Page 4

Three

KNOX

W hen I get to Coach’s house, I just stare. Not a single light on. The grass is overgrown. The whole thing looks like it’s been forgotten. I walk in anyway, grabbing the spare key from where he’s always kept it under a pot with a rotten plant in it.

It’s obviously empty. The layer of dust says it all.

I didn’t expect him to come back here. He knew this was the first place any of us would look.

I turn on the lights since the sun is going down, then trash the place as I look for anything I can use.

I rip drawers out and look at the bottoms. I clear off the fridge.

I destroy Coach’s room the way I wish I could destroy him.

Once the house looks like it’s been ransacked and robbed, I’m left panting with no answers and nothing to use going forward. My eyes flick across the hall from Coach’s room to Hope’s.

Something itches under my skin. I open the door and turn on the light, pausing as I drink it in.

It looks exactly the same as it used to.

It’s a fucking time capsule. I search her room more gently.

I notice some bottles rolled under her bed, but that’s the only thing out of place until I check her desk.

I find a false bottom in a drawer, then unearth her diary there.

The latch on it looks like it’s survived plenty of attempts to open it, but I use a pocket knife to fix that. Maybe she has answers and didn’t even realize it.

Taking a breath, I start to read the first entry.

I don’t know how I’m going to go to school like this. Everyone will know.

I feel different and everything hurts. I thought he was coming to tuck me in, to apologize for yelling at me, anything a normal dad would do. Then I smelled the alcohol on his breath.

Fathers aren’t supposed to touch their daughters like that. Fathers don’t hit them when they try to run. Fathers don’t climb into their daughters’ beds, shove a sock in their mouths to stop the screaming and…

Even after three showers, I don’t feel clean. I stripped all the sheets off my bed. There’s blood on them and I can’t look at them the same way. Is this why Mom left? But why didn’t she take me?

I’ll find a way to make it okay. It’s just one more thing he stole from me. Virginity doesn’t matter, it’s nothing compared to him taking away my house key so I can’t leave without permission. Nothing compared to making my friends a privilege and taking them away.

But this hurts. Closing my legs just reminds me of it all over again. He said he wanted it to hurt so I’d remember. But it’s only supposed to hurt when it’s bad, when it’s a crime.

I flip the page as I stand from her bed. I can’t read that. It drags up too much, reminds me of all the times I was sure and even she said she wanted it. I flip a few pages until I see my name. My stomach churns, but I stop to read anyway, now standing against her desk.

Knox is big and strong. His friends are strong too. They’ll be big enough to get me out of here. Even if they heard the rumors… I can use that to get them alone, right? Dad can’t stop it. He likes them. But he doesn’t want them to know the truth.

But they can never believe what he says—that I started it. They’re smarter than that. They’ll help me. I just have to get them alone. They can’t be as terrible as my dad.

Two days later and another entry.

Why doesn’t anyone believe me? Why can’t they see how he watches me? Why do they just believe him? I can’t really be so terrible. I can’t be asking for it. I wear as much clothing as possible. I try to be small. I try to ignore everything else around me.

He’s going to be mad tonight. I don’t know if the chair under my door will matter.

I take a slow breath. My hands shake until the words squirm.

Reading her diary is too much. It makes me feel wrong and dirty.

It was so obvious looking back. It was obvious she was hiding away.

The way she’d hide her face when he put her on his lap.

The fact she only acted on orders. He’d tell her to be happy, to remember how sweet he was to her, how he took care of her.

She saw us and saw help. She saw freedom and an end to everything she was shouldering and instead…

Mrs. Ray didn’t believe me. She said to stop causing problems.

She’d said to come to her if there were problems, if I needed to talk, but she looked at me like I was trying to ruin her life by asking for her help with this.

Is there just something wrong about me? Or have the rumors gotten to the teachers too?

I don’t even know how my dad has done it, how everyone keeps choosing his side.

Maybe if I escaped the house with shorts and a t-shirt they’d believe me. No one can argue with this many bruises. Especially in the shape of his hands. I even got a voice recording. I say no.

I say no even when it makes him angrier.

I can try to go to the police.

I close my eyes a moment. I have to do this.

I have to read everything I can so I can find her, but fuck.

We were in this room. I was around Hope so often.

I noticed the bruises. I noticed her shyness.

Why did I make myself so blind? Was it easier to believe her dad?

Was it… there’s no excuse. There’s no way to make this right.

The police didn’t believe me either. I thought I was making progress. I brought evidence. But it didn’t matter.

I should have known when I recognized the officer’s last name, Kessler, as in Dimitri Kessler. Of course he’d bring me back to my dad. Of course he’d tell me to stop making trouble.

My dad’s three golden boys believe everything he says. Why wouldn’t their parents? The punishment was bad. Worse than ‘bad.’ Dad took everything from me. My phone, my computer, all the cash he found in my room.

I have nothing. No escape except in reading or in my mind. I’m stuck here until graduation. I’ll have to apply to colleges at school. I won’t have the money to eat lunch, so I’ll make my future there. It’s the only option I have.

But if he finds this diary, I know he’ll do worse. Maybe he’ll pull me out of school. He’ll tell people I ran away to find my mom and I’ll disappear. I’ve seen enough movies, heard enough threats. He’s the one in control and everyone will help him.

There’s no point in talking to anyone.

There’s no point in fighting.

He’ll get what he wants until I leave.

So I’ll just save myself the pain… and take it.

Living matters more than being happy.

I set her diary down, my stomach twisting. There aren’t words for what I feel. I’m fucked up, more than an asshole—I feel like an accomplice. Because I fucking was. I sink to the floor, dropping the diary next to me as I run my hand through my hair.

“What the fuck did we do?” I ask softly.

She was screaming for help, begging for help , trying to explain, then she just… she just muted herself, erased herself, made herself as small as possible to escape notice and the guys and I just pushed harder, cornered her, and…

I stroke the diary gently, trace some of her words, and clear my throat. The guys will never have to read this. Because this is my fault. I should have known better. I should have seen through Coach’s excuses and lies. I’d heard plenty of them from my own abuser.

HOPE

I didn’t shrink this time. I won’t make it easy for him. The second he tried… I remembered who I am. I’m not a scared little girl anymore. I’m a scared adult, but an adult who can fight. He’s an off-balance drunk with a bad knee.

Someone could say that taking a beating is worse, but it means I chose what I was going to allow. I’d rather his fists branding themselves on me than the alternative. Taking a slow breath, I try to calm my shaking.

One of my eyes is sealed shut, puffy and sore thanks to Dad. My shoulder nearly feels like it’s been dislocated. The marks from his fingers on my arms burn and my legs hurt from his attempts to pry them apart. I’m sure he’s hurt too.

That’s the only thing keeping me going. I can hurt him now. I drove my foot into his bad knee after kicking and stomping on his thighs and he finally relented with a punch that nearly knocked me out. Nearly put me at his mercy, but failed.

He’s getting older and weaker. I’m getting stronger. My body might feel broken and exhausted, but he backed off.

I don’t know how much longer that will last though. I don’t know how long it will take him to come up with a punishment beyond denying me food and water. How long until he makes those rewards for doing exactly what he wants?

Those are thoughts for later. I rub my legs to try to warm myself up however I can. I have to hope that Knox, Dimitri, and Jaxon are as possessive as they say. I have hope that they have really switched from Dad’s side to mine. And I have to hope they can find me.

That feels stupid considering our past, but if they’re my anchor, if they’re the way out of this, then I have to cling to the semi-stupid dream of them storming in and getting me out.

Once they do, I can go back to the team.

I can talk to the guys who know me for me, who trust me, believe me.

I’ll escape everyone even if I have to leave this country, change my name, and start over from scratch.

Burying my face in my bruised knees, I think of all the places I’ve wanted to travel. I picture myself there, safe, alone, with someone who loves me. I’ll make new friends and make the life I want. I did it once. I’ll do it again and I won’t have to rely on anyone but myself.

Sleep teases my mind, but I’m afraid to sleep. I’m afraid he’s watching, that he’ll storm in the second I nod off and slip me something to knock me out so he can have what he wants. I can’t put a chair under my door. I have nowhere to hide.

I crawl to the corner, hissing as every bruise is irritated.

It’s not much warmer, but at least I can’t hear the whistling wind. At least I can make myself comfortable enough.

I hear my father shuffling in another room. His grunts and painful hisses draw my attention. He comes to my door, bangs on it once, and yells. “You don’t get to sleep! If you think you’re getting anything when you’re being a fucking brat…”

He doesn’t finish whatever threat is on his tongue. Instead, I hear him grunt and groan again. He’s already slurring his words. That means he’s close to passing out. Soon I won’t have to worry about his opinions or thoughts.

Plus, he has to take care of himself, right? He has to keep up some kind of ruse, which means that he has to leave some time. Then I can figure things out better. Maybe.

Who knows if I’ll get out of this room. There’s no window and the walls are strong enough that I can’t kick through them. So I’ll have to be smarter than my dad. He always called me manipulative, so I’ll have to figure out how to be exactly that.

I let my eyes close and savor the pain again.

Once I get out of here, I’ll never be hurt again.

I’ll make sure of it. Instead of making other people strong, I’ll do it for myself.

I’ll make myself something that men fear instead of want.

No one will touch me without permission. They’ll be too afraid.

A smile teases my lips at that.

Come get me, boys, I think. Celebrate thinking I’ll stay, relax, savor it, then I’ll disappear and this time no one will find me if I don’t want to be found.