Your Biggest Fan

47. NOAH

Chapter forty-seven

I need to get the fuck out of here.

I cannot stomach another ticking second trapped at this sadistic ritual of a dinner party without knowing if Roxanne is okay.

I try to lean forward to catch every word the chief says about the Wishmores, but I may as well be listening through a wall of static with the blood rushing in my ears.

And we are only on the fourth course of this never ending, multi-coursed feast of torture. How many goddamn courses are there? I’ve already choked down shrimp cocktail, vichyssoise, and picked at wilted greens studded with gummy candied walnuts from the salad course. Now a filet of flavorless sole sat congealing before me beside a fan of lemon wedges.

I clutch my fork in a tight grip, willing my hand not to tremble and attract more of Dennis’ wrath as I robotically saw into the rubbery fish.

Michelin stars, my ass. More like Michelin tires.

Principal Phillips’ eyes have been burning into my battered lip from across the table, and Wendy must sense my tension, too, since she keeps anxiously nudging my arm with her bony elbow. I can’t blame her. There is a blood stained napkin I’ve left lying beside my plate after all.

The mayor taps a butter knife against his crystal glass and makes some speech about how this town wouldn’t be what it is without all of us. But I don’t care about sorbet or soup or salmon mousse or whatever the fuck these people are eating. I need to know if Roxanne is okay.

My intrusive thoughts keep acting up, telling me: what if you did stand up and throw your plate against the wall? Do it. What if you kicked your chair and left, flipping the bird to everyone here?

Unfortunately, my self control is too strong. Or I’m a coward.

My eyes do try to discreetly scan around the room, plotting any sort of exit strategy. I can’t imagine all the trouble I’d be in if I vaulted through one of the glass windows.

At least the hospital would have Jell-O.

I’m strategizing which window would make the least painful exit when a sharp clatter slices through the murmurs. I glance over to see Wendy fumbling to retrieve her fallen fork from the hardwood. A strand of blonde hair falls into her face as she ducks under the tablecloth, and my eyebrows knit together.

Wendy has definitely been drilled in proper place setting etiquette every year, and I know this because she’s been pointing at which silverware I need to use for the last three courses. Eight forks, four knives, six spoons. She can distinguish a salad fork from a fish knife blindfolded.

Slip-ups with the cutlery do not happen from her.

As she resurfaces, she pauses to straighten, her wrist discretely angled toward me. I feel her breath against my ear as she whispers under the clinking glasses, “Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.”

I tense. What the hell does she want? Does she think now is really the time for another one of her games? Questions ricochet through my mind as I struggle to keep my expression neutral and have no reaction.

I keep a wide ass berth from her entirely because I know I’ll catch Dennis’ attention if I so much as look in her direction.

How the hell am I supposed to meet her? Dennis might as well have me handcuffed to this fucking chair.

Dabbing her mouth with a white linen napkin, she smiles and resumes eating with perfect posture. Only the burning urgency in her eyes shows that something’s up. I carefully set down my utensils, hands trembling to pick up my water.

What could she want with me in the next five minutes? The minutes crawl by at a torturous pace as I wait to find out.

Wendy rises up from her chair and folds her napkin into a neat triangle, then places it on the table. She smooths down her dress, and clasps her hands behind her back as she walks over to her dad, whispering something in his ear.

Whatever it is, it must be nice, because he smiles and nods her off. I watch with pure jealousy as she slips out into the hallway, making it look so goddamn easy.

I glance back to Principal Phillips in time to see his brows fold together while he cuts into his fish. Still staring at me. I look away because I know he’s about to mouth that silent, “are you okay?”

I can’t handle that right now. I am one more fork scrape against a plate before I do jump out the window behind the mayor. That one I know has big bushes under it, so at least it will break some of my fall.

Twiddling my thumbs together in my lap, I slowly turn to Dennis, leaning the teensiest amount closer so I can whisper.

But when I open my mouth, I choke on the words.

Come on, Jackson. Be a fucking man! What’s the worst he could do to you? Bash your brains in with a soup tureen in front of all these witnesses?

I nervously eye the gleaming silver tureen of lobster bisque near Dennis’ elbow.

Alright, maybe not the most comforting pep talk.

Just ask! Channel your fucking Terminator!

I take a steadying breath and grip onto my knees.

“S–sir?” I finally get out.

He responds with a gruff harrumph, then ever so slowly rotates his head to pierce me with that Exorcist glare.

Oh god, is that a vein twitching in his forehead?

Shit shit shit abort mission .

My body is literally vibrating in my seat about to piss itself.

Stop being such a pansy ass.

I open my mouth but only a croak emerges. Dennis’ left eye gives a twitch.

Fuck me . If this doesn’t work then I guess I’m taking the window. One wrong move could already end me up in the morgue.

I squeeze my eyes shut and blurt out in a rush, “May I please be excused to the bathroom?”

I await the killing blow, cringing. The silence stretches. Someone’s fork slices across a plate. Unable to bear it, I crack one eye open.

Dennis pauses mid-chew, then smiles, sending an arctic chill straight to my bones.

“Make. It. Quick.” He enunciates each word before dismissing me to resume his conversation.

The relief has my chest caving in the sweetest breath. This bathroom meeting better be fucking worth it. And I don’t know if I really intend on coming back.

My knees wobble as I rise carefully from the table. Steadying myself on the edge, I avoid meeting anyone’s gaze, especially Phillips’. I push my chair under the table, my muscles knotting up when it scrapes against the floor.

And I walk.

Dennis’ ruthless stare bores into my back as I follow the same hallway back toward the bathroom where, at least twenty minutes ago, my face became a punching bag.

I need to learn how to fight in the future—but that’s a thought for another time.

As I reach for the bathroom doorknob, the door swings inward and a small hand darts out and yanks me through the doorway with surprising force. I hear the door shut in an instant before realizing my assailant is Wendy.

She releases my sleeve and pushes hair off her flushed face. “Not much time,” she pants, likely from sprinting here in heels. “We’re busting you out.”

I gape. Wendy is now acting as my rescuer?

Taking my stunned silence as skepticism, she plants her hands on her hips. “Don’t look so shocked,” she snaps. “I may be trapped in this nightmare too but I’m not completely oblivious.”

I find my voice again. “I guess I didn’t expect you to care.”

“It’s my fault you’re here and I assume it’s my fault you look roughened up. I—I had no idea—I never meant for—” She sighs. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes soften then, voice gentle as she adds, “I want to help. And right now, you’ve got a drummer girl to see.”

“I have an appointment I can’t afford to miss, that is true.” My pulse picks up speed. Hell, yes. “You know what happened? Is she...”

I can’t bring myself to ask if Rox is hurt.

Wendy frowns. “I don’t know anything, but I figured you’d want to check on her yourself.” She squeezes my arm. “Now come on, Cinderella. Let’s get you to the ball before your carriage turns back into a pumpkin or your wicked stepfather sends the hounds.”

I let loose a shaky breath that comes out as a slight laugh. Past history aside, Wendy is handing me a goddamn miracle. Fairy godmothers do exist after all.

“What’s the plan?” I ask. Our time is limited, and I need to get the hell out now.

Wendy points above the toilet to a tiny window near the ceiling. Craning my neck, I take in its dimensions—barely two feet tall and half as wide. Iron lattice bars slice down the opening. Beyond that, I can make out the pitch black sky. Fuck, it’s got to be so late now.

“This window connects to the gardens. If you squeeze through, you can run left to the side gate and then you have freedom.”

My eyebrows grow taller. “Yeah, I’m not fitting through that. It’s the size of a fucking air vent.”

“As if. I sneak out this way all the time and you’re like the same size as me. Just freakishly tall.” She tilts her head, scrutinizing. “Actually your toothpick arms should slide right through.”

She doesn’t wait for further objections and starts shoving me toward the toilet as I splutter ineffective protests.

“Now go, go, go!” Wendy boosts me up onto the porcelain tank, then makes urgent shooing motions like she’s herding a stray cat. “You can cry about your dignity later! This is a rescue mission.”

I shake my head, actually fighting an insane urge to laugh.

It’s not smart, or sane, to be doing this, but Roxanne is all I can think about.

My fingers attack the latch on the window and cool night air rushes into the room at the exact same time that freedom beckons me right on the other side.

Bracing one hand against the striped wallpaper and stepping onto the toilet tank, I wedge my shoulder against the tiny window frame and start contorting my body through the narrow opening. My feet fight to propel as I lift myself up, using every bit of strength I have to ignore my stomach scraping across the windows ledge. The metal lattice digs into my ribs as I slowly wriggle out into the open, using the toe of my shoe to push against the wall.

Right as my thighs clear through and I start to dip forward, an iron grip closes viciously around my calf and I’m yanked backwards into the harsh lights of the bathroom.

The edge brick of the house slices against my rib, ripping off the top buttons of my shirt, and I land hard against the top of the toilet tank. My knee bashes against the porcelain and I slide down, ass falling onto the lid, coming face-to-face with my grinning tormentor.

“Going somewhere?” Dennis asks, danger dripping from each deceptively calm word.

Cold dread gnaws at my insides, paralyzing me to the spot, as well as Dennis’ crushing grip that stays locked on my leg. My eyes drift up to meet Wendy behind him, wide-eyed and scared, with one hand clapped over her mouth.

Fear fills both of our faces.

We’ve been caught. And from the look in Dennis’ eye, I know I’ll soon be paying for this failed jailbreak.

“I... I wanted to take a piss?”

“No, wait! I—I made him try to sneak out!” Wendy squeaks, voice sharp with panic. “It was all my idea!”

Dennis silences her plea by shooting his hand toward her, his cheerful mask morphing into something demonic as he keeps his eyes on me.

“You should return back to your dad, Ms. Turner. Noah and I will discuss his punishment in private.”

For what has to be ten minutes, I don’t blink as Wendy takes a shaky breath and slowly retreats out of the bathroom. From the moment Dennis had grabbed me, I could tell she didn’t want to leave, but I can also see the scare in her eyes, the same thing that’s been in me ever since I moved here seven years ago.

Then all I know is heat. Throbbing heat, and the cold wash that drips down my back as Dennis releases my calf to roughly grab a fistful of my hair.

A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead as I claw at his hand as he hauls me upright and shoves me against the wall. The cast iron radiator in the corner burns against the back of my calf where my heel wedges in between the pipes, but I can’t move my foot.

“Why do you always have to do this?” I choke out. It’s a question I’ve asked myself countless times.

From the first day I walked through his front door, I had naively hoped to be something more than a small person attached to the woman he was marrying.

The day is still unforgettable. The sun had sweat trickling down my back, teaching me the cruel lesson of midwestern heat that is so thick you could cut into it with a fork. I remember the taste of my own cheek while I gnawed at the flesh from the inside out because of the shy excitement as I stepped into my new home—it was huge and way bigger than our small apartment. Mom had sold me this fairy tale about Dennis. How he was gonna be the real deal, the father figure I’d been missing. And stupid me, bought it.

Now look at us. In a dance that neither one of us signed up for.

“I told you to stop sneaking off with her. Why don’t you listen to me?” His hand tightens on my scalp as he bends my neck back. “Am I really so bad that you have to lie to me and run?”

Is he really asking that?

I need to let him whip me and push me back down that hallway, but with the heat against my heel, the red-hot burn under my hair, they fuel a fire inside me. And I am about to light a fucking match and take this whole bathroom down with me.

I don’t need to be scared of his bullshit. The only reason he keeps doing this is because I let him. He’s stronger, taller, and wider, but I have something he doesn’t.

You make me unafraid.

No darkness can touch me.

She’s the reason I can stand here, ready to face down a bully who’s taken advantage of my silence for far too long. I’ve done it before, and as far as I am concerned, he’s what’s keeping me from getting to her. And I want to go get my fucking girl.

Dennis’ grip tightens, and pain explodes across my scalp, sharp and searing. In the reflection of his green eyes, I try to fight against it and envision Roxanne’s influence, a reminder that I’m not alone and have her sunshine breaking through the storm clouds.

No, not sunshine, a goddamn lightning bolt that crackles through the darkness and chases away the clouds.

The bathroom becomes a canvas for me, and I paint Roxanne’s features onto Dennis’ face, focusing on her eyes, the ones that have seen through my fears before and embraced everything inside me. I picture those same eyes looking through me, as though they are hers and not his, and I swear I can hear her voice, one so strong, it’s a tangible item I can reach out and grab onto.

My hand flys up to finally fist at that fucking tie.

Any words will do. Just speak from that tangle of feelings inside.

And then it happens.

“Maybe if you treated people with a shred of decency, they wouldn’t be so eager to escape you,” I hiss, the words like candy that tastes so damn good on my tongue.

His chest puffs out with a huffy growl, each tug on my scalp threatening to rip the hair from my head. “You’re an ungrateful little shit.”

“Am I?” I snap back, that bead of sweat making its way down the side of my face.

“Don’t get smart with me, boy!”

“Don’t call me anything but what I am, father .” I let the last word linger, each syllable as sharp and permanent as the scars he's left. “Call me your son. Your family. Call me Noah.”

“You? You’re not my son. You were never even worthy of being called a son. You’re nothing but an embarrassment to the family name, and I should’ve sent you off years ago. Maybe then you'd learn some real discipline instead of wasting your time with those ridiculous drawings.”

My eyes round at the ugly words and I shake my head slowly, catching a drop of blood on my tongue as it escapes the split in my lip. After keeping myself under such tight control for all these years to stay strong, to hide my true emotions from him…

I've had enough of this shit.

There is no stopping my face from contorting in defiant outrage as my stomach ignites with it, as my fingers reach out and fist at Dennis’ suit jacket, crumpling the expensive fabric as I spit, “I’m the fucking embarrassment? Not the power hungry guy, the wife beater, or the kid abuser?”

I pull the suit harder, hot blood trickling from the corner of my mouth as my lips curl into a shitty little smirk I’ve been saving for him.

“Call. Me. Noah. Because that is your blood. Not by birth, but by choice. And it looks like you’ve made some damn awful choices.”

The laugh that Dennis Ward barks is ugly, almost hysterical as he throws his head back, and the sound of it mixes with my anger that sinks deep into my gut, reminding me of every time he’s laughed in my face.

“You’re nothing but a stain on this family,” he barks. “No matter what you call yourself.”

“The only stain you see are the ones on your knuckles every time you’re done with me.”

“You think a few bruises make a difference?”

I lean in close until I can see the burst blood vessels in his eyes. “Did you really think that’s all you’ve done to me? I remember every hit, every kick, every threat. I can still feel those beatings you gave me.”

“And you’re lucky I haven’t tossed you out on the streets where you belong. It’s a small town. Small towns watch out for their own. It’d be a shame if you found yourself outside that circle, wouldn’t it?”

Is that a threat?

I skim my tongue along my split lip while I suck in a sharp breath. “You know what, you’re right, I am lucky. Not lucky 'cause I have you as a father. Lucky 'cause I was able to survive with you as a father. Lucky that I haven’t lost my damn mind having you as a parent.”

Dennis leans in. “You think you’re something special, don’t you? You're nothing. You'll always be nothing.”

“No, not in the slightest. Though compared to you, I am everything you could never be because I certainly know enough to recognize a bully when I see one.”

I look for some sort of reaction from him. I want him mad or sad, I don’t care. I want Dennis to feel something . I want him to hurt.

“And I won’t let you turn me into one,” I continue. “You’re not my fucking dad, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for you in my life, so I don’t know why you brought me into yours if you had no intention of wanting to be a good fake one.”

In a blink, the bathroom turns to silence. It fills the bathroom’s interior, snaking into the drain pipes, the open window, the aging wallpaper, the rugs. We both stare at each other, our postures and visages nearly identical—twins who were separated by age.

I wish we were related so then I could at least have his fearlessness.

The burning in my scalp and the heat against my calf become insignificantly small compared to fire inside my veins.

“Let. Me. Go,” I demand.

Right when Dennis reaches back to slap his hand across the side of my face, I spin low out of his hold and duck under his arm.

He jerks forward, looking from over his shoulder at me when he starts to raise his arm back up again, but he doesn’t try to smack me. I ball my hands into fists on top of the sink to keep them from shaking. I’m not sure if I’m shaking because I’m shocked by the evening’s turn to violence or because I’m so fucking angry that Roxanne might be in trouble.

That lasts for about two seconds.

Dennis tries to lunge for me, barely catching me as I duck and move in under his fist. I elbow him in the stomach, and at first I think it’s Dennis who yells, but before I can blink, I’m the one who grunted and nailed Dennis right in the center of his nose.

I hiss and grab my wrist, flexing out the pain against my fingers. Shit . That hurt way more than Jonathan did.

Dennis staggers backward with a look of pure shock on his face as he reaches up to touch his nose, pulling his fingers back to find blood. To me, I assume we have finally settled on some fucking peace.

I’m foolish for thinking that.

The tiny second I flex my hand, he growls at me, lunging forward again. My foot slips on the rug at the toilet as I try to escape and Dennis’ fingers close around my throat as tight as they did on my leg.

The quick assault sends nausea through my body, leaving my skin hot and cold as I claw at his hands.

“You’re delusional if you think you’re better than me.” His hands tighten, finger by finger, cutting off my breath. “You’re a piece of trash I’ve been stuck with. I brought you in because I had to, not because I wanted to. And let me make one thing clear, I sure as hell don’t want to be any kind of father to you, fake or otherwise. You’re on your own, kid.”

Summoning every ounce of strength, I drive my knee out, connecting with something solid.

Dennis.

He grunts, loosening his grip enough for me to suck in a desperate breath. As the air rushes back into my lungs, I see the rage in Dennis’ eyes. I have unleashed something I’ve never seen before, and it’s about to come crashing down on me.

His counterattack is swift and brutal. A hard blow aimed at my stomach. The impact doubles me over, pain radiating through my body and forcing me further back into the heater. I’ve honestly been so overwhelmed with fighting back that I forgot the horrific smell that's been wafting in the bathroom is my burnt skin.

I spit out the blood in my mouth, smiling a little when it lands on his shoe, then see his knee as it hits me under my jaw. His glare is the only warning I get before his hands are back on me, and I shut my eyes, thoughts of Roxanne flooding my mind all over again.

I envision a bleak future: locked up, sent off to military school, and forever cut off from the one person who made my world colorful. No more ‘songs we soiled’ mixtape. Thunder will roll without her voice on the line. No more hearing her sweet songs filtering through an amp. No more drumsticks in her boots.

I wish Roxanne’s hands were here right now so she could cup them over my ears again, that way I can imagine listening to her, wrapping me up to make me feel safe.

Maybe she’ll meet me under the oak tree for a final goodbye.

The darkness behind my eyelids starts to sparkle with pinpricks of light, matching the high-pitched whine filling my head. I force my muscles to go slack, thinking maybe it’ll hurt less if I don’t fight it. It’s no use when every part of me is screaming that I’m in pain.

The cuts on my chest are burning from where I tried to crawl out the window. My whole mouth is on fire, blood pooling faster than I can swallow past Dennis' fingers wrapped around my throat. I'm drowning in my own fucking life force, and the irony isn't lost on me.

Relax , I command my screaming nerves. Relax.

Relax.

Relax.

The pressure on my neck increases as blood drips down my throat, and then vanishes. I still before opening my eyes, only to witness something that I’m pretty sure must be the gates of Heaven swinging wide open for me.

Principal Phillips stands over Dennis, knuckles cracked and stained with blood while he shakes out his hand, a look of real authority sketched all over him. I glance down at Dennis sitting on the floor, his eyes shut and back pressed up against the wall. His head hangs limp to the side with blood streaming down from both nostrils.

Phillips squats down next to him. “Homie don’t play that!”

Motherfucker . I want to break down. I want to cry, laugh, hug him. I—

What the fuck is going on?

He stands up, dusting his slacks off and turns to face me. “Did I use that reference right?”

I manage a halfway decent smile, which is impressive considering I’m currently dealing with a lot of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, and my leg is twinging in pain.

“I… I…” I stutter, my brain working to make sense of the situation. “Yeah—I mean, yeah, dude. You totally nailed it.”

Now I feel the big dumb grin spreading across my face as I look at the Principal of Bellpond High looking like a badass like John Mcclain.

“Holy… shit .” Daniel is going to lose his mind when he hears about this.

He steps forward, and I flinch, anxieties still on high alert. He slowly reaches out to pat me on the arm. “Are you okay?”

I meet his eyes, stunned. I can’t find any words.

Am I panicking? I hadn’t noticed how fast I was breathing, how hard my heart was pounding against my neck, or how much my brain was throbbing against my skull.

That headache from earlier is coming back and stretching all the way to the roots of my hair. I suck in a shaky lungful of air, the muscles in my thighs spasming. Phillips grips my shoulder, guiding me back down to this Earth.

“Breathe, Noah. You’re safe now.”

Breathe .

My back leg erupts in fresh waves of pain, and I wince. Fuck, I’ll need to get that checked out.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m all right.” I breathe in, breathe out, loosening my tie. “How—how did you just kick his ass?”

“I was in the military before I was a principal.”

I guess all those photos make sense in his office now.

“Wow. You’re a badass, man.”

“You should go ahead and get out of here,” Phillips says. “I’ll take care of all of this.”

“But what about him?” I gesture to the lump of a man, out cold.

Did Principal Phillips really just save my life? My head is going to explode from digesting too much information.

“See that water on the floor there?” He jerks his chin down to the ground by Dennis, and my eyebrows pinch. The floor is totally dry.

He drops his hand from me and turns the faucet on full blast, water gushing as he scoops up palmfuls and sloshes it across the floor.

“It’s a shame there wasn’t a wet floor sign for him.”

I bark out a shocked laugh.

He wipes his hands and pops his collar with a smirk, then makes the same shooing motions as Wendy. “Go on, kid, I got this.”

I nod, kicking into high gear as I climb onto the toilet tank. Phillips grabs my pant leg as I wobble, steadying me before taking my wrist and pressing a key into my hand.

“You can go to my place. Apartment 16 on Green. Get yourself cleaned up.”

I look down at the key, then back up at him. “You want me to go to your place? Your place, like, your home? And I’m allowed in?”

I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open because I can’t believe this is actually happening. And it feels kind of good.

I’ve got the principal of my school in my corner, and a key to his place burning a hole in my pocket. It’s a hell of a lot more than I had this morning.

“Yeah, kid. You’re welcome at my place. Consider it a safe haven for tonight. You need a breather from all this mess.” Phillips smiles, gesturing toward the key in my hand as if it holds the secret to an adventure.

The cold sweat drips down my temple again. “I… can’t.”

“Why not?”

I shoot him a look that screams, ‘Hello, are you serious?’ “Because he’d kill me if I didn’t come home.”

“You’re eighteen, Noah. You don’t have to go back.”

“And where am I supposed to go after tonight?”

“You can stay with me as long as you need.”

A way out. He's offering you a fucking way out. It's a nice thought, but nice thoughts don't survive in my world. They get stomped out, crushed under the weight of fists and fear.

My eyes start burning. “I appreciate it, Mr. P, really. But going against him…” I shove a hand through my hair and sigh. “It’s not that simple. He’s got a way of making everything complicated.”

Phillips leans against the bathroom sink, looking me right in the eyes. “Noah, I get it. It’s never as simple as it sounds. But here’s the deal, you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together. Your stepdad doesn’t get to decide your entire life. You’ve got the right to breathe, to live without fear. Tonight, you’ve got a choice, and I’m offering you a chance to make it.”

I stare at Dennis sprawled out on the floor. You have no idea what you’re missing out on, asshole. I might not be his son, but I’ll be someone else’s.

I don’t say anything else. I meet Phillips’ caring eyes with gratitude, clutch that small key tight, and make my escape.

Turns out Principal Phillips is my fairy godmother. I’ll have to apologize for all of his ass drawings.

Blessedly, there is no resistance as I fall out of the window this time. My sore legs bound me through the gardens like I’d imagined almost a half hour ago now. I pull the iron gate open and glance up at the windows on the front of the house—the one I almost jumped out of—and walk past the stares of some workers on a smoke break.

I’m half tempted to bum one, but if my lungs taught me anything tonight, it’s how much I like breathing.

I eye a car as it pulls up in the driveway, but I merely nod as I walk by them, shooting a quick smile as I hop over the curb and turn right.

I have to look deranged as hell with a bloody lip, a red cheek, a burn hole in the back of my pants, the top of my shirt hanging open, and my tie loose around my neck. I don’t give a shit. Actually, as I walk past all of the houses in this neighborhood, past the tall oaks and pines, I feel calm.

Because, though it’s sooner than I’d initially expected, I’m getting out of that house tonight.

By god, nothing has ever felt so right.

After skating up and down this street since I was a kid, I could make the trip from the mayor’s house to Winterberry Loop in my sleep—which is a good thing right now, because my legs are moving on their own while my mind stays busy trying to figure out what I’ll find when I get home and what I need to grab before I bail.

Dennis could be waking up right now, murder in his eyes as someone finds his body on that bathroom floor. Hopefully Phillips is running interference, and planning to keep people away from the bathroom long enough to buy me precious seconds. Either way, I need to move like the devil's on my heels. Because he fucking is.

My life's possessions amount to jack shit, really. If I can at least snag my boombox from the garage and cram some clothes into my backpack, I'll have the bare bones of an existence. Thank fuck most of my real treasures are stashed at the storage garage.

I have no idea what Principal Phillips means by “figure it out together”, but I really like the idea of figuring things out that aren’t here.

The chill outside has turned my bones into absolute ice as I walk with a limp onto my street, the dead trees exposing me as I pass by the Peterson house. At least if I’m not on the same street as Hayden anymore, I won’t have to hear his machismo big bad muscle car whipping up and down the street every morning. Then again, my dirt bike probably pisses off just as many. Guess I can't throw stones.

Speaking of stones... I could use my bike to scale the roof, slip in through my bedroom window. A smirk tugs at my lips as I imagine the window shattering under a well-aimed brick. Dennis coming home to a gaping wound in his perfect fa?ade. It's tempting, but a shitty exit strategy when I'm never coming back.

I'm never coming back.

Shit, where am I even going to keep all of my things at Phillips’? I don’t have a lick of cash to my name except the hundred bucks I’ve got leftover from last week’s envelope. And what about my bike that’s still registered in Dennis’ name?

Fuck, relax . One thing at a time.

Grab shit. Find Roxanne.

The rest will come later.

Three, two, one break.

I quietly open up the door and sneak upstairs to my soon-to-be ex-room. The bedroom door clicks shut and I tip-toe toward my landline and dial Roxanne’s number, plopping on my bed while my good leg bounces with nerves.

It rings and rings, with no answer. Where the hell is she?

“Fucking come on, Wishmore,” I curse under my breath after the fourth ring, slamming the receiver down. I need to get that girl an answering machine with my remaining hundred bucks.

I start hastily packing, shoving in T-shirts, jeans, and anything I care remotely about. Then I grab my dirt bike keys off the dresser, throw my jacket on, muscles tensing to fucking flee because Dennis could be waking up at any moment.

A noise stops me at the top of the stairs, and I peek down over the banister to see my mom lying across the couch. She’s still in her robe with an empty wine bottle on its side on the glass coffee table.

Somehow, in this madness, I haven’t thought about my mom. Do I really leave her here to fend for herself with that rageaholic prick? Taking her with me would probably derail everything, and Phillips sure as hell isn’t expecting another surprise guest.

I start to rake my fingers through my hair, hissing when my nails brush against the sore spots Dennis created. Everything would’ve been so much simpler if we’d never left Seattle.

Back there, I could’ve been hanging out at underground punk shows, skating down at the pier with friends, the salty breeze whipping against my scarless face. It makes me laugh. Mom uprooting us to this town for a “better future.”

This sure as fuck is not happier. Yet, even as I think about it, never coming here would’ve changed me so fundamentally. I think I’d still take the beatings for where I am and where I plan to go.

Roxanne might be right. Things really are fated to happen for a reason, and I have to figure out my reason that all of this happened. Although my heart is pointing in the direction of her.

I slowly descend the stairs. “Mom,” I whisper quietly. Her mascara is smudged over one of her cheeks, eyes red and distant even as they meet mine.

Would she even come with me if I asked?

She blinks, struggling to focus, and I crouch down in front of her, biting my lip to stifle against the bruises in my body and the cut across my chest that scratches against my backpack strap.

“Dennis came after me again. Got me good this time.”

At that, a little clarity returns to her gaze. She reaches out a shaky hand, fingers grazing my swollen lip. “Oh, sweetie.”

My throat tightens. “I can’t stay here, Mom.”

She hums, eyes slipping shut again. The first hot sting of tears pricks my eyes, but I blink them away, my jaw clenching hard. I want her to care enough to stop me.

I don’t think she’d ever notice or care if I left. She never has before, and their life would be so much easier without me—no more extra mouth to feed and leave money for, no more of the kid who is nothing but a stain to their reputation. There’s only one thing Brooke Ward really cares about, and that's money.

Her comfort. Her lifestyle. Her next drink. All the things she chooses every day over having my back. Protecting her own kid has never made the list.

If I ask her to come with me, to leave this all behind, I already know the answer.

“I’ve gotta go,” I whisper, and my eyes blur over. This is killing me inside. “I’m gonna go stay somewhere else for a while. Maybe when you get back up on your feet again, I’ll come back.”

She withdraws her hand, eyes welling even as she nods. We regard each other silently, two souls trapped in this house in different ways.

I squeeze her shoulder, hitch up my backpack higher, then leave.

Outside, I haul my dirt bike off the edge of the house and set my skateboard on the seat, slinging a leg over to straddle right on top of it. The engine vibrates the wheels of my board as I shift my boombox into my lap, headlight cutting through the dark.

One more thing for the road…

I gas it up onto the grass and open the throttle, back tires flinging dirt and tearing up Dennis’ lawn before I peel out onto the street, wind curving over my neck as I race across town with vicious satisfaction.

Even if the cops do come sniffing around and this lands me in deeper shit, it was worth it. My lips curl as I glance back at the beautiful yardwork I’d left behind.

Asshole.

Four minutes later, rocks sputter under my tires as I brake in Roxanne’s driveway. Her usual parking spot is empty, and there are no lights on in the house. I pound on the front door anyway, knuckles burning from my punch at Dennis.

“Roxanne!” I yell. No answer. I cup my hands around my eyes to check inside her bedroom window, but the interior is pitch black and still.

With a frustrated huff, I plop myself down onto her porch steps, dropping my helmet to the concrete with a loud scrape. I’ll wait here all goddamn night if I have to. She has to come home eventually. We had practice today, so she’s not working. And she wouldn’t be at the garage—I drove past there on the way over.

I stretch my sore leg out, rubbing at my calf with my knuckles. The night deepens, the stars blinking one by one, but I sit still, waiting for anything—the sight of headlights, the sound of her engine, or Heart blasting through windows.

Digging my palm into the step beside me, I wonder how long she stood out in that garage waiting for me and the sound of my dirt bike coming in. Christ, how lonely it must have been, and to be let down. No wonder she’s not home.

Was she scared? Angry that I’d disappeared without a word?

My jaw ticks. I want to be better for her. I want to finally fight for what— for who —I want instead of going along with the shitty hand I was dealt.

I’m prepared to out wait the stars themselves to see her face.