Journey to the Place She Belongs

An Explanation

Lilyan locked the door behind her and went to the kitchen. She took a granola bar from the pantry, careful to leave the box in the exact position she had found it. A note on the counter caught her eye. It was in her uncle's handwriting.

'Gone for a business trip.'

She grinned. Her uncle's business trips always took at least a week. He wasn't going to be home for a while. She all but skipped to her room. She didn't bother to close the basement behind her before making her way down the steps and to her room. She dropped her backpack and the granola bar onto her bed and then sat next to them on the mattress. Her boots took a moment to unlace, but once they were, she kicked them off in the general direction of her dresser.

Lilyan pulled her key and her phone out of her jeans pockets then slid the key into a pocket on her bag. She turned and hopped forwards, landing flat on her stomach. She propped herself up on her elbows and flipped the phone open.

'Guess what?' She pressed send, unable to stop smiling. His response was immediate.

'Are you okay?' She rolled her eyes, still smiling, her legs moving back and forth up in the air behind her.

'That's not a guess. I'm fine.' She added the last part to keep him from worrying. A few missed messages and now he was acting paranoid. Oops.

'Okay. What?'

She sighed and sat up, crossing her legs in front of her, placing her elbows on her thighs.

'That's still not a guess.'

'Is the house on fire?'

'Haha. No.'

'I give up. What is it?'

Not wanting to test his patience, she conceded and informed him of the reason behind her good mood.

'My uncle isn't here.'

'Doesn't he always take an hour or so before getting home?' How did he know that? She shook her head and typed a response.

'Yeah, but I mean he won't be coming home.'

'Ever?' She laughed. That would be nice, but unfortunately, she knew he would return eventually.

'He's on a business trip. He's usually gone for a week, sometimes more.'

'Want me to come over?'

Lilyan stared at the phone, reading and rereading the message. Her uncle had never specifically prohibited her from inviting over friends. Then again, she hadn't had any friends to invite.

She tried to imagine Zayd sitting in her room with her. She frowned. Showing him her room wasn't an option. She didn't want him to see her twin mattress and single blanket lying on a concrete floor. Nor did she want him seeing that she shared a room with the washing machine and dryer. Her old dresser with the cracked mirror held only a few decent outfits. She didn't think he was going to inspect her clothes but she still didn't want him knowing the state of them. Looking around the area, she realized she was ashamed of her living conditions.

They could always just stay in the living room. But what would they do there? They couldn't watch television. She couldn't offer him anything to eat or drink besides maybe a granola bar and a glass of water. Attempting to explain why she couldn't be hospitable to him if he visited wasn't something she wanted to do. She had not lied to Zayd about her uncle, but she had not explained everything to him either. If he came over, she would owe him an explanation. She stared at her phone, not knowing how to answer.

'You still there?'

'Yeah. I don't know if that's a good idea.'

'Why not? I don't bite.' She wanted to laugh but then realized that she wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

'My room sucks.' She sent the message, leaving out the other reasons why she was hesitant.

'I won't judge.'

Lilyan wondered if that was true. He had said he wouldn't stop being her friend. If nothing else, she could see if he truly meant that. A real friend wouldn't care what kind of bed she slept in or where it was. Right?

'Alright. But no biting.' She smiled at her joke and sent the message. His reply made her stomach flip.

'Damn it.'

Lilyan blinked down at the message. He had been very close to her neck earlier. What if instead of kissing her, he had bitten her? She shook her head, trying to erase the idea from her mind. Refusing to entertain the thought any further, she stood up, slid her phone into her pocket, and went back upstairs. By the time she reached the living room, there was a knock on the front door.

Her heart skipped a beat and she rushed to the door. She stood on her toes to peer through the spyhole. Zayd stood outside on the stoop, his bag over his shoulder and his hands in his jacket pockets. He looked up and grinned, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Lilyan stepped back, unlocked the door, and opened it, gesturing for him to come in. He stepped inside and she shut the door behind him, turning the lock.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Locking me in?” he teased. She rolled her eyes.

“Habit,” she informed him. “It unlocks from the inside if you want to escape.” He chuckled at her jab.

“Good to know,” he said. Lilyan stood there, not sure what to do next. He pulled his hands from his jacket and slipped one into hers, folding his long fingers around her hand.

“You hungry?” he asked. She gave him a questioning look that he ignored, then he led her to the kitchen. She sat at the small dinette table that seated two and watched him hang his bag on the back of the chair. He lifted the flap of the bag and pulled out a square wrapped in plastic. He tossed it at her and pulled another one out that he sat on the table. She snatched hers out of the air before it flew over her shoulder. Zayd sat in the other chair and grinned at her.

“Nice catch,” he smirked. She looked at the sandwich in her hand, wondering why he had thrown it at her. “It's not poisoned,” he stated.

“You say some of the oddest things,” she remarked and began to unravel the plastic.

“Like what?” he smirked, taking a bite out of the sandwich he had already unwrapped. Lilyan focused on the sandwich and shrugged.

“Oh, I don't know,” she said sarcastically, “Things like 'I'm not going to hurt you.' or 'I don't bite.' or 'It's not poisoned.'” She finally freed her sandwich from the plastic wrap and lifted the bread to inspect what was inside. It looked like a normal turkey and swiss sandwich. She looked up at Zayd and waited for him to respond.

“Well, it's not,” he shrugged, still grinning. She took a bite, deciding that death by sandwich wasn't the worst way to go. She chewed the food slowly and swallowed before speaking again.

“Seriously, though,” she said, “Why did you say that when we met?” Zayd's smirk faded into an apologetic smile.

“I didn't do it to scare you,” he said, “As a matter of fact, I said it because I thought you were already afraid. I didn't want you to think I was a threat.” Lilyan smiled, amused at the irony of the situation.

“Well, I was fine until you said that,” she laughed. He reached behind him and produced a can of soda from his bag and slid it across the table to her. She stopped it with her free hand, then sat the sandwich down on top of the plastic wrap to open it. He grabbed one for himself and popped it open.

“Thanks,” she smiled. She took a sip and then returned to her food. Not sure if it was the sandwich or the fact that she hadn't eaten in a while, but she thought it tasted delicious.

“Why do you eat so little?” he asked. His voice was curious, not judgmental. She raised a shoulder dismissively, letting it fall before taking another bite. He continued watching her. Feeling more self-conscious the longer he stared, she took a sip of the drink to wash down the food and answered his question.

“My uncle buys his food,” she explained, “I eat at school. I try to take things home so I have something to eat here as well, but that's not always possible. If he's not paying attention I can grab a granola bar or save some of his leftovers for myself to eat later, before he gets home. So, my options are a bit limited. I eat when I can.”

“He doesn't buy you food?”

“He gives me enough money to buy his food.”

“You do the shopping,” he stated flatly. He looked slightly perplexed. She nodded, affirming his assumption, and took another bite. “He gives you money that you have to spend on feeding him, not yourself?” Lilyan nodded again and took a drink, watching his emotions play across his face. Disbelief seemed to be the prominent expression.

“I buy a few things for myself every once in a while,” she amended, “I hide them in my dresser.” Zayd picked up his sandwich and started eating. She assumed he needed a moment.

Lilyan was aware that her circumstances were not okay. She had been raised by a loving grandmother that took care of her every need. Even the couple foster homes she had briefly lived in were required to provide her with the necessities. Her uncle was not loving and he was not being inspected regularly to make sure he was providing for her.

Zayd finished his food and chugged what was left of his soda, then set the trash to the side. He propped an elbow on the table and rested his cheek in his palm, laying his other arm flat in front of him.

“He gives you money, makes you go to the store and buy him food, but doesn't allow you to buy food for yourself as well. Am I getting that straight so far?”

She nodded, taking another sip of her drink. She had managed to finish half of the sandwich but was starting to feel full.

“Does he just drop you off at a store?” he asked. She shook her head.

“I walk,” she clarified. Lilyan wondered how much she could tell him before he decided she was too much to handle and walked out the door. He had not known what he was signing up for when he promised to stay friends with her.

Zayd slid his hand up to press his fingers against his temple. He closed his eyes and said, “Okay, just explain it to me. The more questions I have to ask, the more frustrated I'm going to get.” She frowned. After a moment of her not answering, he opened his eyes. He furrowed his brows together in confusion.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“If I explain how messed up my life is, you're not going to want to be a part of it,” she accused.

“I already told you-” he began, but she cut him off.

“You didn't know what you were promising,” she snapped at him. His brows shot up, knitting together. She sighed. “Sorry,” she muttered. She hadn't meant to get upset with him. He reached across the table with his free hand and laid it over hers, wrapping his fingers underneath and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He smiled reassuringly.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he promised, “No matter what.” She nodded, then pulled her hand away to wrap up her leftovers. She stood up and placed the soda and sandwich into the fridge, then gathered up his trash and disposed of it in the trash can. His eyes followed her as she tidied up. She came back to the table and grabbed his hand. He raised his eyebrows and smirked at her.

“Come on,” she huffed. She ignored his amused expression and pulled him towards the basement door.

“After you, princess,” he chuckled. She released his hand and made her way down the steps, rolling her eyes at the pet name he had given her. She was far from any sort of princess. He would realize that soon enough.

She stopped at the foot of the stairs and swept her arm in a grand gesture for him to take in the room. He stepped off the last stair and looked around, then stared back down at her.

“What is this?” he asked. Despite his calm, measured tone, she could hear a hint of anger in his voice.

“My room,” she answered simply. He looked away from her to scan the room again, taking in the corner of the room she had made into a bedroom. He saw the laundry side of the room and the door across from her bed.

“And that?” he asked, pointing at the door.

“My bathroom.” He took a step into the large open area, then another, slowly making his way to the dresser. She followed behind him silently, her hands clasped behind her back. Zayd turned from the cracked mirror and broken drawers, to look at the mattress on the floor, then across the room to the tiny bathroom she had access to. He turned around to face her.

“I don't understand,” he finally said. Lilyan stepped around him and plopped down on the edge of the mattress. He followed suit and lowered himself to the floor. She almost laughed at how long his legs were. He had to cross them to keep his knees from sitting under his chin. She slid back and crossed her legs in front of herself, turning to face him.

“Mom died. Grandma died. Foster care, then uncle,” she recapped. He gave a nod, encouraging her to continue. “When I first got here, there were these social workers that came once a week to make sure I settled in. They visited like twice I think, maybe three times. I had a room upstairs that was nice. I had lots of clothes and toys and art supplies, everything a nine-year-old little girl could want or need. I even had my own TV. My uncle didn't cook, but he ordered food for us both or made simple things like cereal, sandwiches, or instant noodles. He was kind and I started to feel at home here.”

She sighed. “Then the social workers stopped showing up. After a while, he started yelling at me. So, I made sure to not anger him. Except, nothing I did was right in his eyes. He would contradict himself, making up rules after I had supposedly broken them. I learned to be wary of his mood swings and to avoid him when he was angry. He made me cook. At first, I would make enough for us both. Then there was an incident where I didn't like one of the things he wanted me to make. So he called me ungrateful and said I wasn't allowed to eat his food anymore. I was only allowed to use the kitchen to prepare his meals after that.”

Lilyan watched Zayd's face carefully as she told her story. Occasionally he would furrow his brows or his eyes would widen ever so slightly. She noticed each time a corner of his mouth turned downwards, but she kept going, waiting for him to stop her.

“Anyways,” she continued, “He kept lashing out and yelling at everything I did. I slowly lost what he called "privileges". First, it was meals, then television, then being allowed outside. The first time he hit me, I wasn't allowed to go to school for a week. I had to wait for the bruise on my face to go away. He was careful to not hit me anywhere noticeable after that.”

Zayd's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, but he kept quiet, not interrupting. Lilyan gestured to the room around them.

“This happened when I tried to escape. One night, over summer break, I tried to sneak out my bedroom window. He just so happened to be outside at the time and saw me drop to the ground.” She took a deep, shuddered breath, the memory of that night still vivid in her mind.

“He marched over, grabbed me by my hair, and dragged me inside. I kicked and screamed, but there aren't many houses close by. No one heard me. He dragged me to the basement door and threw me down the steps. Pretty sure I fractured a rib on my way down here, but he never took me to the doctor to find out, so I'm not sure. I was covered in bruises for a while. Breathing hurt.

“So, I landed at the bottom of the steps and managed to roll out of the way just in time for that thing,” she pointed at the dresser, “to follow me down the stairs. He tossed down the mattress and then slammed the door shut. Then he screamed through the door that if I ever tried it again, he'd kill me.

“A few days later, when he was at work, and after I was able to move around again, I tried to go back up to my room to get the rest of my things. They were all gone. The only items I got to keep were the things I had packed in the bag that I had tried to run away with. A few clothes, a journal, a couple of granola bars, stuff like that. I don't know where I thought I was going to go. I was a kid, so I didn't exactly have a plan. I just wanted to not be here. This room is my punishment for trying to leave.”

Lilyan folded her hands together in her lap and studied Zayd's face, waiting for a response. She expected him to get up and leave, so she steeled herself for whatever he might do or say. He stared back at her, disbelief and anger painted on his face. He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled it out. He took a few more breaths before trying to speak.

“I'm going to kill him,” he finally uttered. Her first reaction was to laugh, but his eyes were cold and his usual smirk was a straight, tight line. He ground his teeth together. Lilyan gulped, then reached over and placed her hand on his arm.

“You're not serious,” she said, hoping he was just saying that because he was angry. Was Zayd the type of person to actually murder someone? She barely knew anything about him, so she couldn't say for certain. He was always kind to her, always smiling and joking with her. She wouldn't have imagined he was capable of such a thing. However seeing his expression at that moment, she couldn't be sure.

His body relaxed at her touch and he looked down at her fingers on his arm. He took her hand in his and raised it to his face, pressing her palm against his cheek and closing his eyes. He took another calming breath and a hint of a smile played on his lips.

“If you don't want me to, I'll try not to do it,” he sighed, “But I can't promise. I hate that he hurt you.” He opened his eyes and smiled gently at her.

“It's okay,” she murmured, trying to ease his mind, “I just have to survive long enough to finish school, then I can go to college or get a job and leave. I'll figure out how to get emancipated and he won't have any power over me anymore.”

Zayd leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her towards him. He sat her between his legs, positioning her so that her legs draped across his thigh. He held her close to his chest and placed his forefinger under her chin, tilting her head back to look up at him. Her cheeks reddened and her stomach flipped. His face was only inches away.

“I swear to you, he will not touch you again,” he said. His honey-colored eyes were full of sincerity. Somehow, at that moment, she believed him.