The Problem with Forever

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

She’d reached for the dirty and stained cookie jar earlier, the one shaped like a teddy bear that hid cookies that tasted funny.

This was her safe place whenever Mr. Henry was angry or when he—

He was the only person she felt okay with when he touched her.

Miss Becky had said once that he was only six months older than her six years, but he always seemed so much bigger, older than her, because in her eyes, he took up her entire world.

“Don’t come out,” he said, and then he pressed into her hands the redheaded doll she’d dropped in the kitchen after she broke the...

gift from him

“It’s okay. Remember? I promised I’d keep you safe forever. Just don’t make a sound.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Just stay quiet, and when I…when I get back, I’ll read to you, ’kay? All about the stupid rabbit.”

Tomorrow he would miss school and he wouldn’t be okay even though he would tell her he was.

Use your words.

That mantra contradicted everything I’d been taught for nearly thirteen years, because words equaled noise, and noise

was rewarded with fear and violence.

Words were never the problem. I had them, always had them, but it was plucking the words out and putting a voice to them that had always been tricky.

I can do this. I will do this.

I thought about the boy who made my chest hurt, the one who’d promised forever.

He had been the sole reason I survived the house we’d grown up in.

“My sister had him two years ago. She warned me that he basically thinks you need a dick to produce anything of literary value.”

There! I did it. I spoke. Take that, everyone! Words were totally my bitch.

me

Oh my God, I would know him anywhere, even if it had been four years and the last time I’d seen him, that last night that had been so horrible, had changed my life forever.

At age nine—bigger than me, but still so small—he’d stood between Mr. Henry and me in the kitchen, like he’d done too many times before, as I’d clutched the redheaded doll—Velvet—he’d just retrieved for me.

“Leave her alone,”

“You’d better stay away ...

I saw the faint scar above his right eyebrow, a shade or two lighter than his skin. I remembered how he’d gotten it and my chest ached anew, because that scar symbolized a stale cookie and a shattered ashtray.

He always protected her

Most important, was he safe now?

We’d been fostered by the worst kind of people who somehow managed to pass inspection. Caseworkers were underfunded and understaffed, and most did the best they could, but there were a lot of cracks to slip through, and we’d fallen right through one in the worst way.

Teachers in school had to have seen what we’d been going through at home but none risked their jobs to step in.

😡

“Really?” he said, his fingers tightening around the old notebook he held. “After everything, after four years of not knowing what the hell happened to you, you just show up in fucking speech class and then run away? From me?”

😔

And then his arms were around me.

“They said I couldn’t see you. I asked. I even went to the county hospital.”

If you Googled the word strong, I swear Rosa Rivas appeared beside it, but she felt every patient’s loss like it was a family member. It was the only time I saw her drink.

she feels loss deeply

Rider had taken… He had taken beatings because of me. Time after time, he’d gotten in between meaty fists and me, and the one time he couldn’t stop it, I ended up escaping that life. I got a second chance, had been given a home with doctors for crying out loud, and practically had anything I want within my grasp. And Rider? I had no idea.

Night, Mouse.

His lashes lowered and the lopsided grin appeared. “I always knew you’d be beautiful one day.”

“I just never thought I’d get to see how beautiful you’d become.”

I’m outside.

How could it be just a nightmare? Nightmares weren’t real. This…this was.

Mouse. Part of me hated that nickname, because of what it symbolized. The other half sort of loved it, because it was his nickname. I wasn’t sure which feeling outweighed the other.

“I’m proud of you. For real.”

“Mallory,” Rider whispered, and my panicked stare drifted to him. Over his shoulder, I was aware of Paige watching us. “You can do this,” he said in a hushed voice. “You can.”

“Don’t be a cabrona. I know it’s hard and it’s like all you have in this world, but Jesus, knock it off.”

“You know what I said. And you know it’s true, unless you’re the estúpido one.”

“She understands that if I have to pick between you two, it’s not going to be her.”

People show you what they want you to see. You have to remember that.”

he’d have to pry the Coke out of my cold, lifeless fingers.

“You have the power over that. People can say crap. They can think whatever they want, but you control how you feel about it.”

But I wasn’t a gerbil that needed a reward. Unless the reward was homemade queso dip. Then yes, reward me.

I can do this. I can do this.

I finished my speech a few seconds before Mr. Santos would’ve called time. I finished the speech, my first ever speech. I did it.

And I didn’t throw up.

“Congratulations. You’ve completed your first speech.”

Yay Mallory!

“I always…have room for dessert.”

Same