AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Okay,” I reply. I stay there under the covers, hoping that she’ll turn around and leave instead of stepping into the room, ripping the covers from my body, and pulling me out of bed as she’s been known to do. She’ll see my makeup, and she’ll see my clothes, and then what?
I breathe a sigh of relief when she does leave, then throw on something else and stash the costume and Devon’s sweatshirt under my bed before running into the bathroom and closing the door. I shower, scrubbing the makeup from my face and washing the scent of smoke and stale beer from my hair, then I dress in oneof the outfits Grace has deemed church-appropriate and get into the car without eating or bothering to complain about my empty stomach.
I sit quietly through church and the ride home, then go to my room and don’t bother to leave it for the rest of the day. I lie on my bed with my sketchbook, and I draw something new—not the people without faces, not dark forests or a body floating in a pool with wet, matted blonde hair, not a girl in a black tulle skirt grimacing while another girl asks her to twirl.
I try to picture myself happy alone and imagine what that would look like. I draw a girl on the beach with her toes in the sand and a body etched in ink instead of carved in scars—a girl with a memory to keep her warm at night and stave off the nightmares.
I stay in my room when night comes and wait patiently until I hear the TV turn off then footsteps on the staircase and the slamming of a door, indicating Grace has gone to bed. I pull the almost-packed duffle bag from my closet and add some toiletries and just a few of the important things I want to take with me. I find the envelope with the old photographs and my track ribbons, my sketchbook and my pencils. I pack my makeup and the small amount of cash I have for the buses, Devon’s sweatshirts, and the cell phone.
I pack every note he’s ever slipped into my locker, every picture he’s ever drawn for me, and wonder if he will keep my hair.
It’s a ridiculous thought.
And then I wait until I’m absolutely certain she’s asleep and prepare to catch a bus downtown, then to Anacortes, and then to Everett. I think about how taking public transit alone at night should worry me a little, but I’m not afraid at all. Whatever might happen to me out there can’t be much worse than what will continue to happen to me in this house if I stay.
I throw the duffle bag over my shoulder and head for my bedroom door, my hands shaking with adrenaline from the rush, not fear.
At least not until I hear the front door open and close. Then, I hear the whistling.
And I freeze.
No.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not until Wednesday. I saw it on the calendar.
But he is.
My heart thuds in my chest, and my mind reels, going through my options. I can’t stop now; I can’t miss my chance. But I won’t make it out the front door, either.
I hear footfall on the staircase and make a decision. If I jump out the second-story window, it will hurt, but I won’t die. I may break a bone or sprain my ankle, but I’ve had worse. I can ease my way out the window, hang from the ledge, then drop down into the shrubbery below, and it won’t be that bad.
The whistling gets closer to my bedroom door, and I cross the room in two steps, throw open the window, and toss the duffle bag out.
Then, my bedroom door creeps open.
“Going somewhere?” Mark asks.
I hoist myself onto the ledge and prepare to dive out head first, but my movements are sloppy, and his are fast. He darts across the room and quickly brings the window down on my torso once, twice, then three times, and holds it there. Pain radiates from my ribcage, and I can’t move or breathe.
“I heard you’ve been a problem, Allyson. I’m very disappointed in you.”
He opens the window, pulls me back inside, and throws me down on the bed. I pull myself up and try to run to the door, but the pain in my ribs makes it almost impossible to move, and Mark catches up to me quickly. He grabs me by the back of my shirt and pulls me back into the room, laughing as I swing my fists and kick at him weakly.
“I think I need to remind you how things work around here,” he says. “First of all, you know I like it better when you fight.”
After that, everything goes dark.
Idon’t see Ally come to her locker at all on Monday morning. And I watch just like I always do. I check all of her hiding places and don’t find her there, either. Once the hallway clears at lunch, I open her locker, look inside, and find the picture I drew and the breakfast burritos still sitting on top of her books. Her bag isn’t there.
I sigh and pull out my phone, hoping she’s not avoiding me, but then…maybe hoping that she is. At least if that’s the case, it means she’s okay. It’s not like it would be out of character.
Me:Ally, where are you?
I take the bag of burritos, sit at the table next to Seth, and fold my arms across my chest.
“Whoa, the nose ring is back,” he says.
“Yeah, it’s back,” I reply. I fiddle with it with my thumb and first finger; it’s an anxious habit I’ve apparently kept even though I didn’t even have one for months. The hole closed up, too. I had to get it re-pierced yesterday, and it’s a little sore now.I was able to get some of my smaller gauges in, though. I have to admit that I feel a little more like me.
