I’ve Lived My Whole Life Without Ever Hearing Music

His door is open a crack and I can hear his breathing. I slip inside and hide the letter under his pillow where he’ll find it after I’m gone.

Writing it made me cry for the first time since the basement incident, and the tears are still wet on my face when I get back to my room. The next two days are awful.

I pack my things while planning my escape. I hide my important stuff at the bottom of a box where I can grab it fast.

I memorize the shelter number over and over: 720-415-8863. I watch the clock and countdown hours.

Mom and Dad are busy with moving logistics and I use their distraction to prepare. On the night before moving day I lie in bed fully clothed and wait.

I wait until I hear Dad snoring from their room and Mom’s even breathing, and the house goes completely quiet. Then I get up and grab the butter knife I stole from dinner.

The bolt on my door is simple, just a slide lock on the outside, and I work the knife blade into the crack between the door and frame. I push and wiggle and try to catch the bolt edge.

It takes forever. My hands shake and sweat and the knife keeps slipping.

I have to stop twice when I hear sounds from other rooms. After 40 minutes of patient quiet effort, I finally feel the bolt slide.

The door opens and I stand there in the dark hallway breathing hard. I grab my bag from where I hid it behind my dresser and creep toward the stairs.

Every step sounds too loud. I make it halfway down and then I see Dad in the kitchen.

He’s standing by the sink getting water and we lock eyes across the dark house for one second. Neither of us moves, then he starts toward me and I run.

I run for the front door and he’s yelling and I’m yelling and suddenly Mom is coming down the stairs behind me. I get the door open and run outside.

“Help me! Someone help me!”

I scream it over and over. Dad grabs my arm and I wrench away and keep screaming.

Lights come on at the Wong’s house and I see Sylvia in her window with her phone. Dad tries to pull me back inside but I fight him and scream louder.

“Help me please! Someone help me!”

Within minutes I hear sirens. Red and blue lights fill the street and two police cars pull up.

The officers get out and Dad lets go of my arm. Mom is on the porch looking wild and scared.

One officer asks what’s going on and I tell them everything. I tell them about the locks and the isolation and the planned move to trap me in the middle of nowhere.

I tell them I’m scared and I need help and I can’t go with them. My parents stand there silent and angry while I talk.

The officers look at each other and then at me and then at my parents. They ask my parents questions and Dad tries to explain about the safety plan, but his voice sounds wrong.

One officer talks into his radio and then tells me they’re taking me into protective custody for my immediate safety. I’m shaking so hard I can barely walk.

They help me to the police car and I look back once at the house. Micah’s face is in his bedroom window.

He’s pressed against the glass watching, and my heart breaks, but I also feel relief flooding through me because I’m finally getting out. They take me to a youth emergency shelter on the other side of town.

It’s a plain brick building with bright lights inside. A woman named Hattie meets us at the door and talks to the officers while I stand there shaking.

She has kind eyes and a calm voice. She brings me inside to a small office and does intake paperwork, asking questions about my name and age and medical stuff.

I answer everything in a flat voice because I’m too tired to feel anything anymore. When the paperwork is done Hattie shows me to a small room with a bed and a dresser and a window.

She points to the lock on the inside of the door and tells me I control it, nobody else. She asks if I need anything and I shake my head.

After she leaves I lock the door and lie down on the bed still wearing my clothes and shoes. I sleep for 12 hours straight.

It’s the first real rest I’ve had in weeks. When I wake up it’s afternoon and sun is coming through the window, and for a few seconds I forget where I am.

Then I remember and I lie there feeling strange and empty and safe all at the same time. Someone knocks on my door and I unlock it.

Hattie tells me I have a visitor and brings me to a quiet room with two chairs and a table. Aisha is sitting there with her notebook.

She stands up when I come in and asks how I’m doing. I sit down and tell her I’m okay.

She says we need to do a full interview and she’s going to record everything. I nod and she starts the recorder.