Reclaim - Aly Martinez Page 0,26

on him. I kicked and fought against his hold on me until he set me on my feet. My lungs burned and tears leaked from my eyes, but dear Lord, I’d never felt more alive. The adrenaline high made me invincible.

“Fuck you too! I don’t give a shit if I embarrass you. Don’t you get it? I fucking hate you. I hate all of you! I—”

The rest of my rant died on my tongue as my dad grabbed me by the back of the neck, squeezing painfully as he walked me like a rag doll to our family SUV.

“Let me go!” I cried as he yanked the door open and tossed me inside.

He leaned in after me, his red face only inches away from mine, and seethed through clenched teeth, “Shut your fucking mouth before I’m forced to shut it for you. We’re going home, and after that stunt, I haven’t decided if you’ll still be breathing by the time we get there. Do not press your luck, son. Got it?”

I clamped my mouth shut, and all at once, every drop of the summer's warmth drained from my body. Reality—vicious, cursed reality—washed over me like a thunderstorm of knives. “No, no, no, please, Dad. We can’t go home yet. She’s waiting for me at the creek.”

His pupils were so big that it made his green eyes look black. “I don’t care if our Lord and Savior is waiting for you at the creek. You are going home to your room for possibly the rest of your life.” He slammed the door with a deafening crack.

“Dad!” I cried, scrambling after him. I didn’t dare touch the door, but I pounded on the window. “Please, I didn’t get to say goodbye. Just let me say goodbye!”

He said nothing else as he stormed away.

Not ten minutes later, Dad was behind the wheel, Mom beside him, and I sat in the back seat covered in banana pudding and dying from the agonizing hole in my chest.

I waited beside the creek all night.

For the first few hours, I assumed he was running late, so I practiced what I was going to say. Thea was right. I just needed to talk to him, tell him I was going to miss him, maybe see if he wanted to keep in contact through the school year. And—if I could gather the courage—ask him if he was ever coming back.

Around eight, it started to drizzle. Wrapped in my towel and huddled under the tree, I convinced myself that maybe he was waiting out the rain. He could be a real complainer about getting his clothes wet sometimes, and if they were having a big family thing, he was probably wearing those stupid loafers again.

When the rain cleared, I stared up at the twinkling stars, a dark dread forming inside me.

I’d spent so much of the last few weeks subconsciously stressing over whether he’d come back next summer that I’d completely forgotten to be worried about whether he’d abandon me during this one.

But still, I held on to hope.

It was Camden. He would show up. He’d never let me down before.

When I was sure I’d counted every star in that sky twice, I got up and started pacing. He wouldn’t do this to me. Stuff had come up with his grandparents or chores or church in the past, but he always got there eventually.

I could wait.

For Camden, I could always wait.

I pulled out the letter he’d left me that afternoon and traced my fingers over the words on the last line. I’d rather be there with you.

But if that were true, where was he?

I clicked my flashlight on and off for a while, but when I worried I’d run the batteries out, I closed my eyes and willed my ears to hear his footsteps running through the field. The crickets were louder than usual that night. Or maybe it just seemed that way without his laughter filling the air.

As though they were a part of my anatomy, I felt the agony of each and every one of my hopes dying when my watch hit midnight. Loud sobs tore from my throat, and I balled my towel up and covered my mouth to muffle my cries for fear I’d wake Mr. and Mrs. Leonard.

But no amount of tears, screams, or sobs offered me any relief.

He was gone.

And he hadn’t chosen me.

I was no stranger to heartbreak.

Growing up, I’d fallen asleep every night to the lullaby of my father yelling at my