Her hand falls on something. She flinches but looks down to see that it is only the syringe. She picks it up and returns to her mattress, curling her legs into her chest.

Still, she stares at the door. Her fingers frantically tap along the glass barrel as she attempts to calm herself, afraid that the Outside might get in. That perhaps the creatures will now freely enter her room with their big fists and hungry mouths.

Is the door still unlocked? What if they start banging . . . ?

Her imagination runs wild as she grows faint, trying to define what the creatures from the Outside might look like.

Thick skin and concrete bones . . .

The tip of the needle rests against the palm of her hand; as she shivers, it carves her movements into her skin. She yelps in pain and shock, redirecting her attention to the syringe. To the shallow red scratch it left where it grazed her, the tip now pointed toward her forearm. Her happy freckles. A fresh one throbs like a hungry mouth, gaping for nourishment. It has turned purple and so has the vein beneath it, an angry, pulsating snake.

Just like Daddy’s . . .

She scratches at it with the tip of the needle, relishing in the stinging relief, creeping closer and closer to that snake’s mouth.

And she is horrified when the silver point easily slides in.

CHAPTER XII

Six years later

She wakes up screaming, clutching onto her stomach to keep her insides from tearing out of her abdomen. Her eyelids are clenched together as she grinds her teeth with enamel-shattering force, trying to redirect the hurt somewhere else. Somewhere she can better compartmentalize and deal with.

But the affliction will not leave her stomach. Her heart has solidified into concrete, lying dead like a clot in the center of her chest.

Her skin is drenched in sweat, pigtails matted to her face and neck like glue. She kicks her legs. Her heels smack into the concrete floor—for she is much too tall now for the length of the mattress. The pain in her heels makes her scream louder until she coughs into silence.

This is what it feels like when the tugging finally rips!

The door’s lock snaps. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she can hear his footsteps running toward her.

“Daddy?” she whimpers through gut-wrenching tears.

“Yes, yes, Vanilla. I am here.” There is a crack in his voice where the worry pours in. Where it fills him to the brim.

She hears him gasp and feels him lie down next to her. His arms wrap around her shoulders.

“Help me . . . it hurts!” she cries out.

Her stomach eats at itself, shredding her apart.

“I am trying, my sweet.”

She feels a sting in her arm. Something is pushed into her jaw, placed on her tongue, only it is not sweet. She hasn’t tasted sweetness in a while—or perhaps she has lost the ability to.