I want to think this new life can be something better. Maybe if I can keep my past as far away as possible—so far away no one can ever see it—I can figure out how to make this work.

The sound of slow, careful footsteps outside my window catches my attention, and I freeze. I must have fallen asleep, because I don’t remember it being this dark.

I sit up on my bed and listen for anything out of the ordinary. The muffled sounds of the TV in the living room float through my bedroom wall, but other than that? Nothing. Silence.

That’s what bothers me. In my experience, the only time it gets this quiet is before something terrible happens.

There’s probably nothing out there, but my heart pounds wildly. Like my body knows something is wrong, something’s not right. Sometimes instincts are the only thing between you and death in the city, so I’ve learned to listen to them, and right now they’re blaring like a foghorn.

Someone is outside my window.

I inch off the bed. As carefully and quietly as I can manage, I tiptoe to the window and pull back the blinds just slightly. My bedroom light is still off, so while I can see outside, no one can see in. But the bit of moonlight isn’t enough to see much. I let the blind fall back down and then retreat to the hallway.

I sneak a look down the hall and see my mother rocking in the recliner. My father must have gone back to work. It’s the only reason Mom would be alone in the living room this late.

I want to check out the backyard, but I probably won’t be able to get past the kitchen entrance without being seen. Lucky for me, I grew up in this house. I know there’s another back door out of my parents’ room that leads right to the back deck. I sneak down, the opposite way of the kitchen, walk into their too-perfect bedroom with quilted sheets and satin blinds, and unlock their sneaky little back door as quietly as possible.

The door opens an inch, enough for me to listen.

Nothing.

My body has calmed down a bit now, so I wonder if the danger is over.

I looked to the doghouse and see Czar’s head sticking out just a little. If there were something wrong, someone here, he’d be freaking out, I’m sure of it.

I take a step onto the back deck—

Czar’s head whips up.

Yeah, he’s paying pretty good attention. And the fact that he’s not barking means nothing’s out here.

Poor dog. I hate that they leave him out here all night. I hate how they treat him in general.

I take slow steps into the dewy backyard and then stop and look around.

My parents had such a pretty and perfect backyard before I left. Now all you notice is the black hole of mud that’s the dog’s area.

Honestly, though, I like it better this way. I don’t feel like I’m expected to be as perfect. Maybe they’ve lowered their expectations now that they have a dirty guard dog and a prostitute for a daughter.

“Czar,” I say in a loud whisper. He crawls out of his barely-big-enough doghouse. “Hey, buddy,” I say as calmly as possible. I want him to know I’m a friend.

His ears perk up, but then his head lowers and a scary growl rumbles out of him.

I stop dead in my place and hope I’m far enough that his chain won’t reach me.

Czar steps forward, and I don’t dare move, my heart pounding wildly. Maybe this was a bad idea. He’s only a few feet from me now, enough that he could take one big lunge and have my arm for a snack. The hair on the back of his neck stands up.

“Czar?” I reach out my hand—

He takes that lunge I was dreading, and I close my eyes…but when I don’t feel inch-long teeth sink into my skin, I open them. Czar is next to me, barking into the darkness.

Shit. There really is someone out here, isn’t there?

Another step puts me behind the dog. A few seconds later, he stops barking and starts sniffing around. He walks all around, anywhere his chain will let him, and every few seconds he stops to watch the darkness.

I let him do his weird freak-out dance, avoiding the chain whenever I have to.

I’ll follow his lead. When he thinks the coast is clear, I’ll rush back inside, and not a second sooner. Finally, he returns to the spot where he first barked into the darkness and just stares. I listen and look with him.

Nothing.

Finally, he lifts his head to me, and then he sniffs my feet.

Very slowly, I let my fingers drift across the top of his head. He closes his eyes, and I squat near him.

His house doesn’t look very comfortable, probably barely even fits him inside it. He’s so damn big. That hardly seems fair, even if he did almost bite my kind-of sort-of friend/tutor.

He was just doing his job, right? It’s not his fault they didn’t teach him to learn the difference between good people and bad. It’s not his fault they taught him he can’t trust anyone at all.

I look back to the door leading to my parents’ room, and I look through the glass door leading to the kitchen. The light is still off, but there’s no telling if my mom is still watching TV. If I do this, I guess I’ll have to take a gamble.

I unclip his chain and let it fall to the ground. “Wanna have a sleepover?” I ask him.

He follows me up the steps of the deck, into the house, and through my parents’ room.

I tiptoe, still holding on to the collar of the big guard dog who could probably pull me down the street if he wanted, enter my room, and close the door behind me with just a soft click.

He stands there, watching me curiously as I take a few steps away from him and sit on the bed.

Now what?

I wish I had a bone or something for him to chew.

Please don’t pee.

He starts sniffing around the room and throws glances my way every few seconds, as if to make sure I’m not doing anything sneaky. He must like me more than some other people, but he still doesn’t trust me. Poor dog, I don’t blame him.

I pat on the bed, and immediately he jumps up next to me. Now his head is higher than mine. Yikes. If something sets him off, I could end up without a face.

He gets close, but he just looks at me with those big brown eyes, then he lies down and lays his head on my arm. I gently stroke behind his ear. The hair is so soft, I find myself rubbing my hand against it absently. Not only for the dog, but also for me. It feels comforting.

When I look back down at him, I realize his eyes are closed.

Why can’t a dog be both a friend and a guard dog? I don’t understand why my parents treat him the way they do. He means nothing to them, just a little extra security. Imagine if they were actually nice to him.

I lie there and close my eyes, but I open them quickly when I hear a knock on my door.

I open the door a sliver and see my mother standing there with a plate of food and a can of soda.

For a moment, I don’t move. The last time I was at home, she’d have never been so bold as to bring me something to eat. Father’s rules. No food after dinner. And if you missed dinner? You’d better show up for breakfast.

But here she is.

What else has changed since I’ve been gone?

“Hey, sweetie,” she says. “Hope I’m not bothering you.”

Why would she think she was bothering me? Part of me wants to rush forward and hug her, but I manage to restrain myself. I’d have to be crazy to let down my guard just because she brought me some food. Still, I feel a small smile spread across my face. I guess I’m not as good at hiding my feelings as my mother.

She must see my smile, because she pauses, tilts her head to the side, and after a moment, she smiles, too.

“Anyway, I brought you some leftover dinner.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the plate from her.

She starts away from me, but then turns back around and says, “I’ll have apple pie a little later if you want to come out and get some.”

Those feelings I want to keep hidden are about to burst out of me, and I can’t let her see me when they do. I want her to love me, but can I ever give that love back after everything?