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Chapter One – Taylor
The night I left my dad’s house, I had no idea what I would do, the turns life would take. I was nineteen, a full-time college student with no job of her own, so it wasn’t like I could make it out in the world by myself—but I guess that’s the issue. Dad knew I couldn’t, and he wanted me to hurt like I’d made him hurt, so when he told me I wasn’t welcome back, he knew he had me.
It wasn’t like we had much, not after my stepmom died. She’d been the cash cow to him. Maybe he’d loved her; I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter anymore. It’d been ten years since then, and so much had changed.
So much, and yet nothing at all.
Dad had probably hoped I’d graduate and land a fantastically-paying job, and instead of me leeching off him, as he often put it,he’dbe the one to leech offmefor the rest of my life. I didn’t know it when I was a kid, but that’s what my dad was: a parasite, someone who dug their claws into anyone they could and only let go when they drained them dry.
Or they were ripped from his grasp before their time, like my stepmom. And my mom, I guess. Didn’t remember her at all; she’d died when I was a baby.
So, when I stumbled from the house, wearing sweatpants and a baggy hoodie—what I always wore when I tried to attract no attention—I had no idea what I’d do or where I’d go. I’d managed to slip on a ratty pair of tennis shoes before stumbling out and down the front steps. I think I made it halfway down the driveway when I heard the door slam shut. I didn’t need to go back and check; it was locked.
I kept my hands in my hoodie pocket, turning my back to the house, to my dad, who surely watched through the window to see what I’d do, where I would go. When I made it to the sidewalk, I attempted to slow my breathing; my heart beat so wildly in my chest that it felt like it was seconds from either exploding or popping out of my lungs and ribs and running away on its own. A tight, unrelenting pressure filled my chest cavity. This kind of stress wasn’t good for you.
Dad wanted me to turn around. He wanted me to beg for his forgiveness for what I’d done, but after so many years of this… I’d taken all I could. I didn’t want to go back. Even though I had nothing to my name, I just couldn’t go back.
And because I couldn’t go back, I turned and started walking.
Where was I going? I didn’t know. Nowhere in particular was my answer; anywhere to get away from that house and the man inside it.
A few minutes later, it started to rain. Just my terrible luck.
I couldn’t remember if my dad had always been like this. A part of me didn’t remember much from my childhood, maybe because I’d blocked so much of it out. Only a few select memories remained in my head from when my stepmom was alive and we were one big, happy family. Maybe her death made him spiral, made him more controlling and cruel.
Or maybe it was me.
I didn’t think I’d been a bad kid, though. I wasn’t someone who partied it up, drank every weekend to the point where I passed out, and hooked up with any cute guy in my vicinity. I was just your average college student, commuting to class, still living at home to save some money. There was nothing remarkable about me. I skated under everyone’s radar.
It wasn’t like I’d ever gone against Dad’s rules. I never threw tantrums… not until tonight, but a part of me didn’t want to describe tonight as a tantrum of mine.
As if reminding me, the skin on my throat burned, and I tried not to pay any attention to it as I walked along. My right hand fiddled with my phone in my hoodie pocket; I bet Dad thought I was going to a friend’s house, or maybe back to campus where I could crash on one of the couches in the student union. I bet he thought I’d come back tomorrow—or this weekend, at the latest.
I had a small circle of friends, other college students I’d met and clicked with freshman year. I wasn’t popular by any means. I’d only known them for a short time, though. None of my current friends had grown up with me or gone to high school or elementary with me. I didn’t want to call them or go to their place. If I did, then I’d have to explain what happened… and I just couldn’t do that.
That was the problem: I had nobody. When the shit hit the fan, I had nobody. I’d been used to it for so long, but it wasn’t always like that. Years ago, when my stepmom was still alive, there was someone else. I didn’t often think about it anymore, because it felt like a fool’s dream.
I quickened my pace, walking a familiar path. The local community college was downtown, in a few buildings scattered amongst the city blocks. The campus was about the only place downtown with some green areas, trees and grass. Like a little park. That’s where I went, and once I got there, I found myself a bench and sat.
My heart had stopped constricting in my chest, the near heart-attack sensation in my body gone. My breathing was under control, but my thoughts certainly weren’t. I brought out my right hand and checked the time to see how long it had taken me to walk here.
An hour.
A whole damn hour. The adrenaline had pumped so hard in my veins from that whole encounter with my dad that I hadn’t noticed. I leaned back on the bench, turning my gaze to the sky above. Not quite nighttime yet, but dusk had arrived. Soon enough it’d get dark, the world would be swallowed by blackness, and sitting on a bench outside was the last place you’d want to be, even if that bench was on campus.
I guess it was true: you were never truly safe anywhere. The people around you hid secrets you didn’t know, and the people you thought you knew could snap and change in a matter of seconds. Speaking of…
I was slow to pull out my other hand from my hoodie pocket, turning my head down to look at it. No one was around, so no one else saw the state of my hand. Bloody cuts lined my palm and my fingers… a lot of the skin was wet with red, a particularly deep cut at the base of my palm.
The sound of shattering glass filled my ears, but I shook the memory away. Let’s just say there was no way my dad would let me forget that, even if I came crawling back to him and begged for his forgiveness, like he so desperately wanted.
I didn’t want to. I’d been miserable these last ten years. Enough was enough, wasn’t it? How much could one person take? How much could they take before they snapped and were totally unrecognizable?
Tonight, I think I reached that limit, because as I flicked my eyes over to my injury-free hand, I knew I had to do something else, something I’d only ever dreamed of doing.
When pushed to the limit, people either broke or rose above it and showed how strong they were. Me? As much as I’d like to think I was the latter, I knew I wasn’t. Someone else was, though—or, at least, I believed he was.
It’d been ten years. Ten whole years. The number I had memorized might not even be the same. And, if it was still a good number, he was under no obligation to help me. Why should he? Whywouldhe? If he had any goodness in his heart, he would’ve at least visited to make sure I was okay.
