Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows
Chapter 1

My dad would beat me up, and I was always getting bullied at school. With nowhere else to turn, I found myself wandering into a tattoo shop tucked away in the corner of an alley. They said the owner was a bit of a tough guy, known for being fierce in fights, and everyone in town was scared of him.

I pushed open the door and dug out a crumpled ten-dollar bill from my pocket. Gathering my courage, I asked, "I heard you charge for protection. So... can you protect me?"

Through the haze of smoke, the man smirked, "Whose kid are you? You've got guts."

In the end, for those ten bucks, he looked out for me for ten years.

I met Jonah when I was fourteen. Years of not eating properly had left me small and skinny, making me look much younger than other kids my age.

As far back as I can remember, my dad never had a job. The three of us scraped by on my mom's paycheck from the garment factory, just three thousand dollars a month. Dad was addicted to gambling, losing almost every time. When he lost, he got moody, drank, and then took it out on my mom and me. Broken dishes and spilled food were a common sight on our floor.

When I was five, he lost a big chunk of money. That night, stinking of booze, he grabbed my mom by the hair, slammed her onto the concrete floor, and smashed her face against it. When he got tired, he switched to kicking her in the stomach.

"You think I'm worthless now, huh? Are you looking down on me? You stupid bitch! Couldn't give me a son. I can't even show my face outside! You're such a jinx. If I hadn't married you, I'd be rich by now."

My mom lay on the floor, her blood turning her hair into sticky clumps. She didn't fight back, hoping against hope that her suffering might awaken some last bit of decency in him.

When there was no place left on my mom to hit, he turned his anger on me. "And you, daughter of a whore, just another little whore. What's that look for? Want to hit me?"

The heavy slap landed on my face, the sharp pain quickly turning to numbness. It felt like all the sounds around me were sealed in a glass dome, completely shut off. The slap burst my eardrum.

My mom sobbed as she held me close, using her frail body to shield me from the storm. The man's curses and my mom's cries only stopped when he was too exhausted to continue.

In the dead of night, his snores mixed with her quiet tears. My mom, eyes red, tended to my wounds and silently cleaned up the chaos. We squeezed onto our small bed, and she held me tight.

I whispered, "Mom, let's leave here, okay? I'll make loads of money and take care of you."

She looked at the moon outside the window, missing a big chunk. "No, we're not leaving. Your dad was so good to me when he was young. He'd save up to buy me a gold bracelet, carry me for miles just to see fireworks, and bought me so many pretty clothes I couldn't wear them all."

I tugged at my mom's clothes, now faded and misshapen from too many washes. "Mom, you're lying." She stroked my head, her voice firm, "I'm not lying. Your dad's just lost his way for a bit. He'll get better. He promised he'd treat me well for a lifetime. He promised."

"Like the moon outside, it'll be whole again one day," she whispered, as much for herself as for me.

The next day, when my dad sobered up, he acted like nothing happened, joking with mom and reaching out to ask her for money.