It Was US Against the World

I used to have the same dream every night.

It always started the same way, Like nothing was wrong.

I’d be outside on my tricycle, the kind with the faded plastic seat that burned your legs in the summer. The sidewalk stretched out in front of me, cracked and uneven, but familiar. Safe, at least that’s what I told myself.

I was always alone.

The air felt too still, like the whole street was holding its breath. Even as a kid, I could feel it.omething wasn’t right. But in the dream, I never questioned it. I just rode.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

And then I’d see it.

The stop sign at the end of the road.

I was never supposed to go that far.

I don’t remember who told me not to turn that corner. Maybe my dad. Maybe my mom. Maybe it was just something you knew when you lived on a street like ours, Some places weren’t meant for kids.

But every time, without fail, I ended up there anyway.

My hands would tighten on the handlebars. My stomach would twist like it already knew what was coming.

I’d try to turn around.

That’s when it happened.

Footsteps.

Fast. Heavy. Getting closer.

I never made it in time.

A man would come out of nowhere.

Face blurry, voice I could never quite hear. But I knew what he was. Even at that age, I understood danger without needing it explained.

He’d grab me and the tricycle like I weighed nothing.

And just like that—I was gone.

The dream would skip, like a scratched DVD.

One second I was outside…

the next, I wasn’t a kid anymore.

I was older.

A teenager.

Different house. Different family. Different life.

They acted like I belonged there.

Like I had always belonged there.

There was a woman who called herself my grandmother. She’d smile at me like she loved me, like she’d raised me. But something about it always felt wrong. Like wearing someone else’s clothes that didn’t quite fit.

And the worst part?

They knew.

I could feel it in the way they looked at me when they thought I wasn’t paying attention. In the way conversations stopped when I walked into a room.

They knew I didn’t belong to them.

They just didn’t think I remembered.

But deep down… I did.

Not clearly. Not all at once.

But enough.

Enough to feel it sitting in my chest like something buried alive.

And the second it clicked

the second I knew

A loud crash would rip through the house.

Like a door being kicked in.

Like something was coming.

For me.

And that’s when I’d wake up.

Every single time.

Screaming.

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I woke up gasping.

My chest burned like I’d been holding my breath too long, my whole body damp with sweat. The scream was still stuck somewhere between my throat and my lungs, like it hadn’t fully made it out.

For a second, I didn’t move.

I just listened.

Rain tapped softly against the windows.

steady, quiet, almost peaceful. But something about it felt wrong.

Too calm.

Too still.

The house was silent.

That was never a good sign.

Silence didn’t mean nothing was happening. It meant something was.

Just not where you could see it yet.

I pushed myself up, the blankets twisted around my legs, and looked toward the doorway. I waited for my mom to come in like she usually did. She always came when I cried. Always.

But this time…

Nothing.

Just the rain.

My heart started racing again, not from the dream, but from something else. Something real.

Then I heard it.

Faint at first.

My mom’s voice.

Not inside the house.

Outside.

I froze.

Our house didn’t hide anything. It couldn’t. The walls were thin. Like everything inside was always on display, and everything outside could get in if it wanted to.

I remember thinking even then that there wasn’t really a place to feel safe in it.

Her voice got louder, carried in through the rain.

And then his.

My dad.

Sharp. Angry. The kind of voice that made your stomach drop before your brain could catch up.

I slid out of bed, my feet hitting the cold floor, and crept toward the hallway.

I didn’t want to see.

But I needed to know.

Their voices got clearer the closer I got.

“You’re just out here running the streets Vanessa,” he snapped. “Where you been? Who were you with?! ANSWER ME DAMNIT".

Each word hit like something thrown.

My mom’s voice broke through, softer, desperate, pleading.

I couldn’t make out everything she said, just pieces.

“…please… the kids…”

The front door opened or maybe it slammed. I couldn’t tell. Everything started blending together.

By the time I reached the hallway, they were inside.

I could see them now.

My mom—small, shaking, soaked from the rain.

My dad—standing over her, bigger than everything else in the room.

It all happened so fast I didn’t have time to think.

One second she was standing there

The next, he had her by the throat.

Lifted.

Like she weighed nothing.

Her feet barely touched the ground as he slammed her against the wall. The sound echoed through the house, louder than the thunder outside.

"You know how easy it would be right now? I could end it right now! Is that what you want?!" He said.

Something in me snapped.

I didn’t feel small anymore.

I didn’t feel scared.

I just ran.

“No, Mommy!” I screamed. “Leave my mommy alone!”

My voice cracked through the room, loud and desperate and bigger than I felt.

And just like that

He stopped.

Everything went still.

He let go.

She dropped back down, gasping for air, her hands shaking as they reached for her throat.

For a moment, nobody said anything.

Not him. Not her.

Not me.

The storm outside kept going like nothing had happened.

I don’t remember what he did next.

I don’t remember if he said anything.

Everything after that turned into noise.

But I remember this

That night, my mom slept in my bed.