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Stepping out of the shower, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My long reddish hair is caked to my neck and shoulder. My green eyes are framed with pale lashes that can barely be seen unless I put mascara on. Just as I reach for a towel, the reflection in the shower stall catches my eye. The way I’m standing lets me get a good look at my back. I rarely look at the ugly scar I’m left with, mostly because I don’t need the reminder of it all.
“Come on, Leni, one more time.” Coach has been pushing me hard this week. “I know you can do this. You have to nail that landing.”
“You got this, babe!” my mom yells from the sideline.
Drowning out everything around me, I run toward the high bars. My mind is laser-focused, every muscle in my body taut as I use the small trampoline to jump up and grab the lower bar. Using my momentum, I swing around the low bar. I let go at just the right moment, launching into a full twist before catching the high bar. I continue my routine perfectly. Then go for the dismount. Knowing I have to let go at the perfect time to make a backflip with a one-and-a-half twist work. I spin around one last time, not knowing it would be my indefinite last time.
I let go of the bar half a second too early, maybe even less than that, but it’s enough to mess up the trajectory. My body twists in the air, and I know I’m going to hit the mat before I do. What I didn’t know was how hard I would hit it.
For a moment, everything goes black. When I come to, I’m in the most excruciating pain of my life. It feels like someone has cut my back open and is digging through it with claws. The pain is so severe I can’t breathe. My vision is blurry, and all I can hear is my mom’s sobbing voice telling me everything is going to be okay.
She lied. After my accident, nothing was okay.
By the time I’m wrapped in a fluffy robe and returning to the bedroom, I’ve almost resigned myself to this. At least James seems like a decent guy, even if he’s a little much. He wants to impress me and make me feel at home, which is a lot better than how he could treat me. Like a burden, he would rather not deal with.
This bedroom is no joke. I see now that my paltry furniture would look entirely out of place—the room is so large, my bed and cheap Goodwill dresser would have been swallowed up, looking more like furniture from a dollhouse than anything else. Now, I have a bed twice the size, heavy and sturdy looking, and a mattress so soft I want to sink into it and pull the blankets over my head on contact.
Maybe this won’t be so bad. So long as I can find a way to secure the door, so I feel safe, I might be able to make it through this ordeal. I’m sure Colt and Nix have their own busy lives. All I have to do is stay out of their way.
But I’d feel a lot better about this if I knew I could lock my door. I need privacy. Everybody does, right? I don’t think it’s too unusual to ask for a means of keeping the world out.
Maybe if I put it that way, that all I’m looking for is the guarantee of privacy, my mother will be a little more understanding. I want to try, at least. Otherwise, all I have in front of me is an endless string of nights spent worrying whether one, if not both, of my stepbrothers will come barging through the door.
If only she wanted to understand how they treated me back in school. How they’re still treating me. Yet those stories would fall on deaf ears, so I’m not going to waste my time.
My own clothes are in the dresser, and they don’t take up much space. But they’re mine, so I put on clean jeans and a tee, preparing to sweet-talk my mother into finding a way through this. A new bedroom door can’t cost that much, can it? I’m sure James could afford it.
I go to the door, prepared to put on my happiest face—but when I try to turn the knob, I get nowhere. It’s stuck in place.
Somebody locked it from the other side.
“Are you kidding?” I call out, my heart pounding so hard I’m afraid it will burst out of my chest. “You’re going to lock me in here like this?” Which one of them did it? It could be either of them. The odds are equally in both their favor. When no one answers—I don’t even hear so much as a snicker from out in the hall—I touch my forehead to the wood and try desperately not to cry. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. When is it going to stop?
No. I am not going to let them break me down like this. I’m not going to stand here and cry like a baby because of a locked door. Instead of giving in, I fish my phone out of my backpack. Mom probably won’t be happy that I’m bothering her over something I know she’s going to think is trivial, but maybe I can make it sound like a big misunderstanding, something we can laugh off together. I have to hope.
As it turns out, I have a text message from a number not stored in my contacts.
Unknown Number: If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay in that room and not complain. Otherwise, you’re going to regret it.
Are they that determined to avoid the sight of me? Is my presence in this house that much of a problem for them? I can’t understand why. I have never done a single thing to either of them, ever. I wasn’t even here when our parents supposedly fell in love. I had nothing to do with it.
I guess with people like them, there doesn’t need to be a reason. They decided from day one that they hated me, and nothing is going to change their minds. The harder I try, the worse it’s going to get. So why bother?
I don’t bother responding to the text, instead throwing my phone onto the bed and dropping down beside it. I hate this sense of letting them win, even in this little way. But I have no doubt they meant what they said. They’ll find a way to make me regret it if I make a big deal about this.
So instead of marching downstairs, like I’d intended, I change into pajamas. Then inspiration strikes, and I go to the bathroom to retrieve the chair, which I wedge under the doorknob in here. Just because I’m locked in doesn’t mean somebody couldn’t decide to unlock the door and do whatever they felt like. I’m not going to make it that easy for them.
Once I’m sure there’s no getting in from out in the hall, I go to bed. The events of the day have left me drained, physically and emotionally. I might be able to handle things better if I get a good night’s sleep.
CHAPTER4
It’s the first thing on my mind the moment my eyes open on my first morning in the new house. Before I’ve even shaken off my sleepiness, I get out of bed and go straight to the door to test the knob. Unlike last night, it turns freely. That doesn’t mean I’m about to move the chair from in front of the door, but I know now that they don’t plan on keeping me locked in here like a hostage night and day.
After washing up and changing out of my pajamas, I have a decision to make. Do I stay up here, or do I risk facing my enemies downstairs?
There’s really nothing to think about. I’m not leaving this room until I absolutely have to.
In the meantime, I’m going to do something I thought over last night while I was trying to fall asleep, one eye always on the bedroom door. I wanted to see whether the knob turned like somebody had unlocked it, but I fell asleep before that happened. It’s amazing I slept at all, really.
