Page 5 of Carnival Mayhem

"Planning your escape, whore?" His free hand slides up my thigh. I try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go. "Bet you want to run off to that carnival, get stuffed full of cock. Is that what you want?"

Tears sting my eyes. I shake my head, unable to speak. His fingers burrow into my hips so hard I know my skin with bruise.

"It's not happening." He leans closer. “You belong to me and Jake. Don't forget that." His hand moves higher, invasively. “Or do you need another reminder?"

The flyer crumples in his fist as he presses against me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to be anywhere but here.

Tommy's weight disappears as Janet's voice echoes up the stairs. "Tommy! Your father needs help with the truck!"

His footsteps retreat, but the violation of his touch lingers on my skin. I stumble into my room—if you can call this cramped space with its secondhand furniture a room. The door clicks shut behind me, and I collapse onto the narrow bed, burying my face in the thin pillow.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks. My whole body shakes as I try to muffle my sobs. Seven years. Seven years of this torture, of being their plaything, their punching bag, theirproperty.

I curl into a tight ball, hugging my knees to my chest. The crumpled carnival flyer lies discarded in the hallway, but its promise burns bright in my mind. A way out. Something different. Anything has to be better than this.

My fingers trace the bruises forming on my hip. Fresh marks layered over old ones, a map of pain and survival etched into my skin. But not anymore. I'm eighteen now.

They can't stop me. Tommy can threaten all he wants, but I won't stay. I won't let them hurt me anymore. The carnival might be my only chance at escape, and I will take it.

I wipe my eyes and sit up, determination replacing fear. I don't care what it takes. I don't care if I have to beg, plead, or work for free. I'm leaving this house and getting away from this family.

My gaze falls on the small backpack tucked under my bed—the one I've kept packed for two years, ready for this moment. It's time to finally use it.

4

FLORA

My hands shake as I ease the window open, wincing at every tiny squeak of the old frame. The December air hits me like a slap, but I welcome it. Anything is better than staying here another night.

The backpack weighs heavy on my shoulders. It is filled with everything I own that matters—which isn't much: some clothes, my birth certificate hidden in a sock, and all the dollars I've saved from working a part-time job at the diner.

Below me, the drainpipe looks more daunting than during my daytime practice runs. But I've mapped this out for months, testing each spot where my feet need to go. I swing one leg out, then the other, clinging to the windowsill.

A noise from down the hall freezes me in place. Footsteps. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure they'll hear it. Please just be Jake going to the bathroom. Please don't check my room.

The footsteps pass. I release the shaky breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and start my descent, trying not to think about how technically I'm still in the system until graduation. Six more months of high school shouldn't matter more than my safety, but breaking the rules still makes my stomach twist.

The drainpipe creaks under my weight. I pause, listening for any sign I've been discovered. Nothing but the distant sound of a car on the highway. Three more feet to go. My muscles strain with the effort of moving slowly, carefully.

My foot touches grass and relief floods through me. I made it. But I'm not safe yet—I must get off this property before anyone notices I'm gone.

I stick to the shadows, avoiding the motion-sensor lights Tommy installed last summer. I walk past the garage where so many horrible things happened, past the front porch where they first welcomed me into their "loving" home. Each step takes me closer to freedom, but my nerves jangle with every tiny sound.

I walk quickly down Oak Street, keeping to the shadows. The sound of carnival music drifts through the crisp night air, growing louder with each block. My heart races, not from exertion but from hope. Real, tangible hope for the first time in years.

The carnival lights paint the sky in bursts of color above the tree line. I pull the mask from my backpack. It's nothing special, just a cheap thing I found at the dollar store last Halloween. But tonight it represents everything: freedom, escape, a chance at a new life.

The entrance looms ahead, strung with twinkling lights and draped in red and gold fabric. A sign advertises "Christmas Masquerade Night - All Welcome." My fingers tremble as I slip the mask over my face, adjusting the elastic band where it digs into my hair.

I reach into my pocket and touch the crumpled flyer. In bold letters, it promises, "Performers and Vendors Wanted."

The ticket taker barely glances at me as I hand over most of my saved cash. Inside, the carnival thrums with energy. Masked figures weave between the booths and rides, their laughtercarrying on the wind. The scent of cotton candy and popcorn fills the air.

For a moment, I stand frozen, overwhelmed by the sensory assault after the quiet of my midnight escape. But there's no time to waste. I have to find the ringmaster before my foster family discovers I'm gone.

The masquerade tent looms before me, music and laughter spilling from its crimson-striped sides. My feet won't move. Everyone inside looks so polished and confident in their elaborate masks and fancy clothes. I tug at my oversized sweater, suddenly aware of how shabby I must appear.

What if they're just like Jake and Tommy? Different faces, same darkness. My throat tightens. The mask suddenly feels suffocating, but I can't risk taking it off. Not here, not where someone might recognize me.

---