Page 8 of Boy of Ruin
Or maybe she’s just grown used to monsters.
There’s a soft blue glow in the room from a nightlight I got her, and I see her arm slung over her brow, watch as her fingers slowly unfurl. I catch sight of that X on her palm.
I tense, grinding my teeth as I stare at it, visible in the dim light overhead. Coagula.
Bullshit.
He doesn’t even fucking know her, and he’s already tried to own her. A forced
marriage, but where was he when she was in California? Where the fuck was he when we were both starving, neglected, driven further into misery and poverty with each passing day because of his piece of shit father?
And mine.
But I refuse to think of Lazar Malikov as having any relation to me.
I don’t have a father.
I never did.
But me and Sid?
We always had each other.
Mom brings her in, cooing at her and smiling and swaying her in her arms. I’m sitting on the sticky kitchen floor.
There’s a knock on the door.
Mom’s eyes find mine. I don’t know what she sees when she looks at me, but she seems nervous. She always has around me.
“It’s okay, Jamie. Mommy will be right back, okay?” She squats down, her long dark hair falling over one shoulder as she sets the gray-eyed toddler down. The knock gets louder. “I love you, Jamie. Mommy loves you.”
I grab my red fire truck. There’s a wheel missing but I don’t care. I’ve always liked broken things. The stuffed bear Mom gave me for Christmas is missing an eye. Mom said she could fix it. I tore the other eye off and threw the shiny, smooth plastic into the trash. I prefer the teddy broken, too.
The baby with the weird eyes crawls to me as fast as she can. She has brown hair, to her shoulders. Her skin isn’t as tan as mine. It’s because Mom lets me play outside a lot in our backyard with the small plastic pool. It’s supposed to be a sandbox. One of Mom's friends told me so before he locked me out of the house. It’s shaped like a turtle.
But Mom says it’s a pool and I prefer the water anyway.
I hear Mom’s voice rising at the front door. A man answering her in a deep voice.
The baby grabs my truck. I yank it back. She bats at my face. It makes me laugh.
Mom is crying.
The man is yelling.
The baby crawls into my lap. We both hold the truck, but I don’t touch her with my hands.
Mom makes a sound like I did when I jumped from the stacked washing machine and broke my leg.
It's so loud.
My heart hurts and I don't know why.
I rub my chest.
The door slams. Mom is still crying.
The baby looks up at me. Her eyes are silver, like a nickel.
