My parents were junkies. Until I was ten, I didn't have a birth certificate, never stepped foot in a kindergarten, and existed like a ghost in the system. When Jax pressed the muzzle of his gun against my forehead, I stared blankly and offered him the moldy piece of bread in my hand. "This is all I have left. Do you want it?" He slapped the bread away, agitated, and hoisted me up by my collar. "Where are your parents? They owe me money." I shook my head, lost, and instinctively tugged at the hem of his jacket. "I'm hungry. Can you let me eat something before you beat me?" Jax froze. The tension left his shoulders. He threatened that if my parents didn't pay up, he’d chop me up and sell me for parts. But then he turned around, walked into the kitchen, and fried me two eggs. I was ten. He was twenty-three. Because of those eggs, I clung to Jax for the rest of my life. 1 Jax had paced outside the door for thirty minutes before kicking it in, gun drawn. The house reeked—a cocktail of rotting food, an overflowing toilet, and damp mildew. He tried to take a deep breath to acclimate, but the physiological urge to gag made him curse loudly. I was chained in the basement. Through the cracks in the rotting floorboards above, I watched him ransack the place. His final loot—a single dime found under a cushion—broke him. He stomped his foot in rage, slipping on a patch of unknown sludge. Worse, the floorboard snapped. He fell through the ceiling, landing right in front of me in the basement. When our eyes met, Jax screamed. After realizing the creature with matted hair was a human child, he kicked me. "Don't play ghost and scare people, dammit!" I curled into a ball, my whimper silent and controlled. Experience taught me that silence meant fewer beatings. "Where are your parents? Tell them to get their asses out here. Hiding won't clear their debt." I shook my head silently. I honestly didn't know. I couldn't remember the last time they came home. The bread I had been saving was growing a forest of black mold. "Speak!" Jax shoved the gun barrel against my brow. "Only this left. Do you want it?" I held up the green-black lump of bread. Jax stared at it, stunned, then slapped it out of my hand. "I want money! I want my cash! What the hell is that?" He grabbed me by the collar, lifting my feet off the ground. I finally saw his face clearly. Clean-shaven, pale. He smelled good, like expensive soap. There was a small mole on his Adam's apple. "I'm hungry. Can I eat before you kill me? I promise I won't cry. I'll be good." My stomach cramped with hunger, my hand gripping his shirt. A look of sheer disbelief flashed through Jax's eyes. He frowned. "Are you crazy?" He dropped me, turned, and stomped up the rickety stairs. I assumed he found nothing to eat. Because I heard him swearing as he slammed the front door and left. 2 I don't know if I fainted or just fell asleep. I woke up to Jax squatting in front of me, holding a plate of golden fried eggs. He poked my cheek. "You dead? I didn't even hit you that hard." The smell hit my nose, and I turned feral. I snatched the plate and shoveled the eggs into my mouth with dirty hands. "Slow down, kid. You're making me think I'm Gordon Ramsay." Actually, the eggs were way too salty. But to me, they were a Michelin-star meal. That was when Jax noticed the chain on my ankle. My world was a radius of three meters. I ate, slept, and used a bucket within that circle. "Are you actually their kid? Or did they kidnap you?" Jax looked horrified. I didn't quite understand "kidnap," but I knew I belonged to them. When I nodded, Jax went into a rage, smashing old furniture against the basement walls. "Those scumbags! Treating their own kid like a dog!" Terrified, I knelt on the floor. He looked confused. "What are you doing? Those eggs cost like fifty cents. You don't need to worship me. It's weird." I was confused too. "I'm full. Isn't it time for the beating?" Jax looked like he wanted to scream. He ground his teeth, ran upstairs, and came back with a rusty ax. I shrank back. My life was always hanging by a thread. Maybe dying was okay. At least I ate eggs. Jax swung the ax high. I closed my eyes, praying it would be quick. Clang! The ax sparked against the chain. Gritting his teeth, he swung again and again until the metal link snapped. I looked up in shock. The man patted my head awkwardly. His eyes held a gentleness I had never seen before. He practically dragged me upstairs. After so long in the dark, the sunlight burned my eyes. 3 Jax fried me another plate of eggs. After I wolfed them down, he looked proud. "If I hadn't been too broke for culinary school, I'd be a head chef by now." I nodded furiously. Yes. Chef. I didn't know what a culinary school was, but agreeing with him felt safe. Jax left again. He came back with scissors, shampoo, and clothes. He dragged me to the yard, drew water from the well, and dumped a bucket of freezing water over me. I shivered violently but didn't make a sound. My rags disintegrated under his hands. When he saw my body, Jax kicked the bucket over in frustration. "Sh*t. You're a girl." I nodded timidly. Jax sighed, took off his jacket, wrapped me in it, and carried me inside. I sat on a chair and watched him boil water on the stove. It was the first hot bath I could remember. Actually, the first bath, period. He scrubbed me with a rough towel, muttering that the pigs in the pen were cleaner than me. When I was clean and dressed in the oversized boy's clothes he bought, Jax sighed with satisfaction. He hacked at my matted hair with the scissors. He said I looked like a poodle that lost a fight with a lawnmower. Then, he made me work. He said he couldn't stand the filth. I tried to sweep, but I was so weak I tripped over the broom. He picked me up, set me on a high cabinet, and told me to stay put. Jax dry-heaved while he cleaned. He filled twenty trash bags. He sprayed so much bleach my eyes watered. Finally, he lit a cigarette and collapsed on the couch. He closed his eyes and asked again, "Do you really not know where your parents are?" I shook my head, feeling guilty and ashamed. 4 My parents returned three days later. I heard them screaming at each other from down the block. Jax instantly racked the slide of his pistol. He shoved me into the bedroom and stuffed tissue paper in my ears. He told me he was going to play a game with my parents and that I had to stay quiet. I nodded obediently. For three days, I had food, water, and at night, he let me watch videos on his phone. Even though I didn't understand the dancing ladies on TikTok, my gray world had color for the first time. He was my god. I trusted him unconditionally. Jax went out and fired a warning shot. I heard my father scream, the sound of a body hitting the floor, and a groan. Jax roared, "Where's my money? You stole the boss's product and thought you could hide? You got a death wish?" My mother screamed, her voice shrill and manic. "We smoked it all! It's gone! Please!" Jax: "Money or product. Now." The voices dropped. Then, the front door slammed open. I heard a child crying. Loudly. Curious, I cracked the door open. It was a beautiful boy, dressed in expensive clothes. "He's our golden ticket," my mother said, tying the boy to a table leg. "His dad owns a mining company. He's loaded." Jax looked horrified. He kicked my mother away. "I just want my debt paid! I didn't sign up for a kidnapping felony!" In the chaos, I saw my father stumble up and smash a chair over the back of Jax's head. I covered my mouth, too scared to scream a warning. 5 My parents were high. They were erratic. Jax was unconscious, bleeding heavily from his head. I squatted next to him, whispering his name. The rich boy was crying and cursing. "You trash! Junkies! Whores! Do you know who my father is?" My mother slapped him. He screamed louder. I waved at him to shut up. My parents had killed people in this house before. But he wouldn't stop. Jax groaned and opened his eyes, reaching for his gun. My mother pointed her own pistol at the boy's head. Jax's eyes went wide. He lunged. "Crazy b*tch! Don't drag me to hell with you!" The gun went off. The bullet missed the boy's head but shattered his thigh. My parents were completely gone, lost in drug-induced psychosis. Jax, bleeding and dizzy, wiped his fingerprints off everything he touched. He grabbed his gun and ran out the door. I sat there, numb. I wanted to cry, but my eyes were dry. But Jax came back. He grabbed my mother's phone and dialed 911. Disguising his voice, he said, "Drug overdose and kidnapping in progress. Send units." He grabbed a quilt, wrapped me up, and carried me to the stone bench in the yard. He squatted in front of me. "When the cops come, beg them to take you. Orphanage, foster care, anywhere. Just get out of this house." He spoke fast, desperate. I nodded mechanically. He rubbed my messy hair, his eyes full of pain. "I hope you have a safe life, kid." "Promise me. You never saw me. Okay?" He held out his pinky. I hooked it with mine. "Will I see you again?" "Maybe. I don't know." Jax pulled his hand away. "Just stay alive." He ran into the night without looking back. I sat there until the sirens wailed, my feet numb from the cold. The last three days felt like a dream I wasn't supposed to have.
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