TW | mentions of abuse, descriptions of physical abuse

SABÁDO
10:55 PM

Reid Harlow

I exhale a puff of nicotine from my lips, allowing the dopamine to register into my system and cast a warming sensation throughout my body. That's something they don't tell you about cigarettes—it's warming. It keeps your heart racing, it releases a euphoric feeling of contentment, and it keeps you warm. It gives me two things: the ability to sink into the snow without a shiver, and a feverish love that could only be compared to parental. It locks in that missing element in my life.

I sat outside of the cabin, sitting on the steps of the porch as my shoes dug into the snow, leaving boot footprints. The moon hung over the sky, accompanied by stars and constellations. I hear animal noises behind the trees, like howls of wolves and low murmurs. It almost sounded human.

The door behind me squeaks open, and I hear footsteps leading out of the cabin. I don't bother turning around to check who it was—when Claudia slips into the spot to the right of me, and Presley to the left. They offered nothing as greetings.

"You know smoking is bad for you?" Claudia prompts, turning to me with a tilt of her head. I roll my eyes.

"You know it's not that fucking easy," I scowl, taking another drag of smoke as the fire chars the end of the paper. "It's not like I can fucking stop with a snap of my fingers."

Claudia sighs dejectedly, pressing her elbows to her knees and drops her chin into the palm of her hands. "Yeah, I know."

The conversation pulls to a stop, and we add nothing. A comfortable silence reigns upon us, as we watch the sky and the snow, taking picks out of nature for enjoyment. While the cigarette burns to the very butt, I drop it to the floor and crush it along with some snow, smothering the smell.

"What are you doing out here anyways?" I ask, turning to Presley and Claudia alike. They share a look, that's only comprehendible between the two of them, before Presley turns to me.

He offers an innocent shrug, his expression tame—like he wanted to say something more. "We knew you would be out here."

I scoff, meeting his gaze, "that's all?"

Presley merely smiles, disguising the emotions lingering on his features with a simple action. "I mean, yeah. Why? You wanted it to be something more?"

The question took me by surprise. Something more. Did I want it to be something more? Maybe I was expecting they'll call me in for another game or a movie night, despite it nearing midnight. It is the last day after all, might as well go out with a fucking bang.

I shook my head, "never mind."

Presley chuckles and hooks an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I don't bother trying to pry his hand off of me, because I've become accustomed to the gesture—and, knowing Presley Young for who he is, he'll do it again.

"Don't try to deny it, Harlow," he said, patting my shoulder. "You enjoyed this holiday. You actually liked this week. And I know you definitely liked tackling me to the ground."

The memory returns fondly, "absolutely."

"So, what was it? What were you thinking about?" He encourages. I don't say anything. "Do you have to throw a fucking glass at my head again for you to open up?"

Claudia laughs, dropping her arms to her side and bending over in laughter. I roll my eyes at the childish action, jabbing my elbow into her side, trying to sober her. She pushes me off, and I shake my head, turning back to Presley.

"You're so fucking annoying," I announce.

"But, I'm your fucking annoying." Presley reimburses with a wink, causing an involuntary smile to split on my lips. I try to shake it off, make it look inconspicuous.

"I hate you."

"Come on, buddy, it's time." He sighs, "I know we passed this stage of you pretending to hate me just to push me away—because, be honest, I know you fucking love me."

"No, I do not,"

"Yes, you absolutely do," Presley places one hand on his chest, "and it's fine if you don't want to say it." He pats his heart twice, "I have enough love for the both of us."

Claudia is dying of laughter.

I flip off my foster brother, and shake my head, turning away from him. I couldn't exactly look to my right because Miss Therapist is having the time of her life, and I think I might crack if I take a glance at her.

Instead, I turn to the front, resuming my entertainment to the endless amount of woods surrounding the cabin and the snow that litters the floor. I watched some branches rustle in the distance, probably from squirrels running around and hiding their acorns, and took another glance at the sky, reading the constellations.

The silence returns.

"I had a good time here," I proclaim quietly, reading the prints on the ground. The last thing that'll be left of me in this place. "It was fun. I never thought I ever fucking say that about any foster home, but I liked it here."

Presley squeezes my shoulders, and I could feel him smiling. "I'm glad you did."

"You know," Claudia begins, scooting closer. "You could ask Nini and Sebastian to adopt you. They'll do it. You don't even have to take their names."

I shake my head, dismissing the thought before it becomes a fantasy—a dream only reached by the gods. I grew to like this family—parents included—but I knew something they didn't understand. "When were you adopted?"

Claudia shares a look of confusion, before answering. "When I was fourteen, I think." She answers, adjusting with the sleeves of her jacket. "I think Presley was adopted when he was sixteen."

Just as I thought. "I'm turning eighteen soon."

Claudia cocks a brow at me. "So?"

"I'll ageout of the system. Nini and Sebastian will stop receiving foster checks for me. They wouldn't want me anymore." I explain, swallowing the reality. A heavy sigh escapes from me, "it's just the way it is."

"What—what do you mean that's just the way it is? If they want you, they want you. They don't fucking care about the money," Presley declares, a thickness to his voice. "And they do, I promise you."

"Foster parents never want you after you age out, after you're no longer profitable." I rebuttal, "especially for someone like me."

"Harlow..." Presley draws softly.

"It is," I emphasize. "Think of it. I have nothing. I offer literally nothing. I don't have any fucking ambitions, or dreams, or a career in mind. I don't have anything. I'm a living, breathing, waste of space. Why the fuck would Nini and Sebastian want that after the last useful thing about me—disappears?"

No one says anything. The rawness of my thoughts forces them to succumb to a silence that slices through the deafening truth. I've been told of those words when I was just thirteen, and having it repeatedly shown through countless foster homes—reinforces the idea that it's true. And it is.

Without the money, I'm nothing but a waste of space and an attitude left unchecked. I'm aggressive, an asshole, useless. No one wants someone like me in their home.

Claudia places a hand on my knee, forcing me to turn to her. She meets my gaze softly, trying to render herself a complete ally. I knew exactly what she was doing before she spoke. "Did...any of your previous foster homes say anything to you—"

I jump from my seat, slipping from their touch and comfort. It was finally cold, and the dopamine is losing its control over my body. I feel the weather register into my system, snow withering into my veins, and freezing my skin and bones. "We're not playing fucking therapist right now, Claudia."

"It's a genuine question!" Claudia jumps from her seat, holding both hands in defense. "The words were....too self-deprecating to be generated from your conscience."

I throw her a burning glare, "what the fuck does that mean?"

"It means," she draws slowly, "you're an asshole, and you fucking know it, but you're an unapologetic asshole. You never once felt bad about yourself, and you made sure everyone knew that. From the get-go, how you acted, your body language—you knew who you are. You never apologized for being yourself."

I clench my jaw, my thoughts returning to Dahlia for a split second. "Things fucking change."

"But not to that extent!" Claudia throws out her hand, emphasizing her point. "Small changes are perceptible from recognition of your traits and wishing to change them. Such as toxic traits, destructive behaviors and prioritizing self-care. Thoughts such as those—and having a subconscious that already surrenders to their input—mean it's been meditating on your brain for a long time. Acknowledging what you already faced. A realization."

I stayed quiet, the cold consuming me.

"This isn't the first time you heard it," Claudia continues, her eyes studying me. "And this isn't the first time you believed it."

My hands balled into fists and I shook my head, building back my defenses. I fucking regret it. I should've never opened up to them, especially on that night locked out of the house. It builds the impression that they could come in and try to break me down, try to understand me. They can't.

I begin to walk. "I didn't come out here to be fucking patronized. I'm going to bed—"

Presley catches my arm, stopping me from taking another step up the porch and entering the cabin. With a clenched jaw, and a glare of daggers, I turn to him—just to meet his expression. A tame and sensible look crosses his features, no emotions visible in sight. "No."

I grit my teeth. "Get your fucking hand off of me, or I will fucking break it."

He scoffs, but swallows hard. "No."

"Presley."

"Harlow."

"I don't want to fucking talk about it, okay?" I rip my arm from his hold violently, brushing off the sleeves of my hoodie. "Why the hell do you guys pry so fucking much? Can't you just leave me alone?"

Presley softens a bit. "You know why."

"Well, stop!" I shout, the words burning my throat. People need people. "I don't understand what the fuck you want to hear? Do you want to hear how much I was abused? How I was beaten, starved, locked up? Do you want to hear all my fucking trauma?!"

Presley presses his lips together and stares at me for a split second—before he turns away. He couldn't look me in the eyes.

"Harlow..." Claudia begins calmly.

I snap to her, with blazing eyes and a broken soul. "You were adopted when you were fourteen! I was getting abused. While you had a good family that's feeding you meals, I was getting kicked because I didn't fucking speak. Do you see the fucking difference? Do you see what's wrong? You had a good life, despite being in the system, I didn't!"

The last words cause me to choke, and Claudia doesn't reply. I'm tightening my fists so hard, they're trembling. I didn't know what else to fucking do. The memories of my abuse were flooding back to me, worse than before. This time, I couldn't ignore them, or push them aside, or bury them in the deepest, darkest corner of my brain. I had to fucking face them.

I didn't want to do that.

"My brother fucking left me when I was twelve." I told, the string of history etched on me like a burning stamp. "He logged out of the system and fucked off, leaving me traumatized because I woke up and lost the only family I had left."

Presley stood from his spot, leaning against the pole of the cabin, his arms crossed and watching me with sympathy. I suck in a shaky breath, feeling my lungs collapsing against each other. "When I was thirteen, and dealing with the foster system alone, I met a family." My eyes begin welling, and I clench down my jaw even harder. "They were a nice family. Similar to this one. The father was caring and kind—but the mother, she had some sort of vendetta against me. Hated me from the start."

"I didn't talk. I couldn't fucking speak. I lost my brother and he was the only person I ever confided in, so I never fucking talked to people. I never socialized." The memories flash and I could paint the picture clear as day, the way the hits were served, the shattering of my ribcage. "The mother thought I was autistic, and I wouldn't be any use to her when I was older."

Claudia gasps, covering a hand over her mouth. Tears pooling under her eyes. She knows where this is going—it's an unfortunate, but classic story within the foster system. "She pulled me aside, when the family was out, and she kicked me." I wince, feeling the impact as if it was just hours ago. I suck in a sharp breath. "She kicked me repeatedly, so fucking hard, until I was black and purple. It didn't stop until my ribs were shattered and I stopped crying."

I could feel the hot tears rolling down my cheeks, mixing in with the cold air. I wipe them with the back of my hand, turning away from them.

I can't believe I fucking told them. My trauma, buried underneath me like a treasure hidden in sand, revealed in the midst of midnight. A tension residing in my chest lightens, despite the devastating blow of the story, and I took a breath. A calm, trying to come back to reality, breath.

There's one last thing I refuse to mention.

That was the first time I cried since my brother left.

And from that point on, I refuse to get close to any family again.

Because I had it. I saw it. That family—was a good one. They fed me, clothed me, and gave me a sense of false reality on what love was supposed to be. I can't recall my own family, my blood. But, I can remember them.

If someone asked me to describe a good family, I would say: The Tates.

"Harlow," Claudia begins again, through her tears. She looks up at me, through glassy eyes and before I knew it—she's running up to me and tackling me into a hug, almost throwing me off my feet.

"Claudia..."

"No, I know." She sniffs, "I know I can't relate to your trauma because I've never been in your position, but I'm sorry. I truly am. And I can see why you're so reluctant to open up to us—and I don't blame you. You were a child, and your beliefs on foster families became cemented so young, that they were the only thing you could count on and hold onto. No one is blaming you for that."

She pulls apart, holding both arms. She had to wipe her tears with the back of her hand, sucking in another breath, before she began again. "We care for you, okay? I know you have absolutely no reason to believe us, but we do. Life is a lonely path to take. It's tiresome and heavy, and sometimes the conscious tells you it's better to give up." She wipes my tears for me, with the brush of her thumb. I almost wanted to push her off. "But, having people makes it worth everything. A path is only a path until it becomes an adventure."

I don't say anything, trying to register everything—but doubt plagues the back of my mind like a virus. I take Claudia's hands, pulling her away from me. "Thanks," I said genuinely, offering a sad smile through the pain, "but I don't think Nini and Sebastian want me that much."

I'm shutting down again, rebuilding my walls. As much as Claudia is trying to elevate a sense of hope inside me, I don't want to be disappointed when reality sinks in—and I am not wanted.

Isolation is a situation, it should never be a choice.

But what's left to do when all you know is how to survive?

The door swings open, clashing against the wood. Claudia and I turn towards the cabin, noticing Presley is gone—and Nini is looking frantic. "Have—have," she sucks in a deep breath, her hand on her heart, eyes struck with fear. "have you seen Nico?"

"Nico?" I ask with a furrow of my brows, pulling away from Claudia and approaching her. "What do you mean? Where's Nico?"

"I don't know." She gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks like she's trying to cling to her composure. "I tucked him away to bed, and I woke up because I felt uneasy for some reason—and now Nico's gone."

"Mom, calm down," Claudia comes up, stepping beside me. "He couldn't have gone far—how long has he been gone?"

"I don't know!" She cries, throwing out her hands. "It can't be more than three hours, but I don't know for sure. That's the last time I saw him!"

"Where's dad? What's he doing?"

"He's trying to go find him, he's thinking he's gone outside or something. We checked the backyard but there was nothing! We searched through the house and he's not here. I don't know where he went." She cries, tears running down her cheeks, "what if he ran away?"

"Why the fuck would he run away?" I snap, trying to think of scenarios of where Nico would be. He's a quiet kid, and he likes to be by himself. The only interests he's ever shown is to Legos, comic books, and those Christmas ornaments he carries with him.

"Harlow," Claudia jabs an elbow to my arm, "be sensitive."

"I am!" I grit my teeth. Fuck, this is a mood turner. "I'm just trying to think of place he wanted to be—"

I pause.

Wait, I might know.

I don't say anything as I sprint from the porch, heading straight into the woods. I hear Nini cry out my name, trying to reel me back in, but I'm following the trail where we went hiking the other day—losing her voice. It leads from the front to the back of the cabin, heading into the dense woods where there's barely any lighting tabs and a hard track to return to. Especially if you don't know where you're going.

"Nico!" I scream into the wind, just as a breeze sweeps over me and sends a shiver down my spine. Fuck, if I could smoke right now, it would take away all of my problems—but my adrenaline was focused on one thing. "Nico!"

I don't hear anything in return, but rustling noises that could be made from animals and humans alike. I shouldn't have ran into here empty-handed, without a flashlight or anything. I'm freezing, and the only thing that's keeping my company is a box of cigarettes and a lighter.

Fuck, I forgot.

I fish the lighter from my hands and flick it alive, allowing the flame to a guiding light source. If I remember the path correctly—and I hope to God I do—you take three turns before you make it to your destination.

"Nico!" I scream, the rawness clinging to my throat. The cold is sweeping me from head to toe, creating a dryness to my voice. "Where are you?!"

I take the final turn, and the semi-functional treehouse coming into view. I step closer, trying to gather in the distance and find the little boy, hoping I was right. I don't see him, and maybe I miscalculated—until I hear rustling noise.

Something moves from the corner of my eyes, pushing off the trees in black. I turn, brows pulled together before it turns around and reveals Nico. He's crying.

"Nico," I call softly, dropping to my knees and extinguishing the lighter. I shove it into my pocket, allowing the thin slit of moonlight through the trees to be my own light source and I cup both his cheeks. "Hey, buddy, where you been?"

"I'm sorry," he cries softly, choking on his words as his cheeks were stained red and freezing from the weather. Despite the thickness of his jacket insulating his body, I slip two fingers to the crook of his neck, finding the sweeping cold has dripped down into his system. "I got lost."

"Hey, hey," I said calmly, catching his green eyes. He pouts, his lips pursed out, like a child preparing to receive a discipline. "It's