Hidden

By Robyn B. Steeves

I grew up thinking that I was just halfblooded and lived with constant reminders that I was only half-human, which made me hated by the elves, and half-elven, which no human could find out about. I was a child that no one cared about, too quiet to be heard, too lost to be helped but also too stubborn to die. I managed to keep these two worlds balanced perfectly for twelve years, but failed to keep my secret the night my mother almost killed me in a fit of rage as she was forced to be sober against her will. In a moment of weakness, I confessed to the stranger who saved my life—a stranger who failed to keep his own identity a secret.Secrets were things I was good at keeping, but when I discovered the secret my own parents were keeping from me, it changed everything. I grew up thinking I was Emery Ricketts, a halfblooded child stuck between worlds, but shortly after my eighteenth birthday I discover that I'm much more than that.I'm not a child lost between worlds, but one that was hidden from the elven realm I spent my entire life fearing, and now that those who've hidden me know they've failed to keep my survival a secret, my life is going to change as I'm forced back into the world I was born to be a part of, a world filled with magic and a dark secret of its own that even I couldn't have imagined. Hidden is the beginning of my story, and as I uncover the secrets that those around me have kept, I begin to realize that nothing is what it seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Nov 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781779411549

Book preview

Chapter 1

Growing up, I had always felt stuck between two worlds. My mother and I lived in a small two-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a run-down apartment building located in the worst part of Chicago. It was small, cheap, and rent- controlled, so it was perfect for an addict who didn’t want to have to work in order to afford a nicer place.

Like most addicts, my mother had three sides.

The first side surfaced rarely and only when she had the perfect combination of substances in her system. It made her happy and fun to be around because she was living life on a high note that brought laughter and smiles. Those times were short-lived and could easily be destroyed.

The second side happened quickly. She changed in an instant when she crossed the line and reached a point of taking too much of whatever substance she managed to get her hands on. The person left behind when this happened was belligerent, hard to understand or please, known to cry for no reason, and normally required that those around her take care of her—and that person was always me.

When I was a small child, I pitied this side of her, but as I got older, the pity turned to annoyance, and I began to ignore her once she reached this point in hopes that she’d just give me some peace.

Sadly, the last side always came out directly after those few hours of silence and was a direct side-effect of not having any of her addictions running through her system. When she woke in need of another fix, when money started to get low near the end of the month, or if she was too hungover to try and hide her misery, this side surfaced.

I quickly learned that this was the most dangerous version of my mother. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that it was important to keep my distance until she got her next fix. If the fog had lifted from her eyes to be replaced with a hardness that, even as a small child, I knew meant physical harm, it was best to remain out of sight.

My life was complicated, but not only because my mother was an addict.

My father lived in another realm altogether. His realm was filled with the things that most only see in movies, things like magical spells that make things happen that human eyes would consider supernatural if they have an open mind, and impossible if they’re more close-minded. I’ve seen spells that make things move on their own, make fire burst to life without the need of a match, and can heal most injuries that would require stitches without even having to pick up the needle and thread.

This world was filled with potions that could change how someone looks, force some to sleep, and force others to tell the truth. While all of them were used for different reasons, most brought with them not only a world of awe but of havoc.

I’ve seen creatures that most would assume only live in the minds of children, and I’ve tasted some of the most delicious foods, capable of making my mouth water to this day when thinking of them.

My father was an elf who literally served a king, an elven king who lived on the other side of a magical portal located in the middle of Central Park.

Hard to believe? Absolutely.

Completely true? Absolutely.

The forest in this world was so green and full in the summer that it seemed to go on forever, and it was so white and full of beautiful, fluffy snow in the winter that it looked like an image plucked directly from a fairy tale book. I knew this because I had the privilege of seeing this world twice a year—at least my father told me it was a privilege, and who was I to argue with him? I’d been in awe the first time he brought me there, and his visits did give me two weeks a year when I didn’t need to deal with my mother.

I had no idea who he was the first time he showed up, but when he introduced himself as my father, I had assumed he was there to save me. I went with him willingly and cried when he brought me back to Chicago a week later. My mother was in phase one of her cycle when I returned, and she seemed happy, so I asked her when I would see him again.

I learned that day that he would pick me up twice a year. It wasn’t until his next visit that I noticed that my mother had been handing me off in exchange for a bag of cash he’d brought with him. That’s why she’d been so happy the first time I returned; cash meant side one or two, depending on how much she consumed.

My first two visits to the Forest Realm had left me hopeful that my father would save me; surely, he would notice that my mother wasn’t fit to raise a child and he would choose to keep me in this beautiful forest.

Unfortunately, I quickly learned that I wasn’t welcomed to live with him full-time because of one minor detail—I’m a halfblood, and being part human meant that a life in the Forest Realm was impossible. I was only welcome at the castle for the two festivals they hosted each year because my father was good friends with the King of that realm and as a favor to him, the King had granted his request.

My father made a point of being sure I understood that without that favor, I wouldn’t survive to see my next birthday. When I asked him why, he said that the human half of me was weaker than my elven half, and that meant that they were constantly battling for dominance. This meant that without a special drink, which was the sole purpose of his visits, I would quickly fall ill and experience the most excruciating pain of my life.

I had been too young to understand what the word excruciating meant, but I had wondered if it would hurt more or less than one of my mother’s beatings when she couldn’t get her hands on something to take the edge off. I had also been too young to understand what edge it was that my mother was trying to get rid of, but I refused to ask either of my parents to explain it to me. The only thing my father explained was that the tea I needed could only be made in the Forest Realm with ingredients that weren’t found in the Human Realm, so they had no choice but to bring me to the castle in order to consume it.

I didn’t understand why my father was putting so much effort into saving me, but I’d never found the courage to ask what seemed to be a pointless question. I didn’t have a choice in the matter; my father wanted to keep me alive, my mother wanted his money, and both seemed more than content with the arrangement they’d made with one another.

It was years later when I learned that the portal between the worlds wouldn’t allow anything to travel between the realms except the travelers themselves and items that could be found on both sides of it. I can still vividly remember the look that crossed my father’s face when I asked where the human half of me went when I traveled through the portal with him; a half smile broke across his normally rigid lips.

His tone had held a slightly irritated edge to it when he told me that the magic of the portal didn’t pertain to a living thing traveling through it. Its magic was in place to stop things like human technologies or elven items from passing through it, so if he attempted to bring the tea I needed through it, the process would fail because of the magical items it was made with.

My five-year-old brain hadn’t been able to completely understand what he meant by human technologies or magical items, but when I asked him what he meant, the amused look fell from his face and was quickly replaced with a scowl. He snapped that human things remained on the human side, while magical things remained on the elven side, and if someone attempted to pass through it with an item deemed unpassable, the item would simply be spit back out of the portal on the side it belongs.

I’ve had no choice but to balance my life between a father who doesn’t really want me but feels a sense of responsibility to keep me alive and a mother who couldn’t care less about keeping me alive but likes the extra money my existence provides.

My fondest childhood memories were of playing with Moriko, the Forest Realm Prince, at the castle, running through the forest and climbing trees, celebrating during both the summer and winter festivals, and exploring as he showed me the ways of my father’s people. He was the only real friend I had and quickly became the only person my younger self looked forward to visiting.

He had been the only person around whom I was capable of being myself, since there was no need to keep my walls up with him like I’d been forced to do when I was around the children at school in the Human Realm. They couldn’t know about my elven half, and Moriko always treated me as if my human half didn’t exist.

Had I been asked, I would have said that he had been my best friend, but in the last few years, his demeanor around me had changed. The King stopped allowing him to be openly friendly with me, and although he had tried to keep our friendship alive, it slowly fizzled out. He was still pleasant with me, but there was a distance he kept between us, and I didn’t argue.

All good things come to an end eventually.

I knew of two worlds when most only knew of one, and I was still unable to fit into either of them fully.

I’d been given no choice but to remain a shadow no matter what world I was in. I had to be sure to pass in assignments so I remained off the teachers’ radar, had to get decent grades so no one requested a meeting with a parent, and, most importantly, had to be sure to never bring unnecessary attention to myself. I had learned at a very young age to keep all bruises or marks covered to avoid the types of questions that would bring Child Protective Services to my mother’s door.

I couldn’t afford friends because they noticed when you didn’t show up to class, they would worry if they saw bruises or marks, and they took note when you were in a particularly horrible mood. At least the good ones did, and my father made it very clear early on that if I ended up in foster care, he would have no way of taking me to get the tea. I didn’t have a choice and was raised to know that mistakes were not an option because they led to the loss of the only connection I had to the medication that keep me from getting sick. I had come to learn what excruciating meant a few years ago when my father picked me up a day late, and I had no desire to experience it again.

If it meant traveling to the Forest Realm to avoid being in that pain again, I would follow the rules that the King placed on me without argument. The rules were simple: stay where the King permitted my presence. I could read in the library and read any English novel I wanted; I could visit the forest but should expect a search party if I got lost; I could go down to the river but should expect to be rescued if caught up in its current. I could be in my room, and I was allowed in the great hall. If I needed to go anywhere else in his realm, I was to be escorted.

It was actually freeing to not have to worry about my mother and which of her different sides I’d have to deal with throughout the day. All I had to do was drink the tea, enjoy the festival in the great hall, and spend the next few days unwinding before returning to the darkness that awaited me in that Chicago apartment.

In order to travel through the portal, a pure-blood who was at least twenty-five years of age was required to open it. The thought of depending on a pure-blooded elf for the rest of my life had made me think of jumping off an overpass to end it all, and even though the thought had come from my own mind, I couldn’t deny that it had scared me enough to have me shove it aside before acting on it.

It was a promise that kept me from ending my life by my own hands—a promise I made to Moriko when I was only seven years old. I promised to keep fighting until he was King and could change the rules and allow me live at the castle all year round. A promise that part of me knew was nothing but the foolish talk of children, yet I found myself unable to break it. It was possible that he could keep his word to change the rules, and if he didn’t, I could always follow through with one of the many creative ways I’d thought of how to end my life over the years.

The summer visit was a month away when my life changed so drastically in ways I’d never imagined, and by that time, it had been getting harder to keep my eyes on the prize. Moriko’s voice in my head had been getting quieter with each passing day, and that month seemed impossible to get through.

I had never been proud to say that a part of me wished that my mother would do me a favor and drink herself to death, but the thought occurred more often with each passing day. I wanted her to overdose. It was a horrible thought that left me feeling guilty for wishing her dead, but I couldn’t help it. I had no desire for her death to be by my hands, and I had no doubt that was one of the main reasons she was still alive. I honestly had no idea how she’d managed to avoid death over the years.

The night that would forever be engraved in my memory as the night my life changed, however, had to be one of the worst nights of my life up to that point. There just wasn’t enough liquor or drugs in the tiny apartment to keep her satisfied. Her rage was blazing like a forest fire before it was even seven in the evening, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t put her out.

My attempts to reason with her ended with a slap across the face that I never saw coming. Instead of calming her, my attempts to defuse the situation resulted in her screaming that I wasn’t to talk back and should shut my little whore mouth. I was twelve years and had no idea how my mouth had been classified as a whore when it had never touched another soul, but I managed, smartly, to keep my thoughts to myself. Her hand connected with my cheek with a hollow smack that stung like hell and forced my head to snap to the side.

She turned away from me, cursing about how useless I was, how I didn’t appreciate everything she had done for me, and how I was nothing more than a leech sucking her dry. I had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself from asking her what she had done for me, but I knew it would only serve to get me slapped again.

Instead, I watched as she went over to the sink to fill her mouth with water directly from the tap before taking two tablets, and the sight made my stomach fall to the floor at my feet. I knew in that moment that my life would get significantly worse because she had decided to take them.

The little white pills made her even more unstable, bypassing the perfectly-under-the-influence stage and shooting her instantly into the too-high phase I feared most. I hadn’t seen her dealer show up and didn’t realize that she had the money to get her addiction to the that level. That assumption proved to cost me more than I was ready to hand over.

The first time she took them had ended with a visit from the cops because of a call made by a neighbor to report the noise of her yelling. One look at me had the officer worried enough to call Social Services to investigate my home life, but not worried enough to remove me from her home.

I told my father about the lady who had shown up at the apartment and how she asked me about my life with Mom. I told him that I ended up going to a place called McDonald’s to have lunch with her, and he became instantly furious that I had spent the afternoon with her. His sudden anger had surprised me, but I’d focused on his every word as he began to question everything that was said between us. He’d grilled me on my word choices, and it wasn’t until he was completely satisfied that I hadn’t told her something that I shouldn’t have that he dropped the subject.

It was clear that I had no choice but to do everything to avoid having this woman called back to the house.

It was because of that early encounter with the human authorities that I spent every school year trying to keep up with the other kids my age. I couldn’t have the teachers calling home about my grades or with any concerns, because that would mean they’d have to meet my mother, and my father absolutely didn’t want my mother known to them. He had no doubt that they would take one look at her and wouldn’t hesitate to call the woman from Social Services; my father’s direct orders were to never allow that to happen.

I hated school.

I was forced to learn the things I hadn’t been taught at home, like how to spell my name, and I was terrified that every mistake would lead to a phone call home. It was a constant reminder that I was everything my mother said I was: useless, stupid, and worthless. I had a memory of my father yelling at my mother the summer after first grade and vaguely remembered him threatening to cut off the money he was giving her if she didn’t start taking better care of me. I don’t remember what started the argument, but it was the only memory I had of him showing any interest in how she was taking care of me.

School had never been my strength, and although it felt like I could never keep up with the other kids, up until this point I had managed to slip through the cracks of the school system. My grades were barely above a passing grade, but as long as I was able to move to the next grade, it didn’t matter to me. My only focus had always been the same—stay alive until Moriko would be of age to open the portal.

My goal the night she took the pills had been the same, and when I saw her swallow them, I escaped to my room in hopes that she would forget about me. For an hour, my twelve-year-old self was left listening to her scream and curse as she slammed cupboard doors, stomped around the apartment, and banged around as her anger seemed to build with a renewed energy.

I should have known that this was going to escalate, but I’d allowed the chaos to become my normal for so long that I had begun to tune it out instead of running from it. The night in question, I had allowed myself to get loss in my favorite book—one about fairies and secret worlds that emulated my own life—that I hadn’t realized the danger that had been building until my bedroom door flew open and slammed into the wall behind it with a force that made it bounce back into my mother’s face. This out-of-my-control action sent her into a rage so quickly that I’d barely been able to get myself into a seated position before she stepped foot into the room.

She stood before me, her eyes sobering from the lack of alcohol but blazing with the high of the pills she had taken. They were red and showed signs that she’d been slowly falling into the not-intoxicated-enough category while raging through the apartment. Her lips were snarled, barring teeth at me as she screamed incoherently about how this was somehow my fault.

I managed to scramble from the bed, dropping the worn-out copy of my book that I had stolen from the school library all those years ago to the floor while standing in front of her with nowhere to go, since she was blocking the only exit. Her screaming had been deafening, yet my brain hadn’t been capable of making sense of the words leaving her lips, and this fact alone brought a fear to my chest that I knew all too well.

The only thought I could remember thinking at this time was Oh shit! because I knew there was no way I was going to be able to talk her down. Panic rose in my chest as I started to feel like a cornered dog with no escape, and I knew she wouldn’t stop until she got her next fix and could lose herself into the nothingness of being intoxicated.

I’ll get you more, I lied instantly as I brought up my hands up and held them out in front of me, palms out, in hopes that it would show her I wasn’t a threat. I couldn’t say why that was my first reaction—of course, I hadn’t been a threat—but nonetheless, it didn’t work. She continued to scream profanities, cursing me for being alive, for being useless, for being a waste of space, and I knew in that instant that I was screwed.

She had been right about one thing—this had been my fault. My first mistake was that I should have never cornered myself in my room but should have taken a walk outside of the apartment until I knew she had passed out. I knew nothing good ever came from these moods, and it was best to leave and avoid the fight altogether, because the last thing that I needed was a neighbor calling the cops to have her arrested for disturbing the peace.

My second mistake that night had been not noticing the empty liquor bottle in her hand until she was already advancing towards me.

She screamed, a sound that held no words but sounded like a feral animal on the attack and jumped towards me just as I brought my full attention to her. Her fist landed against my jaw and knocked me backward, forcing me into taking a step back while trying to regain my balance; instead, I stepped on the book I’d dropped. I felt my foot slide, sending me backward to slam my back into the side of the bed; unfortunately, this forced my legs to give out, which had me sitting on the floor.

She had the advantage with her body standing above mine, and there was no hesitation to swing the bottle with all her might. Time slowed. She intended to slam it against the side of my head; her eyes showed no remorse, and for the first time in my twelve years of life, I saw something in my mother’s eyes I hadn’t seen before: murderous intent.

There hadn’t been any reluctance, no second thoughts about killing her own child, and when my eyes locked onto hers, I saw no sign of her changing her mind.

I screamed without thought to if the neighbors would hear me as terror filled my entire body. My mind blanked and my body moved on its own as I brought a hand up to block the blow, but I knew instantly that I didn’t have a chance against the bottle she was wielding.

I put out my hands, shoving them into my mother’s stomach while bringing my knees to my chest in hopes of protecting myself as best as I could. My only hope was to get her to back off enough that I could stand before the bottle connected, but I wasn’t hopeful that I’d be successful. I felt her fist land against my shoulder before I was able to get a grip on her shirt to push her away, and the only thing I managed to do was release another scream.

I was trapped with my back against my bed and my mother above me, which had me drowning in panic as I kicked and screamed in a desperate attempt to get her away from me. I never felt my feet make a connection with anything.

I screamed for help, begged her to stop, and pleaded with her to leave me alone, but nothing seemed to get her away from me. She screamed again, not bothering to use words, and this time she swung the bottle wildly. I threw my hands up again but wasn’t quick enough, and the bottle connected with the side of my head above my left eye, making my ears fill with the sound of glass shattering as stars exploded in my vision. My vision went black, and all I heard was a ringing sound in my ears followed by muffled grunts and moans.

I couldn’t breathe while panic settled in, and the only clear thought that came to my mind was the desperate need to get away. I blinked feverishly, hoping that it would force my vision to return before my mother managed to slam the bottle a second time. It did clear just as she brought her arm back and my eyes locked onto the jagged edge of the broken bottle raised above her head. Her eyes were as wild as I’d ever seen them, and her mouth snarled as she screamed something I couldn’t hear over the ringing in my ears, but I saw the spit fly from her mouth as she swung the bottle back towards. The jagged edge came straight for my face.

My eyes locked on the glass heading for my head as my left hand rose without my brain sending the signal, and although I had no memory of taking the breath, the air rushed from my lungs as I screamed in pain. The bottle came down fast, puncturing through the center of the palm of my hand as I shoved it away in my attempts to save my face. It was the first time that my screams came off childlike to my own ears. This scream was from a terrified child and lacked the anger or adult swear words to push home the point that I was able to handle myself.

I shoved against the bottle as hard as I could—shoving it deeper into my palm—as I used my right hand to push myself away from the bed in hopes it would be enough to separate us. It was my only chance to get away, so I let out another scream as I gave a final shove and was rewarded when my mother stumbled. She went backward, tripping over my school bag, and I watched as the back of her head hit the floor with a sickening smack.

It was at this point that the adrenaline took over. I felt my feet connect with the floor as I released the bottle and let it fall before taking the only chance I’d been presented with to escape. I launched myself towards the door of my room.

The room spun violently, and I wasn’t convinced I wouldn’t throw up as my stomach heaved, threatening to betray me, but I knew I had to get away first. I didn’t have time to throw up if I was going to get out of the apartment before my mother got to her feet. I forced my body into action and ignored the spinning living room of our tiny apartment as I forced myself to run.

I burst from the apartment to slam into the wall across the hall from our door, my breathing labored in my panic, and even though I knew in the moment that I was hyperventilating, I couldn’t stop it. I hadn’t had the chance to grab shoes or a coat during my escape, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I pushed myself away from the wall and shot towards the stairs at the end of the hall so I could sail down four flights to burst out of the main entrance of the apartment, stumbling onto the street.

Hey, are you okay?

I shot my head up while I managed to skid to a stop just short of running into a man who had been walking down the sidewalk in front of the apartment building. I couldn’t hold back the startled squeak that left my lips as I choked down the scream I could feel bubbling from my chest.

Oh my god! Let me call an ambulance. Here … sit … sit down! he said as his green eyes widened with a mixture of worry and horror as they landed on me. He reached out for me in an attempt to get a hold of my shoulders to force me to sit on the front steps of the apartment, but I quickly backed away from him. My brain screamed for him to not touch me, but I ended up whimpering instead of producing the scream I had intended.

I wasn’t able to get my brain to slow down long enough to form a sentence, never mind come up with an excuse to explain why I had gotten hurt, so I said nothing. My mouth opened to try and explain, but instead I gasped in an attempt to force some air into my lungs. It didn’t help and my chest continued to burn with the lack of oxygen. I didn’t give the stranger the chance to say another word before my fight or flight response kicked in and I took off running. I heard the man scream for me to wait, but I bolted away from the apartment before he had a chance to pull a phone from his pocket to call the police.

I couldn’t be there when the cops arrived because I couldn’t handle not getting the tea that would keep my elven side from attacking the human one like an autoimmune disease. I felt that pain once and would do anything to avoid feeling it again.

My father had made it clear that if I ended up in foster care, he would have no way of getting me for the visits, and he’d made sure that from a very young age I understood his rules. They were simple: stay away from the authorities, keep your head down, and stay out of trouble.

I had no memory of how far I ran before I felt it safe enough to slow down to a walking speed. I couldn’t tell you how many turns I took, how many streets I crossed, or how many worried people I ignored as I continued to put as much distance as I could between me and the apartment.

It was a summer night; therefore, I hadn’t felt cold, but I could feel my teeth chattering and my body shivering. The shock had begun to wear off by this point, and the pain in my feet had started to make itself known. I remember wishing that I had managed to think clearly enough to grab shoes on the way out of the apartment but knew that going back wasn’t a possibility for a few hours, so I didn’t bother to head back towards home. I needed to wait until my mother managed to pass out or was arrested.

I was starting to feel dizzy, and the nausea in my stomach had started to make it turn dangerously, but I refused to let my feet stop moving. I didn’t care if I was only stumbling at this point, as even at a slow pace it was progress in providing me the distance my body desperately craved.

I wanted to keep moving but knew when my stomach heaved one final time and my mouth watered that I had no choice but to give in. I couldn’t deny it anymore. I stopped walking and leaned forward just as my stomach emptied its contents on the street in front of my bare feet, dumping the lunch I had consumed at school that day with a sickening slapping sound. My vision blurred again when I threw up the second time, the bile and acid leaving a horrible taste in my mouth that made me moan in pain as a headache joined the mix.

Watch out!

The scream of warning snapped me out of my daze and made me stand straight for the first time since I’d started throwing up, only to realize that I had stopped in the middle of the street. I turned my attention towards the sound of a car horn, and my blurred vision was immediately blinded by headlights.

I wanted to run to get out of the way, but my brain wasn’t able to get the signal to my feet, so instead of moving, I stood frozen in place as the sound of screeching tires joined the sound of the blaring horn.

The only option left was to close my eyes and wait for impact.

I had been expecting the impact to take me out by hitting me head on, since I’d been facing the oncoming vehicle, but I was shocked to feel the connection land against my left side. I felt the air rush from my lungs as it knocked the wind clean out of them. My brain couldn’t seem to keep up with the actions happening around me, and by the time I realized that the blow to my left side was a set of strong arms wrapping around me, one of them was already wrapped around my stomach. I didn’t get the chance to scream before the other was wrapped around my shoulders, and before I could even begin to piece together a plan of escape, I felt the person pull my back against their chest. My feet were lifted from the ground, my body pinned against the stranger’s chest before he pivoted his weight so that we spun. He used the force he’d built up while running towards me to send both of us out of the direct path of the oncoming car. I wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but he seemed to use nothing but pure strength to launch us towards the side of the road.

I felt our bodies go airborne for a few seconds before the breath rushed from the person’s lungs with an ouff as his back slammed against the curb a second before my weight crashed against his chest. I felt his breath as it rushed past my face. His grip remained tight on me until the sound of the car horn rushing past hit my ears before it continued down the street, and when I managed to get my eyes open, I saw the red taillights disappear as the car turned the corner.

I heard the person groan and felt him shift to sit up as his grip on my shoulders remained tight to keep me against his chest while he pulled us into a seated position. I knew in that moment that my eyes were wide, but I hadn’t seemed capable of letting the shocked look fall from my face.

Have you lost your mind? the man who had saved me demanded as his hands released my shoulders seconds before he grabbed my upper arm so he could haul me onto my feet as he stood. Are you trying to get yourself killed? he demanded, his tone one of anger as he released my arm, only to grab both my shoulders to force me to face him.

He was much taller than my five-foot-one, and I had to angle my head back in order to look up into his eyes; I regretted it almost instantly, as my head throbbed painfully the minute that I tilted it back.

His eyes looked dark blue in color, and either I had hit my head harder than I first thought or the street lights had been playing tricks on me, because I could have sworn in that moment that they flashed a red color around the pupils.

His hair was long and as black as the night sky, tied back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. When he brought his attention down to me, I could see that some of the strands had been pulled free of the elastic to fall into his face. The anger seemed to melt from his eyes as they instantly flashed through multiple emotions that I couldn’t pinpoint, and my brain exploded painfully when I attempted to try.

You are hurt, he stated matter-of-factly while his grip on my shoulders tightened. My brain struggled to keep up because there was a part of me that thought it saw a worried look cross his face while it had expected anger. The sudden tightness of his grip had set my teeth on edge and made my entire body stiffen as I swallowed hard to keep my stomach in place while I tried to take a step back.

I’m fine … I stammered as I tried to pull my shoulders from his grip but failed, feeling his grip remain in place to keep me from moving. A sob escaped my lips before I could stop it, and the noise made it impossible for me to sound confident.

My panic had bubbled to the surface, and I knew that the adrenaline that had kept me going to that point had started to wear off. My head had begun to ache, my left hand stung deeply, and my chest felt tighter with every breath I forced into my lungs.

You are not, he responded simply as he released my shoulders and took a step back from me. At first I thought he was just going to walk away, but his eyes seemed to scan me for a moment longer than I thought necessary before they traveled from my head down to my feet and back up to rest on my eyes again, I suppose you have no means to get medical assistance, he said suddenly.

I hadn’t been able to stop myself. I glared at him.

I locked my jaw in an effort to show strength because I felt my tears as they started to leak from my eyes, no matter how much I fought them. I couldn’t think of a clever excuse to explain these wounds, but before I managed to toss out another lame attempt, he sighed and turned his back on me as he stepped up onto the sidewalk. Once safely out of the street, he turned to me with an exasperated look on his face and sighed deeply.

Well, do you plan to remain there to bleed out or would you rather follow me home where I can do my best to help you? He asked me with such a serious tone that I hadn’t been able to pull my eyes from his gaze.

His eyes were such a unique shade of blue, almost like cobalt—darker than most, but still bright enough to capture attention without effort.

Why? I asked quietly as I walked towards him so I could get out of the street before another car decided to race down it. I stepped up onto the sidewalk and immediately took a step back to place some distance between us.

Suit yourself if you wish to stay here and bleed to death, he said simply and shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly before he began to walk away from me.

My mind raced. Bleed to death? Was I bleeding that badly? It was only once he mentioned it that I became suddenly aware of the wetness of blood dripping down the side of my face. I reached up and touched the side of my head before pulling my hand back to see the thick red substance that coated my fingers, and when I brought my eyes down towards the throbbing in my left hand, I noticed that it too had been bleeding from the open cut across my palm. The street lights seemed to be reflecting off pieces of glass that were stuck inside the wound, and the memory of my mother swinging the liquor bottle wildly flashed before my eyes. No wonder the man outside of my apartment had seemed so shocked to see me when I came running out.

My head began to spin again, but this time I wasn’t completely sure if it was from the head wound or simply because I was becoming overwhelmed with the situation I suddenly found myself in.

What choice did I really have?

He had been right about one thing: we didn’t have medical coverage and there was no way I could avoid another medical bill. This mess couldn’t be fixed as simply as getting in under a false name and ducking out while they were searching for the fake parents using the fake phone numbers I left for them to call. I got away with that once, but I doubted that I’d get away with it a second time. Surely this time I’d end up having to deal with Social Services, and my father would be furious if I had to speak with them again. Even at twelve years old, I knew that I was screwed either way, and I could either bleed to death now or end up in the system, where I would die in less than six months without the tea from the Forest Realm.

I sighed defeatedly, muttering a string of curses under my breath before I began to follow the stranger, who was a good five paces ahead of me. Why not end my night with a stranger bringing me to his house to either patch me up enough to get back home or murder me? It sounded like a great ending to a wonderful Friday night. Where most kids my age had the pleasure of sitting at home while dreading the book report that was due on Monday, I was left to choose between life and death.

We walked another twenty minutes before he took a left turn and headed out of the part of the city where those who had no choice but to walk at night did so with mace gripped in their closed fists. This part of town didn’t scream money, but it did give the impression that you were safe to leave a window open at night.

The larger apartments in this area had a secure lock door to keep people from my side of town out, and I followed him up the staircase hesitantly. He quickly punched a code into the door lock and pulled it open while stepping aside to hold it open for me. I watched as he motioned with a nod of his head in the direction of the stairs to the right.

I let my shoulder slump defeatedly before I stepped into the entrance of the apartment and remained at the bottom of the staircase until the man closed the front door. He started to walk up the stairs without a word, and I followed him up two flights of stairs before heading down a hall to the right. He opened the last door on the right—that meant it would be two left turns and two flights of stairs to get out of here.

The apartment opened into the kitchen, the modern finishes showing immediately that I was no longer on my side of town. I wasn’t able to stop myself from sighing again. His kitchen was much larger than mine and had an island that divided it from the living area, giving the apartment an open concept that allowed someone to see the kitchen and living room from the front door.

The living room was filled with large, comfy-looking L-shaped couch and an accent chair that were both angled to be able to see the television from either seat. If I looked towards the back of the apartment, I could see that the room was finished with large patio doors that led outside to overlook the city from a small patio. If I looked to the right, through the kitchen, I saw a small dining room with a round table with four chairs settled in a nook that had large windows to give the space the light needed to not seem crowded. Towards the left was a hallway that I assumed led towards the bedrooms.

You’re home!

I gasped, just barely managing to stifle my screams when I heard the female voice echo through the quiet apartment. For the first time since I’d agreed to follow him, my heart began to race. I watched as a young girl came out from the hallway and came to a sudden stop when her eyes met mine.

Her hair was just as black as the man’s but longer, flowing all the way down her back in a long braid to keep in under control. It was tied at the end with a blue ribbon to keep it in place. I watched her blue eyes—a shade or two brighter than the man’s—fill with shock as they met mine.

Annie, go into my bedroom and get my medical kit, please, the man said, his voice level. He seemed completely calm and in control, which was a complete contrast to how I was feeling in that moment.

The girl nodded, turning around without hesitation, and headed back down the hallway without asking the question that had been clear on her face.

You’re a doctor? I asked quietly, my voice trembling even though I had been trying my best to sound strong. I hadn’t wanted to show fear, but I also couldn’t bring myself to keep my voice from shaking. I felt dizzy and tired; the urge to sleep had been strong, but my exhausted brain couldn’t help but wonder if my luck had finally turned.

I studied medicine, but no, I am not a doctor, he replied simply. So much for my luck changing; this information did nothing to ease my nervousness.

He pulled a chair away from the dining room table and placed it next to the kitchen island near the sink before he motioned for me to sit with a flick of his wrist in the direction of the chair. My heart continued to race as he pulled off his windbreaker, ignoring the dirt that now covered it from our tumble in the street. He tossed it aside to land on the table in the dining room. He began to roll up the sleeves to his collared shirt as the girl returned with a large black bag.

What happened? she demanded of him worriedly as I sank down into the chair defeatedly.

What choice had I had? I couldn’t go to a hospital, my mother couldn’t care less about me, and my father wouldn’t be in this realm for another month. This was my best chance at getting help without stepping foot in a hospital.

She was injured, he replied simply.

A man of few words, this one, I thought bitterly.

The young girl must have felt irritated with his short answer because she rolled her eyes. I can see that, she shot back at him while crossing her arms over her chest. You brought her here instead of a medical station because? she demanded as I slowly brought my eyes towards her again.

Medical station? Where had I heard that term before?

I could feel a migraine starting by this point. My eyes ached as the man started to wash his hands in the kitchen sink, and the sudden sound of the water being turned on made me jolt. I turned my head back towards him as he began rinsing his hands.

A hospital will ask for money in return for helping her, he explained as he rinsed the soap from his hands and grabbed some paper towel to dry them, She has none. It is just that simple.

The girl—Annie, he called her—didn’t seem to buy what he was telling her, and I watched as one of her eyebrows rose. Since when does my brother care to help those who cannot afford treatment? What happened to not bringing people into our home for our safety? she asked him, her voice level and serious while she crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. The motion of squaring off with her brother left me uneasy.

Since when do you question me? he demanded, his voice raising ever so slightly. This made my heart leap into my throat instantly. When I need the opinion of a ten-year-old, I will come find you. Until then, I suggest you return to your room and complete the assignments your school is requesting to be completed by Monday morning, he added as he tossed the paper towel into the garbage under the sink in the island.

She was younger than me?

I would have placed her age closer to that of a teenager, just by the way she was talking, but I saw a glimpse of the child she truly was as she rolled her eyes a second time and stomped off down the hall to return to her room as she’d been told.

He had left a ten-year-old home alone? I hadn’t seen any signs of their parents, but then again, he seemed plenty old enough to be raising her on his own. Who was I to judge where their parents were when mine would rather be anywhere else but trapped in an apartment with me?

I suddenly felt my chest fill with guilt. He had a younger sister, a nice apartment, and he’d brought me here to bleed all over the white tiles of his kitchen floor.

I’m sorry, I said quietly as I brought my eyes down to my feet, watching as the blood that had pooled into the palm of my hand started to drip between my fingers to stain my pants. I couldn’t help but curse quietly under my breath as I pressed my hand to my chest, letting my shirt start to soak up some of the blood instead of letting it pour onto the floor.

It is fine, he said, the tone neutral. This put me back on edge instantly because I wasn’t capable of reading the emotion that would normally be behind the statement, so I didn’t know if he was angry or not. He reached out and grabbed my chin gently to try and angle my head back in order to get a better look at what he was dealing with, but I flinched. I slammed my eyes closed while pulling away from him as I waited for the blow that my tired brain was certain would come.

It took a minute, but my body started to relax as it realized that the man had no intentions of backhanding me. His grip tightened on my chin, gently forcing me to angle my head back, and my eyes slowly opened to lock on to his awaiting gaze.

An apology would make one think that you did this to yourself, he added with a shrug of his shoulder, and I could only assume that he was trying to explain why he had essentially waved away my earlier apology. I shot him a look of annoyance before I could stop the look from crossing my face, and I saw his lips pull into the smallest of smiles—only the right corner lifting ever so slightly—as he grabbed a cloth from the island counter to press it to my head.

I hissed and slammed my eyes shut again as pain shot from the side of my head all the way down my spine, making my body tremble involuntarily. The room spun, and I was sure that if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had a grip on my chin, I would have fallen from the chair to land on my knees on the kitchen floor. For the first time that I had been able to remember, a tightened grip had been a comfort and not an immediate sign of danger. I took a couple of deep breaths before forcing my eyes to open again and let my gaze lock on to the dark blue eyes that were watching my every move.

He seemed to have been waiting for me to steady myself before releasing his grip on my chin to free himself to move to the sink with the cloth he’d had pressed to my head moments ago. He began to rinse the blood from it, keeping his eyes on the task in order to leave us in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

I do not suppose you would share how this happened? he asked me seriously before he brought his attention from the cloth in his hands to my eyes.

Accident, I muttered simply while pulling my eyes from his stare, bringing them to the floor under my feet again. I was unable to look at him while I lied. How was he able to make me feel so exposed with just a glance?

Quite the accident, he muttered before turning off the water and coming to stand before me again. He placed his hand under my chin once again, only this time he moved much slower as he approached me. He forced me to look up at him again before he continued to clean the blood from my face. Cut above the left eye, bruise across the jaw, cheek is red, eye is swelling, he muttered. At first, I thought he was talking to me in an attempt to get me to confess what happened, but the longer I remained silent, the more I realized that he was no longer speaking to me at all. Instead, he seemed to be speaking to himself, as if categorizing the injuries for his own triage.

His eyes started to scan from my head down to the hand that I had been cradling in my lap to let my jeans take a turn soaking up some of the blood, and I winced again from his touch as I heard him sigh.

That looks deeper than the one on your head, he added, this time speaking to me directly.

Yeah, I whispered defeatedly and shrugged my shoulder, since I really didn’t know what else to say at this point. He was right: it was bleeding more than the head wound, and I had lost the ability to keep the blood pooled in my palm several minutes ago.

The cut on your head is not too deep, and the blood seems to be coagulating without needing stitching, he said gently as he tossed the bloodied cloth into the sink with a sigh of his own. There is a bump forming on your head, and there is a possibility of a concussion, he added as he went over and grabbed another chair from the dining room table before returning to place it down in front of me.

He looked down at the back of the wooden chair to see that he had smeared blood across it, but he didn’t bother to react any further to the mess. He simply went over to the sink and quickly washed the blood from his hands before he grabbed a clean cloth to wash the smear of blood from the back of the chair before returning to stand in front of the sink.

Come here for a moment, he instructed while turning the water pressure down so it was a gentle flow. He seemed to be testing the temperature against his wrist before he motioned for me to put my hand under the stream. I forced my body to move as I slowly stood from the chair and walked over to the sink.

I whimpered and tried to pull my hand from the stream but he stopped me with a firm grip on my wrist to keep my hand under the water. I cried out—from the pain of the water or the fear of how quickly he grabbed me, I’m wasn’t sure—and felt my heart skip a beat as my fight or flight reaction kicked in. I pulled to get my wrist from his grip desperately.

Apologies, he said gently while he loosened his grip enough to make my heart slow down but not enough to release me. I did not mean to startle you, he added softly before he used his thumb to gently wipe away some of the blood that stained my palm in order to see the injury clearly.

Not your fault, I muttered automatically as my vision blurred again. I was left with no choice but to blink profusely to clear the tears that I thought were the culprit, only to find that there weren’t any and I was simply dizzy. I don’t … I started in an attempt to say that I wasn’t feeling well, but I lost the words as I fought to clear my vision of the stars that appeared around its edges.

Come. Sit back down, he said to me gently as he released his grip on my wrist. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I gave up and simply obeyed his command again and let him lead me back to the chair. I fell back into it with a whimper of pain and a gasped breath.

He slowly reached out and gently took my wrist in his grip again with one hand as he sat down in the chair he’d placed in front of me moments ago. He turned my wrist so that my palm was facing towards the ceiling while he reached for the black medical bag that had been placed on the floor with his free hand. My vision had started to blacken around the edges, and I had to force my eyes to remain open.

What is your name? he asked me quietly, his voice conversational now as he continued to dig through his bag to collect what he needed.

I jolted at the sound of his voice, my attention snapping back to him as I brought my eyes back up to his face. My vision had cleared for the moment, but I had no idea how long it would last before exhaustion kicked in and my eyes would start to feel heavy again.

Emery, I responded, my exhaustion evident in my voice because it barely held an ounce of volume.

Emery, he repeated, and I nodded to confirm the information was correct. My name is Nicholas, he added softly, and I