“Please, Mom!” I begged, tears streaking down my cheeks and landing on my hands clasped against my full lips. “Why won’t you let me go find him?”

The woman in front of me looked down coldly. “Get off your knees, Trista. You cannot look for your brother, and that is final.”

I slid down to the ground, staring up at her with tear-stained eyes from my corner of our living room. I begged, one last time, with my eyes, but she didn’t care. My mother turned around on one high heel and swirled out of the room in a tornado of icy hate. I watched her, thinking- not for the first time- about how bad my life was. Hanging my head in my hands, I imagined things the way they could have been if my mother had died and it was just me, my dad, and Amoren.

Amoren was my teacher, my protector, my best friend. He was the person I went to when I wanted to talk things through with, and the one who held me when I cried. He was the perfect brother, and the perfect human being. Our mother was the total opposite. Most of the time, we would avoid her around the house, and try not to talk to her or anger her, and she would never get mad at us- at least, not when other people were around. But when we did something wrong, she flew into one of her rages. She would fly at us, screaming filthy words and hurling whatever was closest to her. There was no way to stop her- just total submission. After she beat the life out of us, she would send us to our rooms, which was an act of mercy, really. It was just another few hours away from her. Usually, Amoren and I would talk through the wall to each other. The only good thing out of those times was that Amoren and I got really close. Eventually, Dad would get home and my mother would be a perfect angel again, passing the potatoes and asking about our days. Amoren and I knew that it was only a matter of time before something big happened, though.

He was seventeen when our father died, and I was nine.

Yeah, I know. Another sob story about some kids who lost a parent. Well, this isn’t that kind of story. Amoren was eight years older that I, which means that when I turned ten, a year after our father’s death, he turned eighteen and moved out. He left behind the only thing that gave me the will to get up in the mornings- when I was eighteen, he would come for me. The only thing is, I’m seventeen now, which means that it has been seven years since he made that promise. Mom came to me one day, several years ago, and told me- with that wicked gleam in her eye- that Amoren had married and moved to another state. That was when I lost hope. I let my mom beat me, let her cut me, let her starve me. I didn’t care, didn’t believe I would last for the years it would take for me to get a job and save for my own home. I had lasted until now, which was saying something.

Coming back to the present, I stretched my legs out and crawled across the floor. Our living room was elegant- even beautiful, you could say. Although my mother is evil, she’s great at interior design. Pulling myself up into a standing position at the end of the hall, I trudged up the grand staircase that led to my bedroom. I heaved open the door and wobbled to my bed. Falling on top of it, I closed my eyes, but just for a moment. Soon, I heard my mother banging around in the kitchen. I sniffled a little, brushing away my renewed tears. I was wallowing a little in my misery when I heard a scritch at my window. Jerking up, I spun around on my bedspread until I could peer through the curtains at the head of my elegant headboard. Outside, I could see a figure, and I was about to scream when I saw that it was –

“Amoren!” I shouted, and then looked over my shoulder; eyes darting to make sure my mother wasn’t anywhere close. “Why are you here?” I whispered, trying to calm down. “I thought you were gone!”

He grinned, and his eyes glowed through the glass. “I’m rescuing you, Trista!” he laughed. “What else?” I gasped in shock, and then realized that I needed to hurry. Soon, mother would decide I needed to do some chores. I hurriedly pulled on my black sneakers and my favorite sweater, and then yanked the window up. It screeched loudly and then made some whining noises before hitting the top of the sill.

I froze, and heard the noise I dreaded the most- the kitchen sounds had stopped. Suddenly, I could hear my mother, sprinting across the house and screaming at the top of her lungs. Amoren reached in my room and yanked me outside, and we fell down to the ground. I glanced up, and saw the tree that Amoren had needed to climb to reach my second story window. “Come on!” he hissed, and pulled my with him. We ran as fast as we could through the backyard, and as I turned my head to look one last time at the house I had hated all my life, the last thing I saw was my mother, leaning out my window with a menacing glare on her face. Shuddering, I turned back to Amoren and moved my feet faster, disappearing into the darkness.