When To Let Go

by Sevilla, J. M.

  When To Let Go

  By J.M. Sevilla

  Copyright 2015 J.M. Sevilla

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  When To Let Go

  By J.M. Sevilla

  For my children—Believe in yourself. Trust your instincts. Find your voice. Love with all your heart. Dream. Work hard at everything you do. Believe in yourself. Know that I will always be here for you no matter the mistakes you make or problems you face.

  Chapter 1

  Independence Day

  Five-year-old Ava quietly colored on the coffee table, occasionally glancing at the clock on top of the television. She was waiting for when the first number read three; that meant her brother, Parker, would be home soon.

  Ava squirmed on the floor, needing to use the bathroom. It was getting to the point that it took everything in her not to, but the only bathroom in the tiny apartment was next to the only bedroom. The one that belonged to her sleeping mother.

  Nobody wanted to be the reason she woke up, or at least Ava never wanted to be. She still had the bruises on her arms from last week when she couldn't stop sneezing. She had tried to explain that she couldn't stop them, but her mother didn't care. She still taught Ava a “lesson” about staying quiet.

  The need to use the bathroom was starting to get so bad that Ava was unable to concentrate on the schoolwork her brother had left for her to complete. Every day before Parker left for school he would write a number and letter for her to practice while he was away. Her favorite part was getting to draw a picture to go with it and seeing how her brother was always so impressed and proud of them.

  Today it was an upper and lower case P. For the sixth day in a row. Ava kept writing the lower case as a “b”.

  Parker was always patient with her, yet some days it even frustrated him how she always seemed to flip words and numbers around, jumbling them up in her head.

  That's why her mom didn't want to pay for Ava to go to preschool before she started kindergarten in the fall. Her mother's reasoning was that, “they'll never be able to teach the stupid out of her, so why waste hard earned money on an ugly retard?”

  Parker always got angry and lost his temper when their mother put Ava down. He would yell at her, reminding her that it would be his hard earned money that paid for it, since he was the one pushing drugs for her boyfriend.

  That usually had their mother's boyfriend joining in, wanting to show Parker what happened when he disrespected his mom. Parker always made Ava go to the kitchen, to the far corner by the window. She'd squeeze her eyes closed as tight as she could and cover her ears until Parker came and got her. He would always have bruises that looked to be the size of Ava's head, and either a broken finger or a fracture to a bone – nothing that couldn't be concealed or needed hospital care and warrant questions.

  Ava never felt worthy of her brother's love and protection, always wishing it was her taking the beatings. It was her fault it was happening. He wasn't the one who messed up, she was. It was always her fault, yet her brother paid the consequences. She wished she wasn't such a burden on everyone's lives. No matter how many times a day Parker told Ava how smart and beautiful she was, she still believed all the nasty things her mother said to her. What she craved more than anything in the world was for her mom to love her back.

  Ava finally couldn’t take it anymore and tiptoed to the bathroom. She didn't flush or wash her hands, fearful of the noise. She sat back down on the filthy, stained carpet, scrunching her shoulders over the coffee table to finish her picture of a pool. She had placed it in a huge backyard that had a swing set, sand box, and so many colorful flowers. She couldn't wait to show Parker the drawing. It had all the things they would wish for at night before they fell asleep in their sleeping bags on the living room floor.

  The sound of a lighter clicking made Ava tense up. The bedroom door behind her creaked open, and cigarette smoke infiltrated the room. Ava's mom sat down on the ratty old couch behind her, using the remote to turn on her daytime talk shows.

  Ava got up, soundlessly retreating to the kitchen to pour her mom a drink. She grabbed the plastic bottle of vodka that already had the cap twisted off from the night before. She searched the littered counter top for a semi-clean looking cup, pouring the alcohol into the glass. Then she used the stepping stool to get two cubes of ice from the freezer, dropping them in with the liquid. As careful as she could, she splashed in some juice, filling it to the brim.

  A bit sloshed over as she walked it back, spilling onto her hand. Ava paused fearfully, ready for her mom to come over, reminding her of how she couldn't do anything right and she never should have had her. To Ava's relief, her mom didn't notice. She licked her hand, cringing from the taste, but she didn't want any evidence of how useless she was.

  Ava placed the glass on the side table next to her mom and returned to her drawing. She slowly colored in the blue of the water, not wanting the noise of her crayon to irritate her mom.

  A few minutes later, Ava anxiously looked up at the clock. It was after three and that meant her brother would be home any minute! An excited gasp accidentally left her mouth, stupidly drawing attention to herself.

  “You think your brother loves you?”

  Ava's hair was yanked back so hard it set fire to her scalp as her mom brought her face close to Ava's, her nicotine breath hitting Ava’s face. She kept her eyes cast down, hands trembling, dropping the crayon she'd been coloring with.

  Her mom continued to spit out damaging words, “You're worthless. I know it. Parker knows it. The bum on the fucking street knows it. No use drawing him those ugly-ass pictures, he just throws them away.”

  Ava knew Parker didn't, but she knew better than to speak up. Her brother kept every picture she drew him. He hid them in a folder inside his backpack so their mom wouldn't find them and throw them away.

  Her mother spit in her hair, yanking it back harder before pushing it forward, colliding Ava's forehead and the coffee table with a crack. Ava's vision blurred, her head throbbed, and tears stung her eyes, yet she didn't make a peep, knowing any kind of noise would only anger her mom further. She stared fuzzy-eyed at the screen, wanting the room to stop spinning. Her mother finished her drink in two large swallows and got up, mumbling that she needed a shower.

  A few minutes later, once the water was running, her mother's boyfriend came stumbling into the living room and flopped into the seat directly behind Ava. Ava hated it more when he was awake than her mom. He always stared at her and wanted her to share with him what she'd been drawing, while she sat on his lap and he touched her between her legs or forced her hand between his.

  He patted his lap, “Come show me the picture you drew today?”

  Ava pretended she didn't hear him.

  His hand reached out to stroke her hair, “Never seen hair like this before. Can't tell if you're a redhead, blonde, or brunette. It sure is pretty, dollface.”

  Ava curled into herself, praying her mom didn't hear him; she hated it the most when people complemented her hair.

  His hand kept stroking her hair, causing her tummy to feel sick. He brought a strand to his nose and inhaled. She recognized the sound of a zipper unfastening.

  The sickness in her belly got worse.

  “Turn around, dollface.”

  Ten-year-old Parker took the long way home that day. Not beca
use he wanted to; he still had another eighth of chronic to sell and this way took him right past the quickie mart, where his best customers hung around.

  Ever since his mom met that asshole she called a boyfriend he'd been making Parker sell his drugs instead of doing it himself. He figured no one would suspect a kid. So far the asshole boyfriend was right.

  Parker hated that his mom didn't care. She had always been that way with men, needing their attention to the point that she let them beat up on her and her son. The previous boyfriend did things to Parker he'd never tell a soul about. Shameful things that took away any innocence he had left.

  They never touched Ava though, Parker made sure of it. He knew his protection over her only pissed their mom off, making her extra evil towards her daughter, but Parker figured it was better their mother's thin bony fingers than the big, rough hands of a man. One of these days Parker would fight back, hurting them worse than they hurt him. For now, he was a coward who took the beatings, never trying to escape or cry for help.

  He'd thought about telling his teachers over the years, but he was too worried about his little sister, who he adored and had taken care of since birth. What if they got separated and he couldn't protect her? Who would make sure she was fed and didn't get too cold? Who would sing to her at night? Would anybody take the time to bake cupcakes with her and pick out all the yellow sprinkles because that was her favorite color to put on top? What if they ended up somewhere worse? He'd seen enough movies and television shows to know they had it easy compared to some. Parker could endure beatings, hands he didn't want touching him, and drug selling if it meant he could make sure his sister was safe from those things happening to her.

  Right away, Parker met some addicts who finished off his lot. He was thankful he didn't have to spend all afternoon there.

  He jogged home, ignoring his grumbling stomach.

  When was the last time he had eaten? He believed it was lunch time…yesterday. He kept running anyway, not letting the lightheadedness slow him down. With luck, he'd still make it home before his mom woke up.

  When he was near the decaying apartments they lived in, he heard shouting and screaming coming from what sounded like his place.

  Parker sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Let Ava be okay. Let Ava be okay. He chanted it over and over again in his head, the long stretch to the end seeming miles long. He threw open the door to find his mother screaming at a tear-streaked Ava, whose face was covered in red hand prints.

  “You filthy whore!” Their mom screamed, raising her hand and hitting Ava again.

  Parker ran to his sister's rescue, “Let her go!”

  He pulled Ava back, pushing his mother out of the way with more force than he'd meant to.

  “Take that piece of trash and go!” Their mom screeched, jabbing a finger at the door. “I never want to see that useless little shit again!”

  Parker remained frozen with a crying Ava wrapped in his arms, “We have nowhere to go.”

  “I don't give a shit. I can't put up with you two anymore. This was the last straw. I clothed you, fed you, put a fucking roof over your goddamn heads. Not anymore. Not after this.”

  “You're our mother!” Parker shouted back, letting his built up rage inhabit his senses, “You're supposed to do all those things!”

  “Boy,” the boyfriend barked, coming into view, “What have I told you about disrespecting your mother?”

  His mother got a glassy, lovesick gleam to her eyes as she fondly smiled at her boyfriend, loving when he came to her defense and showed that he cared.

  Parker watched his mother coo as she pressed her body into the boyfriend’s, “I'm sorry you had to deal with my whore of a daughter.”

  Parker thought he might vomit as he clued in to what had happened. He placed Ava behind him and took a step forward, his fists balling up, ready to strike. Any cowardice was gone; a new Parker had been born. One full of fury.

  “What did you do to my sister?” Parker snarled through his clenched teeth that were grinding from the adrenaline pounding through his body.

  “He didn't do anything,” his mother had the nerve to defend the sick bastard, blazing her hatred-filled eyes on Ava. “He's only a man. How's he supposed to say no?”

  Parker attacked.

  All he saw was red as his fists, arms, legs, feet, mouth, any part of himself he could use to achieve his goal of killing the man. He was pretty sure he even hurt his mom a few times when she tried getting in the way. He didn't care. Later he would, but not now. Now he just needed to make the man pay.

  Parker was getting more of a beating. He finally gained the upper hand when they fell and the boyfriend smacked the back of his head on the corner of the coffee table, knocking him unconscious. Parker kept right on hitting him. Over and over again, to the point that he couldn't tell if the red he saw was just from his anger anymore.

  The distant sound of his sister's sobs made him aware of what he was doing. He fell back, scurrying backwards on all fours like a crab.

  “Is he dead?” Their mother cried, throwing her body over the boyfriend, whose chest was barely moving.

  Parker grabbed Ava's hand and ran. They kept running, even when Parker hadn't a clue where they were, needing to get far, far away. At one point Parker had to do it with Ava on his back.

  That night, in a town he had never heard of, he locked them in a park bathroom that smelt of piss. Parker cleaned up his sister’s face as best as he could with paper towels and sink water, then she did the same for him.

  Ava had stopped crying, but her little chest was still hiccupping from crying so hard. Parker had her tell him what had happened, even though he didn't want to hear it. To his relief – if one could call it that – it hadn't gotten as far as Parker had thought. The boyfriend hadn't done what the previous boyfriend had done to him. He had forced Ava's mouth over him, but it wasn't long before their mother walked in. Ava was ashamed.

  Parker soothed her, trying his best to reassure her that the boyfriend was the bad guy. Sadly, he knew from experience that that didn't take away the shame.

  When Ava told him about all the other times the boyfriend had touched her and the things he forced her to do with her hand, Parker hoped he had killed the bastard. He didn't tell Ava that. He only held her tighter and told her one of her favorite stories until she fell asleep.

  Parker kissed the top of her head. “No one will ever hurt you again, Ava. I promise,” he vowed, not knowing that was a hard vow for anyone to keep, let alone a ten-year-old boy.

  He remained awake all night, drifting off for only a minute here and there, wanting to be alert in case anyone tried getting in. He needed to make sure his sister was safe.

  The next few weeks were the same, traveling as far as they could go by day. Every night they found a new park to sleep in, some worse than others. At night when his sister was asleep he allowed himself to be scared and cry. Parker still had the money from selling the drugs so they were able to afford food, but he rationed how much, wanting the money to last.

  One morning, Ava woke with a temperature so high it made his own body heat up. Sweat covered her entire body. No amount of Tylenol helped to bring it down.

  Two days later, right before nightfall, Parker knew Ava needed a doctor when she wouldn't respond to him and seemed incapable of opening her eyes.

  He was terrified as he entered the emergency room, but at least his sister would get the help she needed.

  Parker approached the nurse's desk with a passed out Ava in his arms. Two nurses rushed over at the sight of two little kids in dirty, wrinkled clothes that smelled horrible. They took Ava, asking Parker questions about her state before rushing off, leaving him behind. He sat in the waiting room, trying his best to stay strong, worried about his sister.

  A few hours later a nurse came, leading him to a different part of the hospital where his sister was.

  The sight of her frail body in the big hospital bed almost had him c
rying, but he didn't want to be a wimp in front of the others. He swallowed down a massive lump, taking a seat next to his sister's sleeping body. He was happy to find her hand wasn't as warm; clammy, but not warm.

  “She caught an infection and was severely dehydrated, but she'll be fine,” the nurse reassured him, patting his back. “Do you have a parent or guardian we can call?”

  Parker shook his head no. What was the use in lying? They would eventually figure out the truth.

  “That's what I was afraid of,” she mumbled more to herself. “You stay here and watch your sister. She needs your comfort. I'll be right back.”

  Parker knew when the nurse came back she wouldn't be alone.

  He was right.

  Chapter 2

  How To Disappear Completely

  Thirteen-year-old Ryder sized up the new kid, wondering how big a threat he was. Rumor had it that he'd just been kicked out of his third foster home that year. Apparently he liked to fight, taking no mercy on his opponents.

  Ryder had a hard time believing the rumors as he watched the new kid eat his spaghetti, mumbling a “thank you” when their foster “mom” placed a glass of milk near him. He appeared to be one of those pretty boys, except that the few times the kid glanced up it was hard not to notice that his clear, blue eyes were hard and dead; the way most were who had demons trapped inside. It was the only reason Ryder didn't completely doubt the rumors.

  That could be very bad for Ryder, as he wasn't much of a fighter. He was the type of kid who kept his head down, avoiding confrontation (as well as people). Most kids left him alone, understanding when a kid was more messed up than they were. Unfortunately, there were still the few who preyed on his weaknesses.

  The other three kids Ryder lived with were eying the new kid at the table just as fiercely. No one liked when someone new came; it always disrupted the flow.

  Ryder was born into the system; his mother had left him at a fire station when he was a newborn. This was his ninth foster home and one of the more decent ones. They pretty much all sucked, just some were worse than others. A lot worse. Ryder had had experience with the sickest of pricks. It wasn't just the men either; women could be equally as malicious. He learned early on to stay to himself.