Besides, it’s a hell of a lot better for them to hate me for their random high school drama than for them to find out the truth.

Chapter Thirteen

I open my front door to see Czar, the dog, staring at me. His tail twitches slightly, but mostly I’m just impressed that he’s not barking or growling at me. Guess he knows I’m not a threat now. I mean, I did sort of lose it right in front of him.

My mother stands behind the kitchen counter reading a magazine. Not sure why she’s not sitting down or something. I hear the oven counter go off and realize she must be baking.

“Hey, Mom.”

She looks to the oven first, then to me. “Hey, sweetie. How was your day?”

I take a long breath. Exhausting, but… “I lived.”

She places a baking sheet into the oven and looks up. “Oh! I should have told you. You aren’t supposed to go through the front door. I’m surprised that dog didn’t eat you alive.”

“Yeah, I keep forgetting. He didn’t do anything today though, guess he’s used to me now.”

She looks skeptical. “He doesn’t ‘get used’ to people, sweetie. He’s ferocious. Goodness, he almost bit off my hand just for trying to fill his water yesterday.”

If the dog’s been here for three years, I kind of can’t blame him for being easily agitated. I at least had the chance to run away. Imagine if I’d been chained up in the backyard. A prisoner.

Mom smiles. I’ve seen that look before, but after that glimpse of concern I saw from her the other day, I have to wonder if she’s as naive as I always thought. Maybe she knows something’s wrong but is just trying to make the best of it.

Maybe she’s a prisoner, too.

“Just use the back door, okay?” she says. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I’m not sure that avoiding the dog in general is going to make it any better, but there’s no point in arguing. Besides, I don’t know if I’m willing to push things with my dad just yet.

“I’ll have brownies ready in a few minutes. If you want some.”

I attempt a smile. “Maybe in a little while. I need to get ready for my tutor.”

I head to my room and hide for a few minutes before Jen comes over. I’m kind of eager for the distraction, but she won’t be here for at least a half hour.

I look through my drawers and come across my old diary. It looks untouched, but I have a hard time believing they didn’t read it when I went missing. Did they read about how I had sex for the first time at thirteen? Did they read about how I sneaked out and spent the night with my older boyfriend when they told me I couldn’t go to the movies?

If they’d let me have a life, even just a little bit, maybe I’d never have left. I’d be a completely different person. Looking at colleges, doing my homework, going to choir practice (really, I was pretty good).

But the more I fought for freedom, the more my father came down on me. Sometimes with more than words. I rub my arm, like I can still feel the bruises. And my mom just let it happen. The more I pulled away, the more disappointment I saw on their faces.

Until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I flip to the last diary entry I wrote before I ran away.

Mrs. Brown made me eat lunch in her room today, which I guess is better than eating in the cafeteria when you have no friends, but still, it sucked. She told me she was going to talk to my parents if I didn’t start doing my homework again. Said she’d tell them about the rumors going around school. Like that I was pregnant, and had herpes and slept with the gym teacher. None of them are true, or even close to it, but that won’t stop my dad from freaking out.

He’ll call me a “loose girl” and tell me I’m going to hell. I don’t think I can handle that, even one more time. How he looks at me, talks to me. The way my mom ignores my tears. Pretends she doesn’t see me at all anymore. She doesn’t care so why should I care about them? I swear, the next time he tells me how disgusting and horrible I am, the next bruise... I’m leaving. I’m going to do it. I’m going to hop on a train and go to New York where no one will tell me what to do again.

Pretty clear map to where I was going. They had to have read it. Probably why my poster was all over NYC. Doubt they put it up that many other places; they knew I loved it. I always wanted to go, but it was just another thing that my father thought was “evil.”

One day I should ask him to define it, “evil.” How is everything in the world evil? That doesn’t even make sense. Although I’m not in much of a position to defend my stance anymore. I’m sure New York is even more evil to him now. It corrupted his sweet baby girl.

Yeah, right. I sit down at my desk. I used to have a computer here. That was the one thing I did have—they didn’t really realize how much a computer could do. I remember the moment I opened it up, took out the Visa gift card they gave me for my birthday, and bought a one-way ticket to the city of my dreams.

I left a week later and never looked back. Even after I was raped, even after Luis had me sleeping with his friends for money, I never considered returning home, mostly because I knew that I’d only made myself worse in their eyes. More broken. A worse fit for this family than ever.

But here I am again.

I hear the dog bark, deep and loud—that dog is seriously scary shit. Then I hear a scream.

I run out into the hall and see Jen pinned up against the wall. The dog is crouched down, growling at her. It’s that scary growl again, not the kind you hear from a friendly dog just defending itself. This dog is terrified. Why wouldn’t it be? You can only get hit so often before you think any raised hand is headed your direction. I would know. It’s a fear I’m no stranger to.

I see my mom frozen in shock, big eyes and a hand over her mouth.

“Martin isn’t home yet…” she says, as if this means anything.

She reaches out her hand, like she wants to help but isn’t sure what to do. I step forward. I’m not sure what I can do, but I figure this dog likes me better than my mom.

My mother’s frightened eyes flicker toward me.

“Czar,” I say calmly. The dog doesn’t react. He probably doesn’t even know his own name.

I take another step forward, and this time I see his eyes flicker to me. I plan on stepping between the girl and the dog. It’s less likely he’ll attack me.

I slowly walk around and take a big side step so that I’m between Jen and the growling dog. I keep my hands up in surrender and pray that this isn’t a huge mistake. But it’s the least I’d want, someone to take a chance and be patient while I figured out they weren’t out to hurt me.

I keep my voice and gaze steady. “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

Czar’s eyes dart around the room, but his stance relaxes enough for me be confident he’s not going to pounce on me. I tell Jen to inch past me, and I wait until she’s past the reach of the chain before following her.

Czar just watches us go.

When I’m about to take another step, my father walks through the front door.

“Martin!” my mother calls.

The dog’s head whips toward him.

My father takes one look, and in a single quick motion he pushes the dog to the ground and hits him with an open hand across his head. My guess is that this isn’t the first time he’s treated the dog this way. Czar doesn’t fight back at all. That beautiful dog falls to the ground and takes the hit with only a wince.

“Dad!” I say as he raises his hand to swing again. “Hitting him isn’t going to help.”

“He needs to know who’s boss!” His hand lands on the dog’s head with a loud smack. I wince and turn away, only listening to the sounds as he drags the dog out the door, nails scratching the hardwood floor on the way, as I take deep breaths to keep calm.

I’m just lucky Jen’s here, or else he might be dragging me down the hall, too.