Excerpt: Strung Along

"I think it's more than that," she says. "People with a normal fear of the dark don't get as freaked out as you do."
"What do you think it is, then?" I ask softly as I pick at the thread on the comforter again.
She sighs. "I don't know. I could be completely wrong. Why don't you tell me?"
"I don't think so."
"So there is something that causes that—the whole freaking out thing."
"No. There's not," I say, a tad harsher than intended.
"There is, or you wouldn't be so defensive about it," she counters. "What is it? What's got you so afraid?"
"It's none of your business." I snap. "I wish you'd stop asking."
"I need to know or else I can't help you fix it!"
"Maybe I don't want your help!" I snap. "You can't fix everything, Sawyer—no matter how hard you try. But then you know that, don't you?"
"What's that mean?" she asks.
"It means that no matter how many meals you bring her, you and I both know there is something else keeping your mom in that bed that you can't fix—and that bothers you."
"Don't you dare say that," she snaps, and she sounds close to tears. "You don't know anything about her, Sarah. So don't pretend like you do—you don't have to live with this every single day."
"Maybe I have to live with something worse," I say softly. "Did you ever think about that?"
"Oh, so you're the only one allowed to have bad things happen in your life? You're entitled to something because you have it so much worse than everybody—nobody else is allowed to have problems, just you? Tell me—what makes your life so much worse than mine."
"I can't—" I protest. "Please, Sawyer—"
"You can, Sarah. Or maybe you're just lying—saying you have it rough to get sympathy."
"No, you don't understand—I can't tell—"
"That's a load of bull. Go on, Sarah—tell me why your life is so much worse." Her voice drips with bitterness.
"I can't!" I cry. "Please—you have to believe me. I can't tell about this—"
"Why?" she snaps.
"Because he'll kill me!" I cry. I cover my mouth in shock. Sawyer is silent.
"Who'd kill you?" she asks quietly as she gets out of bed and settles on the floor next to me.
"Nobody—it's nothing. Forget I said it. It's not a big deal," I say as I try to brush her off.
"It is," she protests. I try to stand up, but she grabs my arm and pulls me back down.
"It's not important, Sawyer—let me go."
"Not until you tell me exactly what's going on," she says. "No excuses or lying."
"I can't tell you," I protest weakly.
"You have to, Sarah," she says quietly. "Please—if you don't, then what?"
"I'll manage just as I have for the past eight years—by keeping my mouth shut and not thinking about it."
"Thinking about what?" she asks. "Please tell me—not saying anything is going to end up killing you."
"And saying something is very likely going to get me killed as well. See, I'm screwed either way," I try to laugh, but it sounds pathetic.
"If you could at least tell me who said they're going to kill you—maybe they didn't mean it."
"He means it, all right," I say, thinking about the day when the neighbors came to the door.
"Okay, he. Who? Your dad?"
"No. I haven't seen my dad since I was five."
"Your uncle, then—whoever you live with."
I don't say anything.
"Your uncle?" she asks quietly. I bite my lip and turn away.
"Why did he say he'd kill you?" she says. I shake my head.
"Can't say."
"Sure you can," she says. "Just open your mouth and speak words. It's not that hard. Millions of people do it every day."
"Shut up," I smile. It feels like my face is going to crack.
"See—there's the smile." She grins. "Now quit stalling. Just say it—ten words. Ten measly words of why your uncle will kill you."
I shut my mouth again. I can see she's growing frustrated with me.
"Come on, Sarah."
"No." I say. "I can't—I really, truly can't. Please understand that—maybe I'll tell you one day, but I can't right now."
"But—"
"I have to go," I say abruptly. She frowns.
"Sarah—look, okay, I'll stop asking. I swear. Just—stay, okay? It's absurd for you to leave in the middle of the night."
"No—I can't stay here, just let me go." I stand up and gather my stuff—I have to leave. If I stay any longer she'll find out the truth.