Bia

Run. I heard the word, and I ran. Faster than I thought possible. Faster than anyone on the track team back at school, I think. I wasn’t even sure where I was headed, but the voice I heard had such urgency that I knew it was important for me to keep going. I couldn’t let whatever was back there get me.


Whatever it was.


As my feet pounded the dirt ground, thoughts flew through my head. Of ten minutes ago. A week ago. Last year. When I was twelve. This couldn’t be my life flashing before my eyes. I wasn’t dead—yet.

I stopped at a memory from when I was twelve. The summer before grade eight. The last year I had before Mom sold me to the demons.


My hair was shorter then, and a ligher shade of brown. My blue-ish eyes sparkled from underneath excessive purple eyeshadow and gobs of mascara. I had to wonder if it was blush on my cheeks or just a normal flush. Did I ever used to have colour? I can’t remember. I was lying on my stomach, on my bed, in a baby blue room with posters covering every wall. I had headphones in and an ancient Walkman was lying by my side. The CD playing? Can’t remember.


I had a tween magazing open in front of me to a page covered in pink hearts and bubbly letters. Some boy band was smiling up at me. Apparently I used to like that type of music, the fake stuff. But I used to like a lot of things that I don’t know.


A few scars were barely visible underneath an arm full of jelly bracelets. I had a fascination with those back in the day. As I did with pink pleather miniskirts, one of which I was wearing in this memory. The horror of all horrors: I paired it with a frilly white blouse that I had tied in the center to resemble a bra. I had to hope my mother didn’t let me leave the house like that. But knowing her, I probably wore it to school.


The phone rang from next to me and I gleefully answered it. The girl on the other end, Blaire, was one of my closest friends. We used to do everything together. Until that summer. Until she heard that I was making out with her ‘boyfriend’ at the time, a scrawny kid who hadn’t yet hit puberty. The rumor was false. A lot of them popped up when people found out my chest had grown considerably since they last saw me. I thought my best friend would understand. Apparently not.


The phone call lasted a couple minutes before I ran downstairs to see my mom. She had a guy over, someone who used to be our plumber, and they were laughing together in the kitchen. I made a horrible gagging noise in their direction before grabbing a bag of chips from the cupboard. Mom didn’t notice the noise, but she did notice the chips and turned around to yell at me about my weight.


“You’re getting fat, darling,” she said sweetly while holding the plumber’s hands out of her skirt.
I’d heard it all before. I left the room.


That Bia wouldn’t find herself in my present situation, running. I couldn’t imagine how we ended up the same person, how my mom ended up entangled with demons, or how I ended up bait for a master plan.


No. It made no sense at all.


“Bia, hurry up!” Calyx shouted at me. I sped up and tried to match her pace, but it was no use. She was athletic. I wasn’t.
“Just leave me behind,” I started to shout.
Calyx glared at me. “No way. You’re important too.”


Her words echoed in my head. “You’re important too.” You are. You matter, Bia. Calyx said so.


It has to be true. You have to be important.


No matter what Mom said.

I matter.