When I Was Nine Novels & Stories

Joaquin blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. I leaned back in my chair, my mind slipping into a memory so vivid I could almost smell the chalk dust of our old classroom. “When I was nine, I had this school project. A short story assignment. It was a fable about a fox and a crow, nothing special. I didn’t even want to submit it. I thought it was silly.” Joaquin stayed quiet, watching me intently.

Chapter: 2 ****** TALON: Nine. At the age of nine, I ran out of the blood that sustained me. For a year, I struggled silently, unwilling to reveal how deeply it affected me. I tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy without it, but my efforts only led to restlessness, unconsciousness, and sleepless nights. The cold crept in, the bed felt foreign. Who could I confide in? Who would listen to the plea of a vampire boy thrust into a family where he never belonged? The memory of that fateful day still haunts me.

Instead of taking a cab, I walked home. By the time I got there, the sky was already dark. I stood quietly at the doorway, staring at the photo of us sitting on the shoe cabinet. It was taken three years ago, during our trip to Southsea. Annie was smiling so brightly back then, like her eyes were filled with stars. Now, those stars had all fallen on someone else. A wave of helplessness rose from deep inside my chest. As I collapsed onto the couch, a buzz from my phone broke the silence. It was a message from Annie.

“Parade’s about to start.” I hung up without letting her say another word and sat on the edge of my bed, jaw clenched so tight it throbbed. Silence pressed in like a vice. Sometimes I wondered why my mother even bothered to give birth to me. Maybe if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here—existing like a pawn. A tool. A weapon. A curse. My mind drifted back to the day everything changed. I was nine. She had visited my school, bearing snacks—one pack of cupcakes, two different wrappers. She handed me the blue.

It felt like the gentility of her eyes when I look into them. And I just couldn't do it. The first time I had a panic attack,I was nine and I thought I had an asthmatic attack ,like my classmate,Anna. It happened in the middle of the night. I didn't have an inhaler like Anna did,so I just laid there and tapped my chest. My eyes were heavy,my breath was strained,my chest felt clogged. I felt just like that,like I was nine again. My hands were stretched out as I try to navigate reality and slow down time.

Dark clouds lingered over the estate, leaving everything damp and unnaturally quiet. Aubrey wandered into the garden hoping fresh air would settle the knot in her stomach. It didn't. She couldn't stop thinking about Danielle. Nineteen. Scared. Alone. She wondered if Danielle liked coffee. If she argued with her brother. If she laughed loudly. Simple thoughts. Human thoughts. The kind kidnappers never cared about. "You think too much." Killian's voice came from behind her. She turned. He looked exactly as he had that morning.

POV: Lena Moretti I started with the earliest bundle. Dated fifteen years ago. I was nine when my mother wrote the first letter. Nine years old, learning multiplication tables and riding my bike in the driveway while Sera sat at the kitchen table after I went to bed and wrote the truth in longhand on lined paper.

A person on a wall reading a book at eleven o'clock. "The scar," she said. He reached up and touched it. The thin line along his jaw. "What about it?" "I've been wondering about it." "How long?" She thought about lying. She landed on: "A while." He looked at the street. "I was nine. I made a bet with myself about whether I could clear the fence at the back of my grandmother's garden. I couldn't." "What was the bet?" "That if I could, she'd let me stay." A pause, short and even. "She was going to send me back to my father for the summer. I thought if I was brave enough, or stupid enough — same thing when you're nine — she'd change her mind."

My chest rose unevenly, and before I could stop it, the past came rushing back. I was nine again, curled up outside a door that would not open. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” My voice had been hoarse even then, breaking over words I didn’t understand, I didn’t even know what I had done wrong, only that I had to apologize, because if I didn’t… it would get worse. That night was like every other night, locked outside for something so small, something a nine year old couldn't understand. The cold bit into my skin, my clothes were thin, barely enough to cover me, and my feet… God, my feet hurt. Small cuts burned with every movement.

Why had she said she wanted to give the kidney back to me? What had just happened? Why was Dad crying too? I looked down at my transparent body. Mom lay on the floor, surrounded by panicked people. Her pale face and the hand still stretched toward me slowly made everything click. I wasn't the child of that rapist. I was the living proof of Mom and Dad's love. Because I had been slightly heavier and stronger than Anna at birth, I had been mistaken for someone who shouldn't exist. The feeling was impossible to put into words. It was like nine years of pressure had blown apart in a deafening crash, leaving me weightless, yet pieces stuck in my throat, choking me and bringing tears to my eyes.