Ever since I was young, she had been my best friend. My sidekick, my amigo, my partner in crime.

All of that changed once we were both 10.

I remembered that day as if had been branded into my skull. The start of all this trouble.
We were playing with Barbie dolls and watching cartoons, typical things we did together. We sat, laughing and giggling, just as normal.

Her mother came into the room then and started yelling at her about something that was probably not her fault. Her mom was a drug addict, and was always blaming Lacey for everything, always yelling at her. I tried to ignore it. Her mother shouted something once more, and then slapped her hard across the face. Lacey fell to her knees, tears pouring from her eyes. I crouched by her side to try and comfort her.

Her mother stormed out of the room-probably to go shoot up in their bathroom-and then Lacey turned to me, with a look of hatred in her eyes.

She had finally snapped.

She stood up, and was screaming profanities at me. She threw the Barbies’ at me, and they hit me, leaving bruises behind. Terrified, I plopped down on the floor, and began to cry. This was not like her at all. She stormed over to me, and continuously shoved me onto my side, challenging me to fight back. She pulled my hair and spat at me. She kicked and screamed, and clawed. My blood stained the carpet and my clothes. I had to get her to stop. I tried to calm her from my spot on the floor.

“Lacey!” I screeched between one of her attacks. “Please, stop! Stop…this isn’t like you! Please Lacey!” I was so confused as to why she was acting this way. She had always been kind, gentle, and soft spoken. She’d never hurt a fly, much less her best friend.

She slowed up and glared at me for a moment before she spoke. “Who?”

“You, Lacey! Please, stop hitting me!” I cried. I couldn’t take the abuse anymore!

“Who?” She repeated.

“For god sakes, you know your name!” As if it wasn’t enough for her to be flipping out, now she acted as though she was suffering from amnesia.

“I am not Lacey. I do not know who she is.” She was whispering, her eyes far away.

“What are you saying? You were born as Lacey Birmingham!” What in the hell was going on?

“No I was not!” She roared. “That is not my name!”

“Then what is, Lace?!”

“Roxy. I am Roxy Slaine.”

“What?”

“You heard me Emery.”

And in that moment, I couldn’t look at her face. I was so terrified, so confused, and so very hurt. I scrambled to my feet and tried to run to the door. My sides hurt from Lacey kicking them in, and I collapsed. She laughed at my pain, and I crawled out the door. I didn’t even give her a second thought as I attempted to run home. I limped the whole way there, and was lost in thought.

She screamed out the door to me as I ran. “ROXY SLAINE! YOU WILL REMEMBER THIS NAME, I SWEAR IT!”
I reached my house, my legs gave way at the front door.

“MOM! Please…HELP!!” I needed to tell somebody, and fast.

My mother ran to the door, and when she saw my wounds and bruises, she gasped and began to tear up.

“Oh lord…Emery Ports, tell me who did this to you right now.” She was crying, obviously worried at my current condition.

“Lacey…something’s wrong…she needs help Mom. I. Help. So angry…”

“What? Emery, what happened? LACEY did this? Is she okay?”

I grabbed her shirt and pulled her face close to mine.

“Help her.” I gasped.

She dialed 911 and was speaking frantically into the phone.

I tried to help, but I was in too much pain.

That was the last happy memory I would have with Lacey. Nothing would ever be the same again, for something serious had just taken place, and it would change both our lives as we knew it.