I was bleeding and could barely see, but I scrambled to my feet. Anything to get away. I rushed upstairs to my room and shut the door behind me.
I was too afraid to look in the mirror, but I could feel the long, jagged cut running from my cheekbone to my upper lip. My nose throbbed. I couldn’t get my fingers anywhere near it without fresh waves of nauseating pain ripping through me.
But in that moment, standing in a bedroom I hated, dripping blood onto the floor, I decided I was leaving.
I wasn’t going to wait for my father to come upstairs and tell me why she’d done it. Explain how important it was for a man like him to have an obedient daughter. That she did it for the good of our family, and if only I’d be a good girl, she could finally stop.
No. She was crazy. And I wasn’t going to live like this anymore.
I had no idea where this newfound courage had come from. Maybe I was finally going nuts. But it chased away the blinding pain just enough that I quietly opened my bedroom door and peeked out. One of my eyes was swelling shut, so I turned my head to get a better look. I didn’t see my parents.
Maybe I could have waited until they were asleep. But my heart swelled with resolve and I knew I had to go now, or I might never feel this brave again.
Tiptoeing as softly as I could—I didn’t have shoes on—I crept downstairs. Voices came from Dad’s study. It was now or never.
With my heart racing so fast I wondered if it might burst, I silently padded to the back door. It opened without a sound. Risking one last glance behind me—no sign of my parents—I went outside and shut the door.
And then I ran.
My bare feet tore over the cobblestone patio. Then dirt and bark. Grass. I ran harder than I’d ever run in my life, sprinting for the woods near our house.
I didn’t slow down until I was surrounded by trees. My arm was bleeding worse than I’d realized and my entire face felt like it was on fire. I slowed so I wouldn’t trip; it was too dark to see much. Luckily I knew these woods well. Veering toward the road, I jogged as fast as I dared, only one thought in my mind.
Gibson.
He’d help me. I knew he would. Most people were afraid of my father—and rightly so—but Gibson wasn’t scared of anything. He’d find me a place to hide. Help me figure out where to go. Because I wasn’t going back.
I couldn’t turn them in. They’d kill me if I did. Dad might balk at killing his own daughter, but not enough to stop my mother from doing it. And she’d do anything to protect their perfect image. Protect their power.
Gibson. He’d help me.
Before I reached the road, my feet were cut and scraped, and I could barely see out of my left eye. Gingerly, I touched my nose. Blinding pain almost made me drop to my knees. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to move. But still I kept going.
The trees parted and I stepped out onto the shoulder of the road. I was right on the edge of town; Gibson’s place wasn’t far. I’d never been there, but I knew where he lived.
I limped along the road, the pain in my face making my eyes water and my stomach churn. It was getting worse by the second. I had to get off the street before my parents started looking for me. Just a little bit farther. One foot in front of the other. I could make it.
The sound of a car behind me sent my heart into overdrive. Oh god, please don’t be them. Please. It slowed, pulling over to the side behind me.
“No,” I whimpered. I wanted to run, but my feet were scraped raw. My knees buckled and I crumpled to the ground.
“Hey there, are you all right?”
I took a shuddering breath. That wasn’t my father’s voice.
Shaking with shock and pain, I glanced over my shoulder. A man stood just outside his truck, looking at me from around the open driver’s side door.
I knew him. Jonah Bodine. Gibson’s father.
A second later, he was there, kneeling beside me. “Oh my god. What happened to you? Did you get hit by a car?”
I looked up at him with my one working eye. My sliced lip made it hard