Page 1 of The Demons We Hide

PROLOGUE

JULIET

13 years ago…

“You’re not s’posed to be over here.” The words are spoken in that matter-of-fact tone he always uses—like when Nanny says that it’ll upset Mommy when I keep coming home with dirt on my dresses. If she didn’t want me to get the pretty clothes dirty, then maybe she should let me wear what I want to school instead of the stiff dressy clothes. They make a lot of the other kids not want to play with me—’cause they know if they were to get the clothes dirty, they might get in trouble. Not me.Them.

I sit anyway and reach for his hand. Alex is a pretty boy, the kind of boy that girls like Mary Johnson want to make their seventh boyfriend of the week. I’ve heard the teacher comment about how “boy crazy” Mary is. I don’t know what that means, but I do know that I don’t like it when Mary tries to get Alex to play with her instead of me. He’s a boy and he’s my friend, so that makes himmyboyfriend. Not hers.

“Do you not want me to sit with you?” I ask, curious. Alex never turns me down. He’s quiet and he doesn’t talk much, but he never tells me to go away when I sit near him or play with the Legos he likes.

“No…” He draws out the word and lets his hand curl around mine. “But I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Why would I get in trouble?” I ask, casting a look around the room. I don’t know how much longer I have with him. Daddy says that the new school will be finished by the end of the year. He tried to make it sound cool and nice—I’ll have special lunches and a bigger library and a cooler playground. I want to stay with Alex, but Daddy says that Alex probably won’t come to the new school with me. I hope the new school burns down before it even opens.

“Alexio?” Mrs. Black, our teacher, calls out across the room. “Are you bothering Juliet?”

I frown at her as Alex stiffens. He doesn’t like his full name. She knows that. Only his dad calls him Alexio. His mean, angry dad. I hope Alex’s dad dies in the new school’s fire too.

“He’s not bothering me,” I snap. “We’re playing.”

Mrs. Black narrows her eyes on both of us, but Alex doesn’t look up. He just reaches for the next Lego with his free hand as his fingers tighten over mine. Mrs. Black might not hit Alex like his dad does, but she’s still mean. She always watches us when I play with him, and I wonder if Nanny told her to. Nanny says I need to play with kids like me. She says I need to make friends with the kids who are going to the new school with me.

I don’t want to. I just want to play with Alex.

“Alright then,” Mrs. Black finally says when I guess she can’t think of a reason to drive us apart. “Make sure to clean up before snack time.”

“We will,” I assure her, blowing out a breath as I turn back to Alex. My gaze falls to the side of his neck, and I wince at the purple splotch there. It disappears beneath the ratty, old fabric of his t-shirt.

Releasing his hand, I reach up and touch the bruise. He draws back, his head jerking up until his eyes meet mine. “Don’t.” One word. It’s a warning.

I frown. “You have to tell someone,” I say.

Alex shakes his head fervently. “No one cares, Jules.”

I wrinkle my nose, but to be honest, I don’t know that he’s wrong. Mrs. Black doesn’t seem to notice the bruises that are so obvious. When I’d first seen them, I asked him if he was just a klutz—Nanny says she is, and she’s always stumbling or slamming her toe into things. Alex had merely shaken his head and kept playing with his Legos. It wasn’t until several weeks went by and he came to school with a black eye that I figured it out. Alex isn’t hurting himself. Someone else is, and that someone is his dad.

The reminder makes me so mad I swear I could scream.

The first time I told him he needed to tell Mrs. Black, he’d cried and I’d held him until he stopped, and then he’d made me promise not to make him do it. Something told me that Alex has to do a lot of things he doesn’t want to at home. Maybe I should ask my dad if he can adopt him. I heard that Ricky Lang was adopted and he seemed to love his new dads.

Alex is scared of his dad and that doesn’t seem right.

“What about your mom?” I ask. “Does your mom know?”

Alex is quiet for a long moment and his hands stop moving over the Legos. “Mom is tired,” he finally says as if the words are dragged out of him. “I shouldn’t bug her.”

My hands clench into tiny fists. Moms should care—no matter how tired they are. No matter how messy you accidentally get their clothes or how ugly your drawings are. The image of the picture Mrs. Black had made us draw of our families sitting in the trash can at home pops into my head and I have to bite my lip to stop it from quivering. Only babies cry over dumb drawings.

Alex turns and looks at me. His hand finds one of my fists, and he forces it to uncurl as he links our fingers back together. I sigh and let the hurt go. His smile turns him from merely pretty to absolute perfection. He looks like a prince from a storybook with his dark hair and gray eyes and that one little curl that hangs over his forehead.

Daddy always calls me his princess … I wonder … if I kiss Alex, will he become a prince? If I marry him, will I be able to save him from his dad?

“I’m okay, Jules,” he says. “Promise.”

Except his promise is a lie. Alex isn’t okay, because the next day he doesn’t come to class, and when he’s back the following week—his arm is in a cast. Suddenly, I don’t care anymore if it’ll get me in trouble. I don’t care if Mrs. Black doesn’t like it when I sit by him. I don’t care if Daddy says we can’t go to the same school next year.

I open my mouth and I tell the truth. I tell everyone and I hope someone stops Alex’s dad from hurting him because if I have to do it… I don’t think I’ll be a good girl anymore. I think I’ll be very, very bad.

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