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Chapter One
GIRL
Seven million, eight hundred sixty-two thousand, four hundred seconds.
One hundred thirty-one thousand, forty minutes.
Two thousand, one hundred eighty-four hours.
Ninety-one days.
Thirteen weeks.
Too many of each. It should have ended that long day three months ago. No one was supposed to be home for days. I was supposed to be alone. To suffer. To die. I shouldn’t have been rescued. I don’t deserve it. Not anymore. I’m nobody, and that’s the way I wanted to go out. As a nobody.
I was told I was lucky to be alive, that it was a miracle I even woke up. I’d lost too much blood, my heart had stopped pumping three times. I died three times, was brought back three times. Well, I don’t feel lucky. It doesn’t feel like a miracle. It’s a punishment. Breathing, waking up each morning, it’s torture.
Inhaling the fresh air as I sit in the bleachers of Atalanta Prep School, I watch my best friend, my only friend, play football with his team. I suppose if anything could have come from my suicide attempt at the beginning of the summer, it’s that my parents finally came to their senses when I told them I couldn’t stand another year at Windsor Hall Girls Academy. My life there was hell—which doesn’t even adequately describe it. Every day under the roof of that prison was a nightmare.
Jason Thorne and I have been best friends since freshman year when the girl he was dating brought me to one of his games. Ironically, it was she who first began to torment me—chopping my hair off when I had it in a ponytail, throwing things at me. Stealing my clothes at Gym and setting booby traps in my locker. The rumors quickly became vicious and more than I could ignore.
When Jason discovered that Shelagh was the one behind my harassment, he ended things with her. My life got worse after that. The beatings began. I was jumped nearly every day. Ditched in alleyways on my way home from school to die or be attacked by someone worse.
Three months ago, I grew tired of it. Despite it being the end of the school year, I knew I couldn’t handle any more of the bullying. I couldn’t deal with another year of rumors from the mean girls. Most of whom I’d known for half my life or longer.
I’m aware that running away could have been an option. I could have packed a bag, broken into my father’s safe, and simply left with the money he had stashed there, but it wouldn’t have worked. Because when I was nine, I was kidnapped, and it was discovered that my parents had injected a tracker under my skin somewhere. Nobody was sure of the location, nobody asked questions, nobody fought for my well-being, and I’ve found that the older I get, the worse it’s become.
If not for Jason visiting me in the hospital daily and begging my therapist to convince my parents to let me attend his public school for my final year, I wouldn’t be here now. I’d be locked away in Windsor Hall, a permanent resident, because my parents only love me when the world is watching.
Neither of them has spoken to me since I returned home. Still angry that I left a bloody mess in my bathroom, still enraged that they had to spend any kind of money remodeling. I no longer have a private bathroom. They gutted the room and walled it in, took off the doors to my walk-in closet and bedroom, so I’m no longer afforded any kind of privacy.
What makes things even more awkward is that they’ve hired two men to watch me at all times. Yes, they turn around while I change at home and allow me to close the door slightly when I need to use the restroom or shower, but otherwise, someone is always on guard.
Jason’s team scores, and the crowd goes wild. I remain seated, not understanding the game at all, but I smile and clap when I notice Jason turn towards me, a triumphant grin on his face. He points to me and takes a dramatic bow, which turns heads, and everything in me freezes. I grow dizzy, and my wrists begin to itch. I can’t stand being watched.
Lowering my eyes, I fight the urge to scratch. To cut. To run away. I want nothing more than to get to my feet and take off as fast and far as I can; however, my shadows will only follow me, drag me back home, but for a moment, I’ll have the wind whipping through my hair and the freedom that comes with it.
Staying put is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. If I flee, there’ll be more stares, and rumors will spread. I’ll be back where I started at Windsor Hall, and I promised Jason I’d try to find my place here. But honestly, I don’t know if that’s possible. For as long as I can remember, there’s never been anywhere I’ve felt truly at home.
A blaring buzzer sounds, making me jump and extricating me from my internal thoughts. “Miss,” one of my guards calls from his spot a few feet away. I know the routine. I’m allowed to attend Jason’s games every Friday and Tuesday, but I can’t stay past the buzzer. Even if it goes into overtime. I’m expected to be home at a specific time, and nothing else will do.
I still don’t understand that one. It’s not like they talk to me. Lord knows I’ve tried, but I’m always ignored. They act as if I’m not in the same room as them. Talking about me like I’m not there but never to me. I spend all my free time at home in my room or the small library on the floor above mine. I don’t have freedom anymore, not that I had much to begin with.
I’m allowed my laptop and cell phone, but all apps and social media are blocked. Any calls I get are recorded, texts are duplicated and sent to my parents. I don’t receive emails either. There are keywords I can’t search, which include just about everything. So what do I do while waiting for night to fall and one day to roll into the next? I watch makeup and hair tutorials on YouTube. Why? Because I don’t have a future beyond marrying a man my parents choose for me.
Jason’s glare catches my eye as I stand to leave. I give him a slight wave but follow my guard. I’m not allowed to speak to my two constant companions, and I’ve not been granted the right to be told their names, either. The only things I know about them are that they must be related because they look too much alike not to be, and they’re huge, like linebacker huge, and sometimes, I find their glowering gazes lingering on my body. I don’t understand what that means, but at least with them, I know I’ll never be alone. Until I’m sold off to marry like a piece of meat.
“Hey, hold up.” Jason’s voice stops me. He never calls me by my name; he hates it. I do too. Because it’s not a name, it’s a gender. That’s how little I mean to my parents. Both guards are at my side as my friend approaches, still in his gear. He asks one of them, “Could you ask her parents if she can come to the movies with me? I’m paying.” Tears prick my eyes because Jay knows they’d never allow me if they had to shell out the twenty dollars for tickets.
Stepping closer to my friend, I offer up a smile to him as guard one texts my mother. He’s not allowed to touch me. Nobody is, so I’m surprised when guard two pulls me away, putting distance between us. I haven’t been touched since my wrists were stitched back together. Comfort is a luxury I’m no longer permitted. According to my mother and father, I don’t deserve it.
I don’t deserve anything.
“No,” guard one says, dashing that tiny bit of joy that was catching a spark in my chest.
“Come on, seriously? It’s Tuesday night. What’ve they got her doing that’s so fucking important she can’t have a fucking break?” I’ve never filled him in on how it’s been at home lately, but I’m guessing I haven’t needed to.
When we do talk, my responses are always the same. When we text, my replies come off clipped, never wanting to do or say something that could make me lose the privilege of having the phone.
