Arena One: Slaverunners by Morgan Rice Page A

but the truth is, you’re leaving because you can’t stand me. Because you never knew how to handle domestic life. Because you’re too stupid to make something of your life after the Corps. So you jump up and run off at the first opportunity—”
    Dad stopped her with a hard slap across the face. I can still hear the noise in my head.
    I was shocked; I’d never seen him lay a hand on her before. I felt the wind rush out of me, as if I’d been slapped myself. I looked at him, and almost didn’t recognize him. Was that really my father? I was so stunned that I dropped my book, and it landed with a thud.
    They both turned and looked at me, alerted to my presence. Mortified, I turned and ran down the hall, to my bedroom, and slammed the door behind me. I didn’t know how to react to it all, and just had to get away from them.
    Moments later, there was a soft knock on my door.
    “Brooke, it’s me,” Dad said in a soft, remorseful voice. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Please, let me in.”
    “Go away!” I yelled back.
    A long silence followed. But he still didn’t leave.
    “Brooke, I have to leave now. I’d like to see you one last time before I go. Please. Come out and say goodbye.”
    I started to cry.
    “Go away!” I snapped again. I was so overwhelmed, so mad at him for hitting Mom, and even more mad at him for leaving us. And deep down, I was so scared that he would never come back.
    “I’m leaving now, Brooke,” he said. “You don’t have to open the door. But I want you to know how much I love you. And that I’ll always be with you. Remember, Brooke, you’re the tough one. Take care of this family. I’m counting on you. Take care of them.”
    And then I heard my father’s footsteps, walking away. They grew softer and softer. Moments later I heard the front door open, then close.
    And then, nothing.
    Minutes—it felt like days—later, I slowly opened my door. I already sensed it. He was gone. And I already regretted it; I wished I’d said goodbye. Because I already sensed, deep down, that he was never coming back.
    Mom sat there, at the kitchen table, head in her hands, crying softly. I knew that things had changed permanently that day, that they would never be the same—that she would never be the same. And that I wouldn’t, either.
    And I was right. As I sit here now, staring into the embers of the dying fire, my eyes heavy, I realize that since that day, nothing has ever been the same again.
    *
    I am standing in our old apartment , in Manhattan . I don ’ t know what I ’ m doing here, or how I got here. Nothing seems to make sense, because the a partment is not at all as I remember. It is completely empty of furniture, as if we had never lived in it . I ’ m the only one here .
    There is a sudden knock on the door, and in walks Dad , in full uniform, holding a briefcase. He has a hollow look to his eyes, as if he ha s just been to hell and back.
    “ Daddy ! ” I try to scream. But the words don ’ t come out. I look down and realize that I am glued to the floor, hidden behind a wall, and that he can ’ t see me. As much as I struggle to break free, to run to him, to call out his name, I cannot. I ’ m forced to watch helplessly, as he walks into the empty apartment , looking all around.
    “ Br o oke ? ” he yells out. “ Are you here? Is anybody home? ”
    I tr y to answer again , but my voice won ’ t work . He search es room to room .
    “ I said I ’ d come back, ” he says. “ Why didn ’ t anyone wa it for me? ”
    Then , he breaks into tears.
    My heart breaks , and I try with all I have to call out to him . B ut no matter how hard I try , nothing comes out.
    He finally turns and leaves the apartment, gently closing the door behind him . The cli ck of the handle reverberates in the emptiness .
    “ D ADDY! ” I scream, finally finding my voice.
    But it is too late . I know h e is gone forever, and somehow it is all my fault .
    I blink, and the next thing I know I