My shoes scuffed against the cracked tarmac; my hands shoved deep into my coat pockets.

  Five years, yet this place looks absolutely identical.

  The stars were hidden behind a thick layer of clouds though the moon, a bright, inky yellow, cut through the grey effortlessly. My only light source.

  I’d been walking for about an hour, if my phone can be trusted, and it helped. Moving always helped.

  I’ve never understood when people say they’re scared of the dark. Darkness, for me, was not a home for monsters and the unknown, but a large safety blanket. Darkness meant I was alone; it meant I was safe. The same cannot be said for the light.

  I passed by one of the ‘vecinos metiches de mierda’ houses, my first indicator I was getting close.

  I stopped for a moment to look at it, mentally comparing it to the Baker’s home. Theirs was basically a mansion compared to these ones.

  Small, squashed together with half-collapsed fencing and smoke-stained walls.

  The curtains were drawn, the same sun-bleached purple ones I remember carefully checking were closed before passing by. Checking no one was home.

  Vanessa had made sure I knew if any one of these people along this dilapidated street saw me, she’d drag me back, beat me and feed me to her stupid mutt.

  She didn’t want them to know I existed. Didn’t need anyone finding out about her little captive in the basement.

  It worked too; that’s the worst part.

  I had only just been rescued, so I must’ve been eleven. Martin, Lily, and I were going somewhere, I don’t remember where now, but when they passed a house with the curtains open, I froze up, refusing to pass by the window.

  Lily wouldn’t budge either, but then, she was a lot more attached to me back then, practically joint at the hip.

  It took a good thirty minutes of Martin trying everything he could think of to coax me forwards before I eventually relayed the information Vanessa had told me since I was a tot and him reminding me she was in prison for the thousandth time for it to finally click.

  I’m so fucking dumb, it’s not even funny.

  I could’ve asked for help at any point- knocked on any one of these doors and asked them to call the police- but I just didn’t.

  The thought never even crossed my mind.

  I was too afraid.

  Childish. So bloody childish.

  I shook my head and pulled myself away from the house, continuing up the narrow street, stepping over the broken glass and piles of discarded rubbish that mixed with the dead brown leaves scattered in every direction.

  What a shit hole. Though, to be fair, I remember it being a lot worse.

  One foot fell in front of the other, drawing me closer and closer to the one place I thought I would never see again.

  Ba thump. Ba thump. Ba thump. My heart rate skyrocketed.

  ‘What the actual flying fuck are you doing, Emily?’ My brain screamed at me for god knows how many times this week.

  Turn around. Go home.

  But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I WAS going home.

  I turned the familiar corner and my lungs started to constrict.

  Turn back.

  Am I really doing this?

  My legs wouldn’t stop, propelling me forwards at a speed I definitely did not want to be going at. It was like I had strings attached to them, being pulled along by an invisible puppet master whose only goal in life is to see me suffer.

  Go. Back.

  No, I need to do this. I need the thoughts to go away.

  I saw the house in the near distance. My throat closed up.

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  Leave.

  My feet carried me ever closer to the familiar rotting wood fence, pushing the gate open and walking up the dirt path made after years of footsteps crushing the otherwise overgrown grass.

  One step, then another, and another, and another. One possessed foot in front of the other, all the way across the small front garden until the squelch of wet mud was replaced with the quiet scuffle of concrete.

  The navy-blue door I had once rarely seen this side of stood, towering, no, dwarfing me, making my head spin more and more as all the blood in my body seemed to sprint its way upwards.

  Run.

  My mind all but screamed at me, yet somewhere deep in the murky, sticky depths of my fucked-up head pushed forwards.

  I needed to do this.

  So, I did.

  With a shaky hand, I reached out, fist raping on the painted surface of the door.

  The sound rang in my ears, stabbing my brain from every angle, then? Silence.

  Pure and utter silence.

  This was a mistake. Yeah, what the fuck was I even doing here?

  I fell back a step, almost tripping on the ridge as I did.

  I ran a hand through my coiled hair, and pulled my hood further over my face, turning around and cursing myself under my breath.

  Just go home, Em. Lily needs you anyway. This was dumb.

  I didn’t even make it a step.

  The door opened with a loud creak, orange light flooding the floor near my scuffed trainers.

  Too late.

  “Bueno, bueno, mira quién ha vuelto arrastrándose. Hola, Emily, didn’t expect to see you of all people back here.” She drawled. I could smell the alcohol on her, it practically engulfed her towering frame. clearly, five years rotting in a cell wasn’t enough to sober her up for long.

  Not really sure why I thought any differently. People don’t change.

  “Hi.” I greeted back, however strained, looking her over.

  “A young girl like you shouldn’t be out knocking on doors so late at night, you could get kidnapped or something. Bad people around these parts.” She chuckled, as if she had just spoken the funniest joke to have ever been strung together.

  “Oh, fuck you.”

  “Language, language. Why are you here then, Gattita? I take it you’ve got some reason beyond making me stand here with the door open and waste money on heating.”

  Now, right here, even the most brain dead of the human race would be smart enough to take the opportunity to leave, right? To run back to the relative freedom and safety of their new homes rather than let themselves be swept back to the past.

  Not me though. Never me.

  Because why would I ever make life easy on myself?

  No, no, clearly that’s too much to ask for.

  “Can I come in?”

  Her lips pulled up in one corner into a smirk made lopsided by drink. Giving me another once over, she stepped back, gesturing for me to enter. “How can I refuse my favourite little Kitten?”

  Crossing the threshold to my childhood prison only made my heart beat faster, so fast, in fact, I worried for a moment I’d have a heart attack.

  The house looked identical to how I remembered it; the front door leading into the neat living room decorated with outdated floral furniture from the 90′s, with the flight of stairs leading up to her room on the right, just a few paces away from the sofa I remember spending hours sitting on, whether to watch TV shows I was way too young for or just to be scolded. It didn’t matter, really.

  Rex lounged across the cushions, stretched out like he owned the place, his loud snores filling the space like a pneumatic drill. Lazy old bastard didn’t even notice me.

  Stupid fucking dog.

  The door clicked softly shut after me as she closed it and followed me deeper into my old home, intentionally ignoring the now doorless entrance to her basement as I passed it.

  Why after all these years do I still feel like I belong here?

  Next to the slumbering beast, the same crappy laptop I was never allowed to touch, sat open on a job site, with the words ‘Convicted of 11 counts related to the abduction, imprisonment, and neglect of two children: including child abduction, false imprisonment, child cruelty, and offences under the Dangerous Dogs Act.’ typed out in a box asking for disclosure of any criminal records.

  Pft- yeah, good luck getting a job with a resume like that, bitch.

  Ah, Karma feels so sweet.

  “I assume you aren’t just visiting because you missed me.” Vanessa said, her words slurring a little as she plopped down onto the sofa, shut the laptop, and grabbed a half-empty bottle all in one fluid motion.

  Yeah, no. Never.

  But… Why was I here?

  I awkwardly perched on the matching armchair, my hands instinctively finding my lap. “I-” crap.

  She barely spared me a glance really, bringing the bottle up to her lips and chugging it like a backround pirate in those live-action Disney movies. Even so, the weight on my chest only seemed to get heavier.

  with a small sigh, I met her dim, earthy green eyes forcing out the first excuse I could come up with for my dumb legs carrying me all the way out here. “I just… wanted to talk, I guess.”

  “Habla entonces, gatita, por supuesto, Dios sabe por qué. Just do me a favour and cut all the soppy shit.” She set the bottle back down, her eyes locking onto mine as her face twisted into that drunk, self-amusing smirk she wore like a fucking badge. “I hope you don’t expect me to apologise.”

  Vanessa? Apologise? I’m not that delusional.

  I shook my head.

  For a moment, there was silence. Rex stretched with a loud huff, finally seeming to notice my presence, acknowledging me with a bored not-quite bark.

  Vanessa, drunk as she was, seemed at least somewhat attuned to the silence, giving the beast an affectionate head pat, the amusement never dying in her older but just as sharp eyes.

  I’m not sure if that made me feel a little better or ten times worse.

  Fine. You’re here now, Em, might as well get it over with. Ask the question playing on repeat since you were three.

  My brown fingers slowly curl into fists, and suddenly, this sofa felt like it was bathed in a spotlight.

  A spotlight couldn’t escape.

  It burnt.

  I swallowed once, musty, alcohol and cheap perfume scented air flowing into my nose with a sharp inhale, and my breath shook when I let it go.

  Just ask.

  Realistically, what’s the worst that can happen?

  She’s not gonna do shit- not now, not anymore.

  Just ask, Emily.

  One word, that’s all.

  Ask.

  My gaze stayed fixed on my clenched hands, steadying my breathing, tracing the lines between my fingers with only my eyes.

  You might never get an opportunity like this again.

  Stop being a little bitch and ask her!

  My throat was tight, voice strangled, but finally, the question I could never stop asking myself forced itself free from my tongue.

  “Why?”