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“It’s been, what, five days since you left? And he hasn’t even pretended to come around asking about you?”

“He knows you helped me.” The thought gives me a tight knot in my chest. Scott always hated Charlotte. Called her a “bad influence” on me, as if I’m a child. My starting recovery just cemented that, because Charlotte was the one who got me there and so Scott blamed her for my weight gain—the only aspect of my recovery he gave a shit about. “You need to be careful,” I add after taking another bite of soup.

“Scott’s not going to do shit to me,” Charlotte says, tossing her perfectly-teased brown hair over one shoulder. “He might have someone tailing me, though. I’m not sure. You know, to see if I can lead them to you?”

I frown, even though I had expected this. “Which is why you can’t come out here and check on me every time I’m late having lunch.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Charlotte stays on the line with me while I finish my meal, a holdover from when I first started recovery and something that always gives me a little comfort, having her there to cheerlead me even if I really don’t need it anymore. By the time we hang up, the encounter in Altarida feels small and insignificant. I’ve been through so much worse than rednecks heckling me in a cupcake shop.

With lunch finished and Charlotte back to whatever she’s doing in California, I collapse on the bed I chose for myself. I hadn’t let myself realize how fucking exhausted I am from all the travel of the last few days—buying a new car, driving cross-country at a breakneck pace, trying to get ahead of Scott well before he could realize what I’d done. He knows now. I’ve no doubt someone’s tailing Charlotte.

Still, I feel confident that they’ll never find me here. Scott will never expect me to come back to Camp Head Start, the site of the worst day of my life.

Second worst day of my life, I think groggily. Because the worst happened not even a week ago, when Scott slammed his fist into me and over, making me scream and bleed on his 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fat bitch!” he screamed, punctuating each hit, until the words just dissolved into meaningless syllables. Then he tightened his fingers around my throat until my vision blinked out.

I sink down into my bed here in the cabin. The mattress is cheaper and less comfortable than the mattress at Scott’s mansion. Not home. Not for me. Not anymore.

Somehow in all those dark thoughts, I fall asleep. I only knew this because I jerk awake later, and although the light is still on in my room, the windows are dark. Night’s fallen.

I sit up, groggy and bleary-eyed. I feel like something woke me up, jarred me out of the dreamless sleep that travel gets you. For a moment, I sit, listening. The cabin is quiet and still. Too cold for the AC, not cold enough for the heater. I don’t even have the fan going.

Then I hear it. A soft, distantthump.

All the sleepiness drains out of me. I fling myself off the bed and grab my phone and swipe it open. The clock says 8 PM, and there’s nothing else, no messages or phone calls. I’ve got Scott’s number blocked, of course, but that wouldn’t stop him if he really wanted to get ahold of me. There’s nothing from Charlotte, either. Or my parents, whom I’m sure have heard from Scott that I’ve gone missing.

I put it on silent and slip out of the bedroom, into the hallway. I listen for a moment.

Silence.

I take a deep breath. Remind myself that I’m in the mountains now, not the city, and the sounds are different. It could have been an animal. Nuts falling on the roof. A burst of wind?—

Someone knocks on the cabin’s front door.

Thatsound is unmistakable. Three sharp raps. I freeze, panic surging into my throat.

Scott. He’s found me.

I look at my phone, expecting to see it lighting up in my hand with some unknown number. But it’s dark and silent.

I scurry into the living room, grab my purse, slip on my shoes. If this is Scott or one of the PIs he’s almost certainly hired, then I need to run. I need to get in my car and drive until I know I’m not being followed. Then I can decide what to do next. Hire a lawyer. File a restraining order.Something.

I stare at the front door, my chest tight. I know I can’t do anything until I see who’s on the other side.

“Hello?” I call out, my voice trembling. I sidle up to the door and press my ear against the slick wood. It’s quiet. “Who’s there?”

No answer.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just the cabin host coming to check on me. Maybe there’s a problem with the cabin, and they need to let me know

Then why aren’t they answering?

“Hello?” I call out again, pulling my purse up against my body. I slowly unlatch the front door, body braced to run when someone pushes inside.

Nothing happens.