the first time in forever, the kitchen stools are occupied by my parents. Honestly, I was beginning to think they forgot how to sit still for more than a second at a time. Whenever they are in the house, they aren't truly here. They're wearing earpieces while looking at graphs and charts on their laptops. They're massaging their temples over paperwork. They're lost in their seventh glass of wine. The furniture would feel very neglected if it wasn't for me. 

My mother is wearing her workout headband with yoga pants that are too tight. Her makeup's foundation is two shades too light for her bronze complexion and her natural curls fall dead straight at the side of her cheeks. She doesn't fake a smile because we are all far past the pleasantries. Instead, she burrows her eyes into me while pursing her lips. 

I take another bite of my bagel and wait for it. 

"You should have been out the door ten minutes ago." At first, I think she said this because she was hoping I'd be gone when she woke up but then I catch the time on my phone and realize I'm actually going to be late. 

My father sets down his mug as he hobbles over, droplets of coffee caught in his graying mustache. "The school called us yesterday saying you missed your first class. We will not tolerate any tardies." 

I gape at him. I was late because I spent half the night on the ship withering in pain. He knows this. He drove me there. 

"Dovie, so help me if you aren't out of that door in the next minute!" My mothers barking startles me out of my perplexed state. Much like I did when confronting that researcher on the ship, I'm talking ahead of my mind and the words spill out. 

"Would you have sold Brendan out, too? If he were here?" The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I drop my food onto the plate, my hunger vanishing. 

My brother's name acts as a vacuum, sucking the air out of the room and making both my parents gasp. My father's eyes go wide like he's already suffocating. 

Brendan is never discussed - not since he left to start his own business rather than join their's. He's ten years older than me, meaning he was eighteen when he left. All my memories of him are blurred in the haze of early childhood. 

I have two clear memories of him. One good and one bad. The first was a hot summer day we spent at our old penthouse's pool. He kept playfully launching me into the water. In those few seconds I spent soaring in the air, I felt like Superman. When we finally got out of the pool we were ravenous and microwaved like fifty mini pizza rolls for us to eat. We were dripping wet at the kitchen table and when our father scolded us for it, Brendan made a silly face behind his back. 

The second memory I have of Brendan was of him leaving. It wasn't some big emotional farewell and somehow, that makes it worse. It was early in the morning but I was up in my room watching TV with the volume turned down. I heard a noise come from the hallway so I opened the door a crack to see who it was. 

Brendan was rolling a suitcase towards the door. When he paused to open it, he saw me watching. He gave me a tight lipped smile. 

"Bye, kid. Good luck." 

I waved, not knowing that I was saying goodbye to him forever. 

From what I have gathered over the years, he was supposed to be their one and only child. I came along accidentally, screwing up the plan and ever since then they've been scrambling to figure out how to get rid of me. Brendan was supposed to be their trophy to hold up and show the world. I don't think it's so much that they miss their child but that they're ashamed that someone they thought they owned slipped out of their grasp. It's tragic really. Brendan doesn't love them and they don't want anything to do with the child that does. 

My father's voice is low, prowling around me like a lion. Suddenly, I'm tired and wish I hadn't brought up Brendan. "We need the money from Doctor Nakpuna's organization in order to get our business back up and running." 

"And Brendan would understand that sacrificing a few hours of free time for the family is the right thing to do," my mother adds, her eyebrows raised in challenge. She still thinks he cares. His occasional holiday cards fool her effortlessly. Or maybe she's in denial. 

I want to ask her if she was there when had horrible reactions to the injections. I want to ask if she ever heard me cry over my homework because I had such little time to complete it and all the pressure to get it done perfectly. Or has she not realized that when I wake up at night screaming, unable to fall asleep for hours afterward, it's because of what goes on on that horrid ship?

I don't say anything. On any other day, I would fight. I would have desperately tried to make them see they are wrong but for the first time, I think maybe they know they're wrong. They just don't care. 

The idea rings in my head while I hop down the stairs and out into the warm spring air. It follows me as I drift down the blocks leading to my school and then through the hallways. I can hear everyone around me and I can see everyone but their voices are like the buzz through an old radio. Their faces are blurred like the windshield of a car in the rain. I don't actually feel my feet on the ground. There's a giant conveyor belt leading me through my day as I mindlessly follow. 

I haven't said a word for hours when I find myself in the cafeteria. The chatter of fellow students feels like a swarm of bees in my ears and my fingers are slowly creeping up to shield them. 

"You know, it's starting to weird me out . . . You not having that dopey grin plastered on your face." Charlie takes the chocolate pudding cup off of my tray, well aware it's my favorite food item from the cafeteria. He peels off the strip of plastic and dips his tongue into the container. Pleased with himself, he places it back on my tray. 

"Nothing? I used to wish you'd stop your idiotic blabbering but this silence is maddening. Please, talk to me about something I don't care about so I can ignore you in peace!"

I should smile. This should cheer me up. The expression almost makes it onto my face out of pure familiarity. Charlie pokes fun at me, I smile. It's a simple equation. He'll smirk and I'll feel breathless. He'll laugh and I'll savor the sound. Sometimes, all he has to do is be here and my stomach is doing cartwheels. Not today. 

Something has clicked in my mind that has the ability to shatter me completely. 

They know they are wrong. They just don't care. 

My lips spread into a thin line, the closest thing to a smile my face can bear. When my eyes meet his, he sees right through me. Everything that has happened during these last two years is etched in blood onto my expression. All he does is gaze hard enough and there it is all spelled out for him. I almost want him to figure it out. 

His face falls. "What happened?" 

I inhale sharply. I want to tell him. I do. 

He was vulnerable when he told me about his uncle. Before then, Charlie and I had this understanding that we didn't pry into each other's lives. We kept things light, leaving the really heavy stuff floating between us like it wasn't even there. It was there though. I watched him fall asleep in class. I noticed how distant and moody he would get sometimes. I saw the worry in his aunt's eyes when she spoke to him. Everything in me wanted to help him but I knew if I pushed it would drive him away. 

Then, one day in the middle of Geometry, he threw a crumpled up piece of paper at the back of my head. 

We're skipping fourth period. Meet me at the vending machine. 

I never skipped class but with how strange he had been acting, I decided to follow. Over a shared bag of spicy chips, he told me about his uncle. 

"It was weird from the beginning," he said, blinking back tears of frustration. "He knew my dad before he died, that's how my aunt met him. It was me and Lizzie for most of my life, I had never even heard of this guy, and then all of a sudden he's in the picture acting like he has more of a right to my dad than me." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Whenever I disappoint him, which is all the time, he says this thing." He clenched his fists in his lap with a scowl, a stray tear running down his dark skin. "He says that I don't deserve to have my dad's name. He says I dishonor him so he calls me by my middle name, Dean." 

I felt my ears flush with heat. "What an asshole! He has no right to say that." 

"He's always tearing into me, Dovie." The exhaustion in his voice made me wince. Charlie prided himself in being composed and strong. We were the same in that sense. I think we both thought opening the door to our weakness would leave us vulnerable to feel the pain - and we didn't know if we could handle it. Despite this, he looked like he was on the edge of defeat. "Nothing I do is good enough. He finds fault in everything." 

"What does Lizzie think about this?" I couldn't imagine a person as sweet as her letting this go on in her house. She loved Charlie more than anything, more than her boyfriend I was sure. Charlie was family. That didn't mean much to mine but I thought there's was different. I hoped that other families were different.  

"He's two faced. He puts on a real good show whenever Lizzie is around. She thinks I'm just being resistant to change or whatever the teen psychology books are telling her." 

"That's awful." I inched my hand towards his along the edge of the staircase. I paused right before my hand covered his, remembering Charlie wasn't one for physical affection, and tucked my hand into the pocket of my hoodie. "I'm glad you told me. You know I'm always here for you, right?" 

His serious demeanor slowly melted away. "Unfortunately, yes. I'm aware there's no shaking you." 

I am such a hypocrite. I want Charlie to be open and honest with me but here I am, desperately trying to come up with a lie. 

I shake my head and force myself to start eating my school lunch. The fries go down dry, leaving a lump in my throat. 

"It's nothing. I got into a fight with my parents this morning." 

A half truth. It is the best I can do for him though I know I owe him more.

Charlie taps his knuckles on the cafeteria table. "You a . . ." he hesitates. "You never talk about them. What are they like?" 

My skin feels itchy. I try my best to keep my two worlds separate in order to protect what I have in the world that I like, the world away from the ship. Charlie is better off not knowing a thing. The research that goes on there is only able to exist because there are powerful people backing it. Powerful people with enough connections and money to keep it hidden in the dark.  Powerful people who wouldn't hesitate to kill if it meant to protect their operations. I've thought of telling people but it is more than likely that there are people in this very town who already know. They're involved in some way, maybe getting paid off not to notice certain things. 

I have a distinct feeling that some of the kids on the ship aren't there by their parents own accord. Some of those kids were stolen. 

I chug down half of my water to keep the nausea at bay. It's better to live in this world without knowing things like this happen. Charlie will be happier without knowing. 

"They are annoying," I finally answered. More like evil. "They . . . They don't care about me." 

I held my breath waiting for his response. I anticipate him to push back and assure me they do. Instead, he sighs. 

"I don't know if this makes things any better . . ." He scratches his chin, looking around the cafeteria like he's lost until his gaze finally settles on me. "But I care about you." 

"Wow." I crack a smile that is somewhat genuine. "Can you say that again so I can get in on tape?" 

Charlie exchanges his untouched pudding cup with my contaminated one, smiling. 

"You know I can't get all mushy gushy with you often. It goes to your head." 

I blush. It certainly does. 

+++

The sea is angry tonight. 

The ground beneath me sways dramatically when I walk down the hallways of the ship's lower level. I continue to stumble repeatedly though I think of myself as having my sea legs. Lucky for me, I'm with Researcher Hansen today. He's as patient as the staff here is, which is not very, but after the day I've had, I'm grateful. 

"I think we can release you early since the weather is acting up," he calls back to me over the creaking of the ship. It's like the vessel is groaning in pain from the ferocity of the wind. Rattling sounds echo against the steel gray walls. I imagine nature trying to tear the ship apart. The sea growing hands and ripping the panels and boards off one by one. Water filling it to the brim, ruining every piece of data they have. 

The draft is chilling to the bone. I would be worried we were about to experience a natural disaster if I didn't feel so numb from the day. 

I couldn't stop thinking of lying to Charlie, of my parents' total disregard for me, and of the cries I heard from deeper in the ship. It's all swirling around my mind and haunting me every second. 

"That would be nice." 

I pull my cardigan tighter around myself, wishing my hair was long enough to shield my neck from the cold. 

Hansen slows down so I can catch up to him. He has the look of one of those high school teachers all the girls have a crush on. He's young enough to be appealing but old enough to seem mature. His brown hair is long and styled in loose curls atop his head. His beard is kept short and his skin glows a perfect tan shade, even under the unflattering lighting.

He doesn't look like he belongs here. He doesn't seem like he enjoys it here either. The other researchers and doctors are giddy about trials. They foam at the mouth every time there is a new breakthrough. The closest Hansen ever gets to that is being ironically amused at some of the testing methods. He always smirks when I'm forced to jump off a board onto mats like an awful gymnast. 

"You know -" Hansen is cut off by two guards trudging up the stairs from our left. Behind them are two small figures. With a jolt, I realize they're children. They can't be any older than twelve. Upon seeing Hansen and I, the two guards step in front of them as if to block them from view. It's too late. I've seen their doe eyed faces. The guards wait stiffly as Hansen and I pass. 

"Keep walking." 

I hadn't realized I stopped. 

Hansen pushes me gently and I keep walking. 

"It's better if you pretend you didn't see them." 

I take a deep breath in an attempt to slow my racing heart. "But I did." 

Hansen shoots me a warning look. 

As I walk out of this horrid place, the image of it being torn apart by a storm isn't satisfying enough. I want it to burn down with every single one of the researchers and doctors in it. I want them all to pay for the suffering they have caused. 

Maybe that would heal the emptiness forming inside me.  

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