Keeping Her

The clock on the library wall ticks quietly, almost like it’s trying to lull me into a sense of security. But it doesn’t work—not really. I feel safe here, sure, surrounded by these towering shelves and silent students, but I can’t ever forget what’s waiting for me at home.

I’m hunched over my notebook, pretending to study, though my mind keeps drifting back to that night. I shouldn’t have overheard them. If I hadn’t, maybe I could pretend everything was normal. But their voices echo in my head every time it gets quiet. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop; I was just coming home late from the library, like I always do. I slipped in through the front door, careful as ever not to make a sound, but as soon as I stepped into the hallway, I heard them.

They were in the living room, talking in low voices, and I froze just outside the door. I’d heard them talk about money before, but this was different. This time, they weren’t just scheming to make a quick buck—they were planning to sell me off, like some piece of property they didn’t need anymore. I can still hear my father’s gravelly voice as he said the words, and my mother’s almost excited whisper. “He’s rich,” she’d said, like that justified everything.

So now, every day is a game of staying away. If I spend enough time here, they might just forget about me. I know it’s a stupid hope, but it’s all I’ve got. I come to the library every evening and don’t leave until they flick the lights, a not-so-subtle hint that it’s closing time. In the mornings, I head out before dawn to make it to my shift at the coffee shop. I’m there for hours before classes start, tucked behind the counter with my head down, just another barista to the early morning regulars. They don’t notice me, and I like it that way.

I push my fingers through my curls, tucking them behind my ear, and glance around. Nobody knows what’s going on inside my head. To them, I’m just a quiet girl with freckles who loves books more than people. I’m fine with that. The less anyone knows about me, the better. It’s safer that way.

But there’s this tightness in my chest that I can’t shake. I don’t know how much longer I have before they pull the trigger on whatever sick plan they’ve cooked up. I can feel the threat hanging over me, thick as the summer air. It’s just a matter of time. Until then, I’ll keep hiding in plain sight, hoping they forget I exist. Hoping, somehow, I can slip through the cracks before they notice I’m gone.

I head out of the library as soon as they announce closing. The streets are quiet now, the kind of quiet that’s comforting but also unnerving. There’s a chill in the air, and I pull my jacket tighter around me, wishing I didn’t have to go home at all. But it’s late, and I can only stall for so long before someone notices. So I shove my notebook into my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and start walking.

It’s a twenty-minute walk, but it feels longer in the dark. I keep my eyes down, focusing on my steps, counting each one like it’s some sort of talisman against the shadows lurking in the corners. I know these streets well; I could probably walk them with my eyes closed, but tonight they seem different, almost sinister, like they’re closing in on me. I pick up the pace, my shoes hitting the pavement in a quick rhythm that echoes against the brick buildings.

When I turn the corner onto my street, I spot a stray cat slinking out from behind a garbage can. I stop for a second, crouching down, and the cat pauses, its yellow eyes glowing in the dim streetlight. I stretch out my hand, hoping it’ll come closer. It does, cautiously at first, before rubbing its head against my fingers. It purrs, a low rumble, and for a brief moment, I feel a bit of warmth seeping through the cold. I wish I could stay here, with this scrappy little creature that has no expectations, no demands. But I can’t.

“Take care,” I whisper, giving the cat one last scratch behind the ears before I stand up and keep moving.

The lights are on when I reach my house. I slip through the front gate, my hand on the doorknob, trying to steady my breathing before I go inside. I push the door open, stepping into the narrow hallway, and before I can close it behind me, I feel a sharp sting on my cheek. The slap is so quick, so sudden, that it takes a second for the pain to register.

“You think you can just come and go as you please?” my mother hisses, her face twisted in anger. Her hand is still raised, ready to strike again, but she drops it, a sneer curling her lips instead. “You don’t get to wander around like some stray.”

I swallow, keeping my head down, hoping she won’t notice the tears prickling in my eyes. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that showing weakness only makes things worse. She’s watching me, waiting for a reaction, but I don’t give her one.

“You’re late,” she snaps. “No dinner for you tonight.”

It doesn’t surprise me. I can feel my stomach growl, but I ignore it, refusing to let her see that I care. I know better than to argue; I just nod, stepping past her and heading toward my room. My father’s nowhere to be seen, probably out or asleep by now, which is a small mercy. I feel her eyes on my back as I walk away, the weight of her disappointment and anger pressing down on me until I close the door and shut her out.

Inside my room, I let out a shaky breath, leaning against the door. My cheek still stings, but I don’t touch it. Instead, I drop my bag onto the floor, pull off my jacket, and crawl into bed. The house is silent now, but it’s the kind of silence that thrums with tension, like it’s waiting for the next explosion.

I close my eyes, clutching my blanket, and try to focus on the feeling of the cat’s soft fur under my fingers. It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough to keep the darkness at bay, if only for a little while. I tell myself that tomorrow will be better, that somehow, I’ll find a way to make it through. I have to. Because right now, that small hope is all I’ve got.