Rescued by the Beast

an J

ur fifth-grade teacher, Miss Hallow

red in unison, mumbling i

d by our response. "I'm sorry, what was that?

t I remained silent. My teacher's eyes were on me

omeone approaches you with drug

ed an element of concern lingering within them. The home

r. It used to belong to her son, Charlie, when he went to school fifty-seven years ago. She

s Halloway's voice calling me back. "Kian Jone

avoc with my anxiety. "Yes, miss," I replied

l the homework papers had been placed on top of one another in a messy pile. All except

even though I could tell that she

my voice. "I left it at home, miss," I l

r room after she passed out cold on the bathroom floor, high as a cloud on heroin. How was I supposed to explain I had to clea

g, brown hair over one shoulder, th

e, Kian?" Her voice was drenche

at question, the truth scraped against the bone, and I was scared. Fear c

ed, my own voice tre

d already feel them starting to burn, then d

ward and brushed her hand against my

my throat as I snat

worried about you," she

let me bring my laundry around to her house on weekends. Our washing machine had given up the ghost months a

ed, finally blinking away t

aged, prompting me

t Mom be mo

e classroom, grimacing with tears. I made it across the schoolyard, runn

otpath in shades of red, brown, and orange. Autumn was on its way, and it brought a brisk, chilly breeze. I shuddered, feeling the cold raise my hackles. U

om shooting up a hit, the shit would hit the fan. Handling my drugged-up mother was one thing, but calming down my alcoholic father was another, especially if Mom had s

he could beat whatever demons haunted him. Then he could find the strength to help Mom. But instead, they would rather destroy one another.

my own at ten years old

late; I could already hear them screaming. The sound of shattering glass made me

ed me to come next door. "Why do

rattled against the wall, knocking chunks off the peeling woodwork. Our side o

frail body, and then stood aside in her slippers. She wore th

turned cold rather quickly. I had two options: to venture inside the mouth of

" I replied

at licking my skin as I took a seat. The floral couch nearly swallowed me whole, swaddling me like a soft,

and a tall back for posture support. She covered the threadbare armrests with crocheted wool and placed matching pieces

I didn't so much as flinch. Instead, I savored the bitter, velvety taste like I did whenever I

lem halved," she said, observing

hat safe. I knew that Mrs. Banks would rather let me sleep here on her patched-up couch than call the authorities. Forest Hills had its own way of handling wayward shi

e had a similar system as the humans. I just didn't want to wind up stuck in it. I'd be eighteen by the time I c