Welcome back to the eighth chapter of my NaNoWriMo novel!

This is probably going to be it for the month. Real life gets in the way, but even with not writing as constantly as I'd like, I've put in a solid 12,500 words - easily a quarter of the 50,000 word goal. And besides, like I've stressed before - it's the spirit of the thing, not the word count, that's important.

Will I continue Hemophiliac in the future? Maybe, if there's enough people interested in reading more. If not, I'll just keep it to myself. At any rate, thanks for joining me this year for National Novel Writing Month!

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You ever been poor? I mean really, really poor?

I’m not talking about “tee hee, I spent all my money at the bar this weekend and now I’ve got to eat Ramen until Thursday.” That’s some Mickey Mouse, bush-league shit right there. No, I’m talking about the whole I-have-to-choose-diapers-or-food type of poor. Where you’ve eaten more than your fair share of ketchup sandwiches on bread that you have to scrape the mold off first. Where you shoplift flea medication from Wal-Mart for your cat. Where you know you just wrote a bad check to the electric company but you had to do something because the guy was there, right now, to shut off your electricity. Where every time someone knocks on your door you freeze in sudden panic that it’s gonna be the sheriff there to serve you with an eviction notice, or worse – to toss you out on the street.

See, that’s how I grew up. I know what it’s like to be poor – to be really, really poor. And not because my folks didn’t try, either. Goddamn did my parents work like dogs.

But sometimes it feels like the world was against them. Against us.

My mom did her best to raise me and my brothers, but she was sick – really sick. Combination of a whole shitload of illnesses. It put a huge strain on my father, who would work two or even three jobs only to come home and take care of the three of us, plus Mom. It got to the point where he would work third shift, come home to take care of us, get us off to school, and then ferry Mom around to whatever doctors would take us.

Most of what Dad made went right to doctor bills, since we didn’t have insurance. And Mom couldn’t qualify for Disability, no matter how hard she tried, because she couldn’t get a solid diagnosis. So we struggled, a lot.

Mom died my sophomore year of high school. Complications from undiagnosed hemophilia. Crushed us all, but in a way it freed us, too. That’s terrible to say, isn’t it? I mean I loved my mom, and I miss her terribly – even though she was so sick for so long, she was a loving mother. And she struggled through so much pain. It was awful seeing her suffer for literally my entire life… so while I miss her, I’m glad to know she’s finally got some relief. She’s at peace, you know? And no I don’t mean that Heaven bullshit. I can’t believe in a God that let my mother suffer like that all her life only to cut it short.

But like I said, it freed us, too. Me and my brothers, we were old enough to generally take care of ourselves at that point, so Dad was able to work fewer hours without having to worry about us. We sued the hospital for malpractice and won, so the three of us had plenty of money put aside for going to college – he said it was Mom’s final gift to us. It also turned out to be her last gift to him, too – he slipped at work one night and fell, hurting himself bad enough that he had to retire early. Between the Disability payments he was getting and whatever was left from the lawsuit, he was finally able to breathe. He never remarried though. Hell, he never even dated, and it’s been more than a decade since Mom died. Says he’ll never love another woman the way he loved her.

But yeah, anyway, from birth to about the age of 15, we barely had a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I can’t tell you the number of times we had to end up staying at the Budget Suites or some shit until Dad scraped the cash together to get us out of there. Or how many times I had to just tape up my sneakers so I could get home from school without freezing my feet off because there wasn’t money for new ones. Or listen to my mother cry despondent tears every night, well after she thought we had all gone to bed, begging for the pain to stop.

So yeah, I know what it’s like to tough it out in situations that are, shall we say “less than ideal.” Which is why, when I found myself on the side of the highway in a dirty hospital gown at dusk after being fucking kidnapped, I didn’t just curl up into a ball and cry. My momma didn’t raise no fool.

Charlie didn’t know any of this, of course. And I wasn’t about to pour my life story out to him, considering he just picked me up out of nowhere and gave me some spare clothes to wear. I could tell he was majorly freaked out though – poor guy probably never encountered anything more strenuous than getting dumped – so I tried my best to keep him from completely freaking out. It also helped me to focus and not lose my own shit. Because, you know, fucking kidnapped.

Oh, yeah, and the superpowers, too. Can’t forget those. Jesus Christ, what a fucking day this had turned out to be.

Charlie navigated past a Gulf station and then a Burger King, slipping the Grand Am onto I-84 going eastbound. I bit back the urge to tell him to go through the drive-through, considering I couldn’t pay for it. “So where are you headed?”

“Newburgh, then up I-87.” He accelerated up the on-ramp. The Pontiac’s engine hummed. “I live in Saratoga Springs.”

I looked down at the Marywood University hoodie. “Visiting friends out here?” I plucked at it.

He nodded and smiled. “I graduated from Marywood a few years ago. I was a Residence Director there for a while after that, so I’ve got a lot of friends in town still. Being an RD is fun and all, but only for a few years. Eventually you just want to sleep through the night without having to remind the drunk freshmen at 3 in the morning that yes, some people do need to sleep.”

I laughed at that. “Yeah, I remember my college days. I did my best to behave.” We were speeding down the highway at this point. I looked out the window at the deepening dusk, the smile slipping from my face. “Listen, Charlie, thank you for stopping and picking me up. I know this story sounds crazy. Fuck, I’m the one it happened to and I don’t even believe it.”

He shrugged. “I’m not gonna say this isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. But hell, even if you are crazy, I didn’t think you were hiding a butcher knife under that hospital gown.” He glanced over at me, then back at the road. “I saw someone who looked like they needed help. You sure you don’t want to stop and call the cops, though? I mean if there’s some nutjob out there trying to kidnap you –”

“No way. This guy found me while I was on my way to the hospital, man.” I sighed. “And the guy who grabbed me… I heard him talking on the phone. He was hired by someone else to kidnap me.”

“Jesus! What the hell are you mixed up in?”

I shook my head. “I swear, I have no idea. I’m an HR assistant for a fucking grocery store chain. I’m literally a nobody.” I looked down at my hands; I could see a faint line of clean skin where the mouse blood had been. “Or at least I think so.”

Charlie didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take you as far as you want to go, I guess. I mean it’s not like we’re being followed by some bad guys in black SUVs, right? Because usually the Good Samaritan in those kinds of movies dies.” He laughed nervously.

My heart leaped into my throat. “Well, I don’t want you punished for the sin of helping me out, Charlie. If you’re really worried about it, just drop me off at the next exit at a gas station. I guess I’ll take my chances with the cops.” I tried not to make my voice shake. It didn’t work very well.

Charlie sighed again. “No, we don’t have to do that. I just… listen, I’m not doubting your story or anything. Nobody shows up at the side of the road in a hospital gown because they’re trying to fuck with you. But if you’re in trouble with the cops or something, just be honest with me now. I don’t care what you did, I just don’t want to end up in the holding cell next to you."

I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t even have any unpaid parking tickets. Honestly, Charlie – I’m not in trouble with the cops.” I heaved a huge sigh. “I just don’t know if they’ll be able to keep me safe.”

“Hm.” Charlie eyed me for a minute, then nodded. “All right, I believe you. Still, this is pretty fucked up, you gotta admit.”

“Shit, you ain’t kidding.” I slumped in my seat and crossed my arms, suddenly relieved that I wasn’t going to get marooned at a Sunoco in the middle of northeastern Pennsylvania. At least I felt that way until my stomach growled loud enough to make Charlie jump.

“Jesus, was that you? When was the last time you ate?”

I shrugged. “I guess last night, before bed?” My stomach rumbled again. “Honestly I could drink like a gallon of water.”

Charlie shot a thumb behind him. “Backseat,” he said. “There should be a pallet of Poland Spring back there. It’ll be warm, though, sorry.”

I craned my neck around, catching a shrink-wrapped package of water bottles across the bench seat behind me amidst the detritus of a car that’s been well-traveled. I reached, then unbuckled and turned around completely. “I see ‘em. You want one?” I brushed past him slightly as I reached into the open package.

“Yeah, please,” he said.

I returned to my seat with a pair of water bottles. I stuck one in the cup holder in the console and another one I grabbed in between my legs as I re-buckled myself. I unscrewed the top of one, passed it to Charlie, and then picked up the one in the cup holder for myself. “Thanks,” I said, after taking a long gulp.

Charlie took a sip of his own water and slid the bottle back into the cup holder without looking. “No problem,” he said, looking into the rear-view mirror. His eyes narrowed. “Hey, what type of car did you say you got stuffed into before?”

Oh shit. Oh god, oh no….

I glanced in the passenger-side mirror, my heart suddenly hammering in my chest. “A white panel van.” I looked out the rear window. Sure enough, a Ford Transit, barely discernible in the deepening dusk, was weaving in and out of traffic behind us. He was gaining, fast.

“I see it,” Charlie said. He looked over at me. “What should we do?”

“Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s just some other asshole driving a panel van.” I watched the Transit sift back and forth through traffic recklessly, accelerating all the while. “And maybe my grandmother’s a trolley. Charlie, I didn’t tell you this before, but the fucking psycho that kidnapped me almost choked me to death. He’s dangerous. We’ve got to get the fuck out of here.”

Panic crept into Charlie’s voice. “Tell me again why we can’t just call the cops?” He pushed down the accelerator. The Grand Am jumped forward. Charlie began to slalom through traffic, hands white-knuckled on the wheel.

I searched the interior of the car desperately. Empty water bottles, empty potato chip bags, fast food wrappers – nothing sharp. “Charlie, do you have anything sharp in here?”

“What?” Charlie spared a glance over to me, then swerved as he narrowly missed turning us into road pizza. Angry car horns blossomed behind us. He spared a look over his shoulder. “Shit, he’s getting closer. What do you want a knife for?”

“It’ll take too long to explain. Just… please, do you have something like that or not?”

He sputtered, shaking his head. “Uh, fuck – yeah, hold on, Jesus Christ-“ he began to dig in his right front jean pocket. Pulling something out, he plunked it down into my hand. I opened my palm, looked down, and started laughing.

“A Swiss Army knife? Jesus, Charlie, were you a fucking Boy Scout?”

“Listen, you asked for something sharp, what more do you want from me?” The Ford Transit was getting closer. Charlie revved the engine further, shooting up a hill and putting some distance between us and the van.

I flicked the knife open, thumbing the edge. It was sharp. I shook my head, laughing again. “I want you to keep your eyes on the road.”

“Yeah, no shit, but what the hell are you going to do?”

I rolled the window down and unbuckled my belt, gathering myself in the passenger seat. The blade of the pocket knife was cold against the ball of my thumb. “I have no goddamn idea.”

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