4. Flora
4
FLORA
M y hands shake as I ease the window open, wincing at every tiny squeak of the old frame. The December air hits me like a slap, but I welcome it. Anything is better than staying here another night.
The backpack weighs heavy on my shoulders. It is filled with everything I own that matters—which isn't much: some clothes, my birth certificate hidden in a sock, and all the dollars I've saved from working a part-time job at the diner.
Below me, the drainpipe looks more daunting than during my daytime practice runs. But I've mapped this out for months, testing each spot where my feet need to go. I swing one leg out, then the other, clinging to the windowsill.
A noise from down the hall freezes me in place. Footsteps. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure they'll hear it. Please just be Jake going to the bathroom. Please don't check my room.
The footsteps pass. I release the shaky breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and start my descent, trying not to think about how technically I'm still in the system until graduation. Six more months of high school shouldn't matter more than my safety, but breaking the rules still makes my stomach twist.
The drainpipe creaks under my weight. I pause, listening for any sign I've been discovered. Nothing but the distant sound of a car on the highway. Three more feet to go. My muscles strain with the effort of moving slowly, carefully.
My foot touches grass and relief floods through me. I made it. But I'm not safe yet—I must get off this property before anyone notices I'm gone.
I stick to the shadows, avoiding the motion-sensor lights Tommy installed last summer. I walk past the garage where so many horrible things happened, past the front porch where they first welcomed me into their "loving" home. Each step takes me closer to freedom, but my nerves jangle with every tiny sound.
I walk quickly down Oak Street, keeping to the shadows. The sound of carnival music drifts through the crisp night air, growing louder with each block. My heart races, not from exertion but from hope. Real, tangible hope for the first time in years.
The carnival lights paint the sky in bursts of color above the tree line. I pull the mask from my backpack. It's nothing special, just a cheap thing I found at the dollar store last Halloween. But tonight it represents everything: freedom, escape, a chance at a new life.
The entrance looms ahead, strung with twinkling lights and draped in red and gold fabric. A sign advertises "Christmas Masquerade Night - All Welcome." My fingers tremble as I slip the mask over my face, adjusting the elastic band where it digs into my hair.
I reach into my pocket and touch the crumpled flyer. In bold letters, it promises, "Performers and Vendors Wanted."
The ticket taker barely glances at me as I hand over most of my saved cash. Inside, the carnival thrums with energy. Masked figures weave between the booths and rides, their laughter carrying on the wind. The scent of cotton candy and popcorn fills the air.
For a moment, I stand frozen, overwhelmed by the sensory assault after the quiet of my midnight escape. But there's no time to waste. I have to find the ringmaster before my foster family discovers I'm gone.
The masquerade tent looms before me, music and laughter spilling from its crimson-striped sides. My feet won't move. Everyone inside looks so polished and confident in their elaborate masks and fancy clothes. I tug at my oversized sweater, suddenly aware of how shabby I must appear.
What if they're just like Jake and Tommy? Different faces, same darkness. My throat tightens. The mask suddenly feels suffocating, but I can't risk taking it off. Not here, not where someone might recognize me.
I drift to the side of the entrance, pressing myself against a support pole. People stream past me, their joy a stark contrast to the anxiety churning in my stomach. A group of women sweep by in sequined dresses, their heels clicking against the wooden platform. I shrink further into the shadows.
The tent flap parts and my breath catches. A man emerges, tall and graceful in a way that makes my heart stutter. His mask is simple but elegant, black with silver accents that catch the carnival lights. But it's not the mask that holds my attention—it's how he moves, like every step is part of some intricate dance.
His dark hair falls just right, and even from here I can see the definition in his arms, marked with intricate tattoos that disappear beneath his rolled sleeves. He's beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
As if sensing my stare, he turns. Our eyes meet through our masks, and his lips curve into a knowing smile. He winks at me—a simple gesture that sends electricity up my spine.
I press harder against the pole, trying to disappear but can't look away. My cheeks burn beneath my mask, and for a moment I forget about Jake, about Tommy, about everything except those eyes and that smile.
"What are you waiting for, beautiful? It's Christmas—time to have a little fun." As he passes, his voice carries a hint of amusement, disappearing before I can respond.
My heart hammers against my ribs. Beautiful. The endearment feels foreign, dangerous. No one's ever called me that before. Jake and Tommy had other names for me, cruel ones that still echo in my nightmares.
I touch my mask, making sure it's secure. He's right—I came here for a reason. Standing in the shadows won't get me the job I desperately need. But my feet remain rooted to the spot, my fingers digging into the rough wood of the support pole.
The man's words loop in my head.
Have a little fun .
As if it's that simple. As if seven years of survival instincts can be switched off like a light. Despite how baggy it is, my sweater feels too thin and too revealing. I pull the sleeves down over my hands.
But what choice do I have? I can't go back. Not to that house. Not to them. The thought of returning makes bile rise in my throat. At least here, in this sea of masks and music, I have a chance.
I peel myself away from the pole, one small step at a time. The entrance to the tent looms before me, red and gold fabric rippling in the December breeze. Inside, the masquerade ball continues, voices and laughter spilling out into the night.