3. Flora

3

FLORA

A s I scrub last night's dishes, the kitchen clock ticks past seven a.m. My fingers prune in the tepid water while the scent of bacon wafts through the air—breakfast for everyone but me. My foster mother Janet bustles around, plating food for her precious boys.

"Did you iron Tommy's uniform?" She doesn't look at me.

"Yes." The same answer I give every morning.

The calendar on the wall mocks me with its red circle around today's date: December 1st, my eighteenth birthday. Not that anyone here remembers or cares. But I remember—oh, how I remember. This birthday means freedom—no more mandatory placement, no more state oversight, no more...them.

Heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs as Tommy and Jake storm into the kitchen, shoving past me to grab their plates. Jake's hand lingers too long on my hip as he passes. I step away, my stomach churning.

"Move it, freak." Tommy elbows me aside.

The mail slot creaks and flutters. Janet sighs dramatically. "Get that, will you?"

I dry my hands and retrieve the stack of envelopes. Bills, ads, and then—something different. A bright red flyer catches my eye. Gold lettering sparkles across the top: "CHRISTMAS AT THE CARNIVAL - Magic, Mystery, and Masquerade!"

My heart skips as I read further. The traveling carnival is setting up on the outskirts of Easthollow. They're hiring. Looking for new performers, vendors, anything.

"What's taking so long?" Janet snaps.

I stuff the carnival flyer into my pocket before returning to the kitchen with the rest of the mail. But my mind is already racing with possibilities. A way out. A fresh start. Something entirely different from this hell I've been trapped in.

Seven years of abuse and survival have led to this moment. I'm eighteen now. Adult. Free. And the universe just handed me my ticket to escape.

As I climb the stairs, I clutch the flyer in my pocket, heart racing with newfound hope. The worn carpet muffles my footsteps, but not the heavier ones behind me.

A hand grabs my arm and spins me around. Tommy towers over me, his face twisted in that familiar sneer that makes my blood run cold.

"What's this?" He snatches the paper from my pocket. My stomach drops as his eyes scan the carnival advertisement.

"Give it back." My voice comes out smaller than intended.

He backs me against the wall, one hand pressed beside my head. The hallway shrinks, memories flooding back—being cornered like this before, the pain, the helplessness. The smell of his cologne makes me nauseous.

"Planning your escape, whore?" His free hand slides up my thigh. I try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go. "Bet you want to run off to that carnival, get stuffed full of cock. Is that what you want?"

Tears sting my eyes. I shake my head, unable to speak. His fingers burrow into my hips so hard I know my skin with bruise.

"It's not happening." He leans closer. “You belong to me and Jake. Don't forget that." His hand moves higher, invasively. “Or do you need another reminder?"

The flyer crumples in his fist as he presses against me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to be anywhere but here.

Tommy's weight disappears as Janet's voice echoes up the stairs. "Tommy! Your father needs help with the truck!"

His footsteps retreat, but the violation of his touch lingers on my skin. I stumble into my room—if you can call this cramped space with its secondhand furniture a room. The door clicks shut behind me, and I collapse onto the narrow bed, burying my face in the thin pillow.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks. My whole body shakes as I try to muffle my sobs. Seven years. Seven years of this torture, of being their plaything, their punching bag, their property .

I curl into a tight ball, hugging my knees to my chest. The crumpled carnival flyer lies discarded in the hallway, but its promise burns bright in my mind. A way out. Something different. Anything has to be better than this.

My fingers trace the bruises forming on my hip. Fresh marks layered over old ones, a map of pain and survival etched into my skin. But not anymore. I'm eighteen now.

They can't stop me. Tommy can threaten all he wants, but I won't stay. I won't let them hurt me anymore. The carnival might be my only chance at escape, and I will take it.

I wipe my eyes and sit up, determination replacing fear. I don't care what it takes. I don't care if I have to beg, plead, or work for free. I'm leaving this house and getting away from this family.

My gaze falls on the small backpack tucked under my bed—the one I've kept packed for two years, ready for this moment. It's time to finally use it.