Sentenced to Death for a Bag of Gummies

The plastic bags hit the kitchen island. Mom pulled out frozen steaks, her fingers slipping slightly on the condensation.

"What are you hungry for tonight, Chloe?" She set the food down on the counter and reached for a large glass roasting pan.

I slid my right hand behind my back. The neon sour gummies wrapper crinkled in the quiet kitchen.

I was twenty, but eating junk food before dinner still earned me a lecture in this house.

"Whatever you're making is fine." I swallowed the sour sugar fast, trying to clear my throat.

Her hands stopped moving. She didn't turn around. "What are you hiding back there?"

"Nothing."

She turned, the glass roasting pan still gripped in her hands.

Her eyes narrowed. "You're ruining your appetite again. Show me."

I pulled the half-empty bag forward. "It's just sugar. I needed a fix."

Her gaze dropped to the bright pink and green plastic.

The glass roasting pan slipped from her fingers. It hit the floor, sending jagged shards exploding across the tiles.

Her palm cracked across my cheek before the glass finished settling.

My vision flashed white. I fell hard against the lower cabinets.

"You little bitch." Her breathing hitched.

The sour sugar dissolved under the sudden, hot wash of blood in my mouth.

What? My brain completely short-circuited.

Did she just hit me? Over a snack?

"Mom! What the—"

She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back.

"I should have scraped you out the day I found out I was pregnant."

She raised her hand again. I threw my arms up, bracing for the hit.

My dad shoved his way into the kitchen, grabbing her shoulder.

"What the hell is going on?" he barked. He pulled her backward.

"It's just junk food. Let her go."

Thank God. I looked up at him, my chest heaving. He was the rational one.

He would stop this. 

Mom stood completely still, pointing a single, rigid finger at the floor.

"Look at what she brought into this house."

Dad followed her gaze. The neon wrapper lay next to a chunk of broken glass.

The blood drained completely from his face. His jaw locked tight.

He stepped over the glass and hauled me up by the collar of my hoodie.

"Where did you get this?"

Every word was a razor blade slipping past his teeth.

"Amazon." The fabric choked me. "It's just candy—"

His fist drove straight into my stomach.

The air punched out of my lungs. I collapsed, my knees hitting the shards of the roasting pan.

"Are you trying to kill us?" he roared, his voice shaking the windows. "Is that what you want?!"

A sharp kick landed on my thigh.

I curled into a tight ball on the tiles, throwing my arms over my head to shield my neck.

Mom stepped closer. Her shadow fell over my face.

"We shouldn't have kept you," she said, her voice dead. "If I'd known you were going to turn out like this, I would have used a pillow."

The deadbolt clicked from the outside.

I lay on the carpet of my bedroom, staring at the ceiling in the pitch dark.

My left eye was swollen shut.

A bag of candy.

Two dollars and fifty cents of artificial flavoring.

Last week I left a half-eaten pizza on the counter and my dad just threw it in the trash. Tonight, they tried to rupture my spleen.

Was the candy laced? Was there a recall on that brand?

I couldn't check. The wrapper was still downstairs.

Three days blurred together.

The door only opened wide enough for a paper plate of cold toast to slide across the floor.

"Reflect," Mom said every time. "Find out what you did."

Then came the fourth night.

I pressed my ear against the gap beneath the door.

The house was dead quiet. Then, faint voices drifted up the stairs.

"...we have to deal with it." Mom's voice.

"It's too dangerous to keep her here now." My dad.

"If it goes like last time—"

Last time?

Ice coated my stomach.

What exactly were they talking about?

I held my breath, flattening myself against the floor.

All I heard was the bedroom door slam.

I lay in the dark, my heart hammering against my bruised ribs. I forced myself to wait.

Ten minutes. Twenty.

A full half-hour passed before the rhythmic, rumbling sound of my father's snoring finally drifted through the walls. They were fast asleep.

I grabbed a bobby pin from my dresser. My hands shook so badly I dropped it twice. I forced the metal rod into the keyhole and jerked it hard left.

The lock gave way with a soft click.

I slipped into the hallway.

I lifted the hallway window and slid out onto the sloping roof of the porch. Freezing rain hit my bruised face. I slid down the shingles, dropped into the mud of the front lawn, and ran.

I didn't stop until I reached the next block.

Maya's house.

We had known each other since third grade. She had the key to everything I was. She would call the cops.

I tapped my knuckles on her bedroom window. Rain washed down the glass, blurring the world outside.

A minute dragged by. The blinds snapped up.

Maya rubbed her eyes. She pulled the latch and shoved the window open.

Her eyes darted over my swollen jaw, a dark purple mass against pale skin.

Shock wiped the sleep from her face instantly.

"Jesus, Chloe," she gasped, gripping the windowsill. "What happened?"