Baylor Jones, a 12 year old girl with Asperger's syndrome (autism), with an abusive life that she doesn't know how to deal with. When the "accident" happens, she gets sent to live with her 6 older brothers who haven't seen her in eleven years.
Wil...
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Amy came up to me and told me I would be sleeping at her house tonight while I wait for my brothers to get me in the morning.
I didn't feel real good at all. My head hurt and my stomach hurt, but I'm not allowed to complain about it. Frank told me never to tell, so I won't. I don't want my brothers to decide they don't want me anymore.
Amy gave me stuff to shower with and brush my teeth, and then she put me in her guest room and tucked me in.
Before she could leave, I asked her, "Where do my brothers live?" They must not live in North Carolina if they couldn't get me today. Or maybe they are just putting me off as long as they can.
She turns around at the door. "They live in New York, Baylor. They had to get on a plane to come here so that's why they can't get you till tomorrow morning."
She must be able to see the anxiety rolling off me. But it's not like it's hard to tell. I'm not very good at concealing it.
No more was spoken after that. She left and I closed my eyes and fell to sleep. But not for long.
I hear several loud footsteps coming down the stairs. No, Frank brought his friends. They know I get overwhelmed easily. They know I get breakdowns. They do it because it amuses them to see me in mental torment.
Frank and three of his friends crowd around me in a half circle while I lie on the basement floor. I know what's going to happen to next.
Someone grabs my hair, pulling. Someone holds down my legs to keep me from kicking. Someone has my arms glued to the floor. And Frank brings out a knife. A small, pocket knife out of his pocket.
I'm panicking. No no no no.
He's going to cut me. I can't I can't I can't. I'm thrashing and screaming and sobbing.
I feel the knife start to bear down on my skin. I feel him carving letters into my spine. It's agonizing.
My head feels fuzzy. My eyes roll back, and I start convulsing.
I shoot up in bed, breathing hard. My hands are shaking, tears falling down my cheeks. I don't know where I'm at. I don't like not knowing where I'm at.
I walk out my door and walk down the stairs. I turn some lights on, trying to see if someone is here somewhere.
I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and see Amy. "Hi Baylor what's wrong?"
