Chapter 1

The pain in my stomach hit me before the realization I’d been kicked, and I was learning through my own skin how human bodies could slide on the floor like rag dolls. I pressed my hand to my stomach. It was burning with pain so bad that I wondered if it’d split open, and I could’ve sworn I felt blood seeping in between my fingers. But there was none. I was lying on the floor, my teeth clenched from the agony of the first kick, when another kick came. The grown-up’s big foot smashed into my torso so hard that it lifted me up into the air. I stared at that foot as I was falling. A different, sharper kind of pain pierced my body this time. A rib fracture? My brain struggled with processing the sudden damage to my body, which helped me forget the unbearable summer heat. I felt like I wasn’t in my body anymore as I just watched it get kicked again. I rolled on the floor until I came to rest by the wall. My mind was undamaged, but the rest of me was hurting all over. Only my face hadn’t been targeted; that would make the violence inflicted on me too obvious. My assailant snarled something hateful at me, but I didn’t hear it. I was too preoccupied with the pain to give it much attention. Probably something along the lines of “I wish you were fucking dead.” The adult’s desire for physical abuse had been apparently satisfied by three soccer-ball kicks, and I was left alone in the room. For a while, I listened to the only sound I could hear—the frantic thumping of my heart. My lips trembled as I moaned from pain. I thought I might actually end up dying then and there. I lifted my head and saw a thin line of light. I crawled toward it, as if it were pulling me in. Through a crack, I saw the world outside, peaceful and bathed in the midday sun. I wanted to be out there in that world, but I couldn’t get there. So I just lay on the floor, pressing my nose to the sliver of freedom. I didn’t know what I’d done, but it must’ve been pretty bad. If another beating like that was waiting for me the next day, I might not survive. I didn’t see a purpose in being alive, but there was no reason for me to die, either, surely. I had to do something, but what? My slender, weak arms were shaking. I stood up, but then I reeled limply and fell over, my nails scraping against the wall. The pain in my fingertips was a revelation. I had an idea. Using my abs was agony, but I got to my feet nonetheless. Then I swung my head back as far as I could and banged it against the wall. A bright light flashed like a thick vertical line across my vision. It also made me lose my sense of hearing. I fell backward. I’d never known blinking could hurt so much. I was groaning incomprehensibly, unable to form words with my mouth. Maybe I’d overdone it. I rolled onto my side, still groaning, and felt something stickier than sweat on my skin. It dribbled down between my eyes. When it tickled my nose, I shuddered. It reached my lips, and then I knew with certainty what it was. I shut my eyes. My head was screaming, as if I’d actually broken my skull. That was a step forward, I thought. Blood kept pouring out of me, pulsating to the rhythm of my heartbeat. Again, I wondered if I was going to die. Lying in that oppressively hot room, I imagined I was a cicada nymph underground. The stabbing pain wasn’t relenting. I desperately listened for the sound of my breathing. I felt alive—a little bit, at least.