Chapter 1

When I was seven, Mom brought home a grimy little waif, Wendy Carter, from the dumpster to keep me company.

The only word she could ever say clearly was my name.

I thought she was an idiot and called her an annoying shadow, but she'd just grin that goofy smile and stick to me like glue.

When I was nineteen, I spent a year in jail for accidentally hurting someone while trying to protect her. After I got out, it felt like my whole life had gone down the drain.

I had to struggle to find work while still taking care of her. The weight of it all was crushing me.

At a class reunion, I watched my old classmates, who now all had real lives of their own.

And I couldn't stop thinking, if only she'd never come into my life.

Back home, I plugged in a hair dryer and set it by the tub, then told her to go take a bath.

She paused for a second, then turned and grinned at me like she always did, heading toward the tub.

"Thanks, Ryan," she said.

*****

My palms were slick with cold sweat.

I kept my eyes glued to her bumbling back, my hand with the cigarette shaking without me even noticing.

Then, out of nowhere, a surge of panic crashed over me.

My body moved before my mind could catch up. I grabbed her and yanked her away just as she was about to step into the tub.

I asked, "Are you blind or something?

"Didn't you see the hair dryer in the water? Were you really about to just step in?"

I tried to sound harsh, but my voice wouldn't stop shaking.

A wave of guilt and lingering fear crashed over me, nearly overwhelming me.

She clung to my arm, timid and unsure.

She looked like she didn't even know what she'd done wrong.

All she understood was that she'd gotten me angry again.

She said, "Ryan, I'm sorry.

"I'll do better. Please, don't be mad at me."

Looking into her naive, clueless eyes, I just let go, all the fight drained out of me.

A twisted smile, more painful than tears, crept onto my face.

I muttered under my breath, "Sorry? Sorry for what? You idiot, you waste of space; you don't even get that I almost got you killed.

"How can you be this dumb? Why have I been dragged down by someone like you for so long?"

I couldn't even tell if I was laughing or crying anymore.

She just looked at me, lost and confused.

Like, none of it even made sense to her.

The phone rang; it was Vivian Brooks.

Feeling numb, I wrapped a towel around her, double-checking that the power was off and everything was safe before I finally picked up the phone and stepped out.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind me.

Vivian was my college classmate, and after I got out of prison, she was the only one who still wanted anything to do with me, never once looking down on me for what I'd been through.

Her voice, choked with tears, came through the line, stabbing at my heart that had long gone numb.

"Ryan, what were you doing just now? Why did it take you so long to pick up?" she asked.

"I was busy," I replied, my voice rough and raspy.

"You were busy with that fool again, weren't you?" she said, her voice suddenly getting louder.

I gripped my phone tighter, but I couldn't come up with a single excuse.

Vivian said, her voice trembling with emotion, "Ryan, I love you. I really do.

"I don't care that you've been to prison. I know you can turn your life around.

"But I just can't take it anymore, always having her between us. Can't you just stop caring about her?

"She's like a black hole, Ryan. She'll suck you in and never let you go. She'll ruin us forever."

Vivian's sobs twisted my heart even harder. Deep down, I knew she was right about everything.

"But she only has me," I said, my voice breaking. "I just can't turn my back on her."

Vivian asked, her voice dripping with bitter sarcasm, "You can't just leave her alone?

"Ryan, haven't you done enough for her? She's already wrecked half your life. Are you really going to wait until she completely destroys you before you finally wake up?"

I closed my eyes, burning tears streaming down my face and hitting the back of my hand.

"I'm sorry," I said; it took everything I had just to say them.

Vivian just started bawling on the other end of the line.

I dropped my phone onto the couch and ran my hands through my hair in frustration.

Regret it? I had been regretting it for as long as I can remember.

After my mom passed away, I was left all alone, barely getting by while taking care of clueless Wendy.

That year, I got an acceptance letter from a top university out of state. Wendy was even more excited than I was.

But I just couldn't abandon her. With tears streaming down my face, I ripped the acceptance letter to shreds.

All these years, I had been going to a regular local college, heading home every chance I got.

After graduation, I tried finding work everywhere, but my record just kept shutting every door in my face.

Meanwhile, all my classmates had done it, good jobs, happy families, everything was going for them.

And me? I was barely keeping my head above water, weighed down by that clueless Wendy.

What would my life have been like if she hadn't been around?

A wave of rage boiled up inside me. I jumped to my feet and kicked the glass coffee table as hard as I could.

Bang, a deafening crash, shards of glass flying everywhere.

Pain ripped through my leg as bright red blood instantly gushed out, trickling down my calf.

She heard the crash and came running over, yelling in panic.

She didn't even notice the broken glass all over the floor.

"Don't come any closer," I shouted, trying to warn her.

But she didn't seem to hear me at all. She just ran straight up to me.

She looked at my bleeding leg, panic written all over her face.

She was clutching a wrinkled Band-Aid in her fist, like it was some kind of treasure she'd just dug up from who knew where.

"Sticker," she blurted out, her voice childish and determined.

She held up the band-aid, fumbling as she tried to stick it onto my wound.

She dropped to her knees right on the shards, her pants already stained with blood, but she was totally oblivious.

Watching her being so clueless and stubborn, I just snapped.

I grabbed her wrist and shouted, "Are you seriously that dumb? Can't you see there's glass everywhere? Why the hell are you stepping on it? Have you learned nothing after all this time?"

She winced and sobbed, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

But she still clung to that Band-Aid as her life depended on it.

Her eyes were fixated on my wound, stubbornly determined to patch me up.

"Enough," I said, yanking my hand away from her.

"Is crying and apologizing all you know how to do?" I asked.

I hauled her out to the street, pointed at a stray dog digging through a trash can nearby, and shouted, "See that? Even a dog, after twenty years of being taught, would know where to find food.

"You dummy, how come you can't learn a single thing?"

She seemed to get just how disappointed I was, her eyes full of remorse as she looked at me.

I pushed her forward, and she nearly lost her balance, almost hitting the ground.

Gritting my teeth, I hardened my heart and said, "Tonight, you have to find your way home on your own. If you can't, then just don't bother coming back."

With that, I turned and walked away in the opposite direction, not daring to look back.

I was afraid that if I saw her looking like that, my resolve would crumble all over again.

I knew I was being harsh, but honestly, I couldn't take it anymore.

I wanted to put her to the test for once, and put myself to the test, too.

I hid at the bend of the street, watching her standing by herself in the chilly wind.

She shrank into herself, glancing around in fear, mumbling under her breath like she was trying to give herself some courage.

She shuffled forward a few tentative steps, then retreated again, doing this again and again.

Then a group of thugs closed in on her. One of them grabbed her by the chin, and with a knife pressed to her, they tried to force her into the alley.

I thought she'd start bawling and screaming for help.

But the moment she saw the knife, she just became eerily calm.

She even nodded, and without a word, went along with the thugs into the alley.

At that moment, I caught her turning to look right where I was hiding.

Those eyes that always depended on me now flashed with a kind of finality, almost like she was relieved to be letting go.

It felt like she knew I was watching, and this was her way of saying goodbye.

"Let her go," I said. I rushed over like I'd lost my mind and yanked her behind me in one swift motion.

The head thug jumped when I showed up out of nowhere, then his face twisted in anger as he waved his knife at me. He said, "Fuck, you're trying to ruin my night? You got a death wish or something?"

My whole body tensed up, bracing myself for whatever was about to happen.

But she suddenly broke free from behind me.

She lunged straight toward the knife in the thug's hand,

"Shit, is she nuts? This idiot really doesn't care about her life," the thug said. Her move so freaked him out that he dropped his knife and took off running.

"Wendy," I said, dashing over and hauling her back into my arms. Her back crashed into my chest.

It was so close, just a hair's breadth away.

I was so angry and scared that I shouted at her, "Are you out of your mind? Do you even realize how dangerous that was? That was a knife; it could've killed you.

"And why the hell did you go with them into the alley?"

She looked up, trying her best to put on that familiar, innocent smile.

Her cold little hand gently gripped the edge of my shirt, as if she was quietly telling me, "Don't be afraid."