Contents
Untitled
1. Jaxon
2. Eliza
3. Jaxon
4. Eliza
5. Jaxon
6. Eliza
7. Jaxon
8. Eliza
9. Jaxon
10. Eliza
11. Jaxon
12. Eliza
13. Jaxon
14. Eliza
15. Jaxon
16. Eliza
17. Jaxon
18. Eliza
19. Jaxon
20. Eliza
21. Jaxon
22. Eliza
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Next in this Series
Also by the Author
Jenna Reed
About the Authors
I’m in a room that is not mine. In a house I don’t belong in. With a man I barely know. I want to leave, but I can’t. I have nowhere else to go anyway. I’m half naked and he is fully dressed, towering over me while I’m huddled up in the corner. Like I need another reminder of how helpless and vulnerable I am right now.
I stay quiet, like I always do. The only sounds in the room are my almost inaudible sobs and his heavy breathing. I usually stay quiet to protect myself. Silence has been my choice and knowing that he picked me because of that cuts through me like a sharp knife. This is my own fault.
I have never been particularly angry with my parents for dying. Have I been sad? Yes. Have I been lonely? Definitely. But angry? No. Not until this moment. I’m furious because they left me. I’m mad that I am only fifteen and have to depend on adults, who don’t love me, to protect me. I’m angry with the foster system and all the people who are failing me at this present moment and all the ones that came before. Most of all, I’m angry with the man standing in front of me, wanting things I don’t want to give.
Should I talk now? Would that save me? Maybe if I scream he would stop. I open my mouth to say something but the lump in my throat won’t let me get a word out. I close my eyes trying to go to the place in my mind where everything goes numb. I hear a belt unbuckle and a zipper unzip. My stomach flips and tears are rolling down my face uncontrollably.
1
Jaxon
The door of my room swings open and Chelsea, my foster mom for the last two years, walks in. In one hand she holds, as always, a lit-up cigarette. With the other hand, she is holding something I did not expect in a million years. A little girl with big blue eyes and blond hair pulled into pigtails on both sides of her head. The little girl is dressed in some pink leggings and a yellow washed-out shirt that's about three sizes too big on her. Chelsea steps in front of me and sits the little girl on the floor next to me. After she straightens up she pats the side of her shirt as if to make sure that the little girl didn’t stain or wrinkle it. Then she takes a drag of her cigarette and puffs out a big cloud of smoke into my room.
“Jaxon, this is Eliza, you keep her quiet and out of my way. You know how this works.”
Unfortunately, I know all too well how this works.
Ash from the end of her cigarette falls off and onto the floor before Chelsea walks out of the room, closing the door behind her.
I’m only seven years old, but I have been taking care of myself since I can remember, so I guess it is a good a time as any to start my babysitting career. Eliza sits in front of me looking confused and out of place. Her big blue eyes are fixed on me with a questionable expression. I have no clue how old she is but she looks more like a baby than a child to me. My tiny room, where I spend most of my time doesn’t have much to offer. Not to me, to her, or anyone else for that matter.
I have some old toy cars, broken superhero figures, and a stack of library books the school lets me keep because they are too messed up to lend out. I have a dresser, a bed, and a nightstand. That’s pretty much the extent of the contents of my room during the summer, during the school year I have a little bit more.
My teachers will usually give me extra snacks to take home and I will check out at least two books a day from the school library, but now that I’m on summer break I don’t have anything to eat in my room at all. Most kids look forward to the time off from school but I always dread it. It means I get less of everything. Less to eat, fewer books to read, less human contact, and fewer things to enjoy in general.
I learned quickly after being placed with Chelsea to keep to myself and stay out of her way. As long as I don’t bother her she doesn’t bother me and that is better than my last foster family. That is the reason why I am so surprised to see this little person sitting in front of me. Why would she agree to take in someone so young? She hates kids, especially when she has to deal with them. That's why I’m the only one she has kept around for so long. There have been other foster kids but they never got the memo of her not wanting to be bothered.
It’s after dinnertime so I’m hoping the caseworker at least fed the girl before dropping her off in this hellhole. Chelsea wouldn’t be happy if I left my room again today. It is Friday after all, and she probably has some guy coming over.
Unsure what to do next I look around my empty room and back to the girl. Shaking my head, I grab a book from my nightstand and start reading out loud. I’m a good reader since that is mostly what I do for entertainment, but I’m used to reading in my head, which makes it odd to hear my own voice echo in this tiny bare-walled room as I read to Eliza.
She just sits there stoically and listens and I wonder if anyone has ever read to her before. I don’t remember anyone reading to me. The book doesn’t have any pictures so there is nothing to show her. When I get to a funny part I try to make my voice sound silly to make it more interesting for her. As soon as I change my voice Eliza starts giggling, her high wind chimes like voice filling my room. I keep reading like this for a while, changing my voice in different ways for different characters. Eliza rubs her eyes and her face scrunches up in a big yawn. It's already dark outside now, so she must be tired I realized.
There is only one bed in my room but she is small and I highly doubt Chelsea is going to come and get her. I offer her my hand with a smile. “Come on it's time to go to sleep.”
She looks at my hand for a moment but then takes it unafraid. She pushes herself up to stand with the other. I walk her over to my bed and make her lie down before I cover her up with my blanket…the only one I have in my room. She immediately snuggles up in a little ball in the middle of my bed and closes her eyes.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, trying to stay quiet so she can go to sleep. It doesn’t take long for her breathing to even out and I know she is sleeping. I watch her for a bit before my eyes get heavy as well and I relax next to her in the bed. I don’t take the blanket or try to get under it, its July and we don’t have the best air-conditioning so I’m fine without. I close my eyes and almost drift off when I feel her move closer to me, cuddling up to my arm. It feels weird having someone lying next to me, touching me like this. I’m so used to sleeping alone that this is as foreign as an alien nuzzling my side. Soon the weirdness turns into something else. Something I don’t quite know or understand. All I know is that I like this warm fuzzy feeling in my chest.
The next few weeks go by in a flash. Eliza stays with me in my room day and night. Chelsea gives Eliza a bath and changes her clothes on the one day the caseworker comes to check on us. That is the extent of Chelsea's contact with Eliza. I’m the one feeding her, playing with her, reading stories, and tucking her in at night. I even take her to the bathroom and help her brush her teeth.
Eliza doesn’t talk yet and I’m not sure if she is supposed to at her age but she seems to understand everything I tell her. She l
istens intently to the same story I’ve read to her 100 times by now. I still don’t know how old she actually is but I think she is unusually quiet for a little kid. Maybe she somehow senses that her crying would not be appreciated here. The one time I came to Chelsea crying because I cut my finger while cutting an apple, I got rewarded with a swift kick in the ribs. My finger only hurt for a day but my ribs hurt for a week.
Usually, I look forward to going back to school, but not this time. I nervously count the days until I will be going back to school. If I’m in school that means Eliza is here alone… with Chelsea. The caseworker paid us a visit again today and asked me how I was doing. I tell her I was doing fine just as I always do. This time I want to say more though; I want to tell her that I’m scared. Scared that Chelsea will hurt Eliza like she hurt the last two kids who stayed here and bothered her. I want to tell her that Eliza is too young and that she needs to take her away. I want to tell her a lot of things, but I don’t. I tell myself that she wouldn’t believe me anyways and that things would just go from bad to worst, I try to bury the real reason deep inside my mind because that truth is going to kill me if something happens to Eliza because of me.
The night before I go back to school I toss and turn in bed unable to go to sleep. I look at the small body lying next to me breathing evenly. She looks so peaceful, so innocent and precious. I think she has been happy in the last few weeks. I know I’ve been happier than I have ever been. Having someone with me in here made me realize how lonely I was before. When I finally go to sleep I dream about having a family. A real mom and dad, like the ones I’ve read about in the books from the library. A family who loves me and takes care of me, no matter what. A mom that bakes cookies for me and a dad who plays ball with me in the backyard. Eliza is there too, wearing clean clothes and eating one of those fresh baked cookies. In this dream, I feel safe…safe for myself and for Eliza.
This dream might seem like a nice and happy dream, but in reality, it’s nothing but cruel. It’s a reminder of everything we’ll never have and when I wake up in the morning I feel like I’ve swallowed a brick. A brick that is currently sitting heavily in my gut like that time I ate some of the modeling clay during art class, weighing me down as I make my way out the door. I look back over my shoulder one more time where I left Eliza sitting on my bed... alone.
“Just stay in here and be quiet, OK? I will be back with food and some new books soon,” I tell her and give her a reassuring smile. I grind my teeth and clench my fists as I make myself step away.
She is holding one of my superhero figures. Her big blue eyes follow me as I leave the room and I have the overwhelming feeling that I’m making the worst decision by leaving her here unprotected.
What else can I do? I’m just a kid…
Time goes by at a snail's pace today. Every time I look at the clock on the wall only a few minutes have passed even though it feels like hours. I can’t stop thinking about Eliza and how she is all by herself in my room, probably hungry, maybe even hurt.
Please don’t be hurt. I think to myself over and over again like a silent prayer in my head. When the bell finally rings at the end of the day I’m the first one out the door. I usually take my time going home but today I almost run the entire way, only slowing down when I have to catch my breath.
I hear it as soon as I walk in the hallway of our apartment complex. A high-pitched cry of a small child. Not the cry of a child that is having a tantrum and wants their mommy. No, this is the unmistakable cry of pain. My heart beats so fast, it feels like it’s about to come out of my chest. I run to the apartment as fast as my legs can move and start banging on the door furiously. When Chelsea finally opens the door I basically push her to the side and storm in.
“Hey, you little shit!” She yells, still stumbling back from the force of my entrance.
I open the door of my room and see Eliza sitting on the floor. Her tiny fingers still wrapped around my superhero figure. Blood is trickling down the side of her face, coming from a big gash on her forehead. Her normally big blue eyes are small and red from crying and more tears are rolling down her cheeks.
My chest aches and I feel tears building in my own eyes.
I step closer, and carefully I inspect her. Her bottom lip is trembling and her tiny hands are covered in blood. When I’m a few inches from her face, her crying turns into a quiet sob as if me being close somehow calms her.
“I’m sorry, Eliza…” is all I can push past the lump in my throat. What else could I possibly say to her?
I never ask Chelsea what happened, mostly because I don’t want to know and also because it doesn’t matter. Either way, Eliza is not safe here. That night I didn’t sleep at all. I just sat in my bed holding her on my lap, knowing that this was the last time I would ever see her. I wish I were older and stronger so I could always keep her safe. What a cruel world we live in, where this little creature who can’t protect herself has no one to depend on to keep her safe but a seven-year-old boy.
In the morning I get dressed with a heavy heart. Eliza is sitting on my bed watching me intensely. When I’m done and head for the door I turn one last time to look at her. I can’t bring myself to say anything. Can’t explain what’s going to happen. Can’t tell her goodbye. She looks me straight in the eyes when she opens her mouth and speaks very clearly, “Jaxon…”
For a moment I forget how to breathe. She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t have to. The way she says my name is a plea in itself. She doesn’t want me to go, but I have to. It's all I can do to help her now. There is a deep pain in my chest I’ve never felt before. I don’t know how, but somehow I know that I will keep this pain with me for a long time…maybe even always.
I run to my school, not even stopping to catch my breath. My lungs are burning and my legs are aching by the time I get there. I go to the first teacher I see, my hands are shaking, my voice is trembling and tears are running down my face uncontrollably. The teacher eyes me with shock, immediately realizing that something bad must have happened. I take in a deep breath, gathering all the courage I have left… and then I tell her everything.
2
Eliza
Nine years later.
The time on my alarm clock reads 11:05. That means I haven’t eaten anything in over 24 hours. My stomach is cramping from hunger pains but I have nothing to satisfy the gnawing hunger. I know there still won’t be anything in the kitchen. Jackie and Brandon are too drunk to go anywhere and probably spent all their money on booze anyway. I walk to the window because I’m too hungry to go to sleep. It’s dark outside, the only light was coming from the moon since the street lamps are mostly broken on our street. I catch my reflection in the glass, I’m thirteen, but I look like I’m only nine or ten. I’ve always been small for my age. Effects of malnutrition, a doctor at the yearly mandated physical told me once.
The hinges on my window make a squeaky noise when I move them; I quietly push up my window to get a little fresh air. Instead of the brisk spring air that I was expecting, a savory meat smell hits me. At first, I thought it must be my imagination playing tricks on me but after another moment I’m certain that is what I’m smelling. I suck in a deep breath and my stomach growled in response. I open my window further and hang my head out to see where it’s coming from. I don’t see anything but I can hear distant laughter. I’m on the first floor so I could easily jump out of my window and investigate further. Someone is probably grilling at the front of the apartment complex. Maybe they would even let me have something to eat? This is probably a horrible idea. This is not the greatest neighborhood to just go roaming around looking for the source of a delicious aroma. Some bad people live here. My stomach growls again, louder than I thought was possible. Maybe I could just take a peek from afar. Maybe it's a nice family who is celebrating someone’s birthday and they wouldn’t mind giving me some leftovers.
It’s worth the risk.
I pull on some shorts and a long sleeve shirt. I don’t have sho
es in my room but I don’t mind walking in the grass. I go out the window feet first and lower myself down. I start heading in the direction the voices are coming from. I have to turn twice and weave around the buildings until I finally see them. I walk close to the wall now, staying in the shadows so I can’t be seen.
When I’m close enough to get a good look, I stop and listen. There are three teenage boys sitting around a little makeshift campfire. They are holding sticks with hot dogs speared over the fire. My mouth is watering, but now that I see they are boys and not a family I’m more than certain that this is a bad idea. I can only see two of the three guys’ faces. The other one has his back turned to me, but I can tell by the way they sit and talk, what kind of teenagers they are. Troublemakers. Just then I decided to go back when one of the boys looked in my direction, he squints his eyes and holds up a flashlight. The light hits and momentarily blinds me. I hold up my hand to cover my eyes, but it takes me a moment to be able to see anything again.
“Who the hell are you?” One of the boys yells.
I don’t know what to say or do so I just stand there like a deer in headlights for what feels like an eternity. All three guys have turned to look at me and suddenly I feel incredibly exposed and vulnerable.
“Well at least come over here and talk to us, little girl,” the boy who had his back turned to me a minute ago says. He is wearing a baseball cap, so I still can’t see his face covered by the shade the brim throws over his face. Not sure what his facial expression gives away, but I think about turning around and running away for a second. I realized that if they decided to chase me I wouldn’t make it far anyway, so instead I slowly walk over to them.
The Quiet Game (Pushed Aside Book 1) Page 1