Hopeless(98)

The picture isn’t on the dresser of my biological mother where I remember it to be. I look around the room, hoping to find something of hers that I can take with me. I have no memories of her, so a picture is more than I could ever ask for. I just want something to tie me to her. I need to see what she looks like and hope it will give me any memories at all that I can hold on to.

I walk over to the bed and sit down. The theme in the room is the sky, which is ironic, considering the name Karen gave me. There are clouds and moons on the curtains and walls, and the comforter is covered in stars. There are stars everywhere. The big plastic kind that stick to walls and ceilings and glow in the dark. The room is covered in them, just like the stars that are on my ceiling back at Karen’s house. I remember begging Karen for them when I saw them at the store a few years ago. She thought they were childish, but I had to have them. I wasn’t even sure why I wanted them so bad, but now it’s becoming clear. I must have loved stars when I was Hope.

The nervousness already planted in my stomach intensifies when I lie back on the pillow and look up at the ceiling. A familiar wave of fear washes over me, and I turn to look at the bedroom door. It’s the exact same doorknob I was praying wouldn’t turn in the nightmare I had the other night.

I suck in a breath and squeeze my eyes shut, wanting the memory to go away. I’ve somehow locked it away for thirteen years, but being here on this bed…I can’t lock it away anymore. The memory grabs hold of me like a web, and I can’t break out of it. A warm tear trickles down my face and I wish I had listened to Holder. I should never have come back here. If I had never came back, I never would have remembered.





I used to hold my breath and hope he would think I was sleeping. It doesn’t work, because he doesn’t care if I’m sleeping or not. One time I tried to hold my breath and hoped he would think I was dead. That didn’t work either, because he never even noticed I was holding my breath.

The doorknob turns and I’m all out of tricks right now and I try to think of another one really fast but I can’t. He closes the door behind him and I hear his footsteps coming closer. He sits down beside me on my bed and I hold my breath anyway. Not because I think it’ll work this time, but because it helps me not feel how scared I am.

“Hey, Princess,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I got you a present.”

I squeeze my eyes shut because I do want a present. I love presents and he always buys me the best presents because he loves me. But I hate it when he brings the presents to me at nighttime, because I never get them right away. He always makes me tell him thank you first.

I don’t want this present. I don’t.

“Princess?”

My daddy’s voice always makes my tummy hurt. He always talks to me so sweet and it makes me miss my mommy. I don’t remember what her voice sounded like, but daddy said it sounded like mine. Daddy also says that mommy would be sad if I stop taking his presents because she’s not here to take his presents anymore. This makes me sad and I feel really bad, so I roll over and look up at him.

“Can I have my present tomorrow, Daddy?” I don’t want to make him sad, but I don’t want that box tonight. I don’t.

Daddy smiles at me and brushes my hair back. “Sure you can have it tomorrow. But don’t you want to thank Daddy for buying it for you?”

My heart starts to beat really loud and I hate it when my heart does that. I don’t like the way my heart feels and I don’t like the scary feeling in my stomach. I stop looking at my daddy and I look up at the stars instead, hoping I can think about how pretty they are. If I keep thinking about the stars and the sky, maybe it will help my heart to stop beating so fast and my tummy to stop hurting so much.

I try to count them, but I keep stopping at number five. I can’t remember what number comes after five, so I have to start over. I have to count the stars over and over and only five at a time because I don’t want to feel my daddy right now. I don’t want to feel him or smell him or hear him and I have to count them and count them and count them and count them until I don’t feel him or hear him or smell him anymore.

Then when my daddy finally stops making me thank him, he pulls my nightgown back down and whispers, “Goodnight Princess.” I roll over and pull the covers over my head and squeeze my eyes shut and I try not to cry again but I do. I cry like I do every time daddy brings me a present at night.

I hate getting presents.