife that the man had just put into a bag, so how was it possible that Amber was standing in the doorway holding it? She looked at Gracie, depraved and furious, and stuck the blade into her again. And again and again and again.
Over and over, Gracie escaped each nightmare and found herself back at the beginning, chased by shadows of her past and ghosts of her present. She was stuck in a game of cat and mouse, forced to relive her attack and every other bad thing that had happened to her.