Chapter 6
When I was nine, my parents fled in fear after committing financial crimes, but died in a car crash before they could get away.
Ryan and I moved into an orphanage.
Everyone there saw us as nothing but the children of criminals, they all looked down on us.
For a long time, I was scared and ashamed.
The other kids would dump sand into my food, and I just quietly kept my head down, carefully picking out whatever wasn't covered in sand.
But they got even nastier, throwing bugs in my food and spitting right on it.
Then Ryan found out.
He reached out and pulled me up from where I was hiding in the corner, eating my food.
Without a word, he took the lunchbox I was holding and pressed his own into my hands.
Then he led me into a small room, told me to eat slowly, and locked the door behind us.
I couldn't see what was happening outside.
All I could hear through the crack in the door were the kids' cries and their angry shouts.
They were just kids, not even ten years old, but the stuff they said was nasty.
They cursed my parents, calling them worthless bastards who got executed, and said Ryan and I were nothing but animals' kids.
"Bastard. You should die."
Clutching Ryan's lunchbox to my chest, I ate in silence.
Pressing my hands over my ears, my tears kept falling into my food.
Outside, the yelling and cursing slowly faded away, until there was nothing left but silence.
That evening, it poured rain. The furious director made Ryan stand in the yard all night as punishment.
I stood under the eaves, wanting to go out and keep him company.
His face was pale and stubborn as he glared at me through the rain, his expression cold as he snapped, "Don't come over."
After that night, he came down with a high fever.
When his fever hit almost 104°F, nobody was willing to come near us.
The director said, "Just like their parents, those kids are nothing but trouble."
I brought over some water, my hands shaking as I wiped Ryan's forehead, tears streaming down my face.
It wasn't until late into the night that he finally started to come to.
I was terrified, sobbing as I complained to him.
"Why did you have to fight them? The director's just going to hate us even more now."
The night was cool and quiet.
The power was out, and the house was pitch black.
Ryan's face was flushed with fever.
In the faint moonlight, he took my hand in his, trying to comfort me.
"Even if I never fought back, they never cut us any slack.
"If we keep letting them walk all over us, they'll just keep pushing us around."
I couldn't say anything. I got so upset that I started crying.
His voice was rough from the fever. "I'm almost sixteen now, Emily.
"Once I'm out, I'll start working and save up. When I have enough, I'll find a way to get you out of here too."
He was so sick he could barely keep his eyes open, his voice weak and broken, but he still tried to reassure me.
"Don't be scared, Emily. Mom and Dad are gone, but you still have me."
The next day, his fever finally broke. That night, he climbed over the orphanage wall and slipped out into the city.
He spent the night picking up empty bottles off the street and hustling for odd jobs at a late-night food stall.
He'd just scraped together enough cash to buy me a scarf for the winter, but that same night at the food stall, he ran into a bunch of street punks looking for trouble.
When he tried to help the boss collect payment, one of those punks smashed a glass bottle in his face, shattering it against his left eye.
No one stood up for him.
The boss, afraid of getting into trouble, acted like he'd never even seen Ryan before.
The punks realized things were going south and bolted all at once.
That night, when Ryan still hadn't come back, I slipped out to find him.
When I found him, his eye was covered in blood, and he was passed out on the sidewalk.
For the first time, I used a payphone on the street to call James.