Chapter 12

A MAN’S VOICE BOOMS through the air, and vibrates my bones: “Where are you, Scott?”

“I saw him leave the bar. I know he’s here,” another man says.

The floor is cold when I climb out of bed. At first I thought it was Daddy and his friends, but now I don’t think it is.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” the deepest voice yells, and there’s a massive crash.

“He isn’t here,” my mummy says as I reach the bottom of the stairs and can see everyone. My mum and four men.

“Ohhh, look what we have here,” the taller man says. “Who knew Scott had such a bangin’ wife.” He grabs my mum by the arm and pulls her off the couch.

She grabs at her shirt desperately. “Please . . . he isn’t here. If he owes you money, I’ll give you all I have. You can take anything in the house, the television maybe . . .”

But the man only sneers at her. “A television? I don’t want a damn television.”

I watch her struggle to shake free of him, almost like a fish I caught once. “I have some jewelry—not much, but please—”

“Shut the fuck up!” another man says and smacks her.

“Mum!” I yell and run into the living room.

“Hardin . . . go upstairs!” she shouts, but I’m not leaving my mummy with these bad men.

“Get out of here, you little shit,” one of them tells me, pushing me so I land hard on my butt. “See, bitch, the problem is that your husband did this,” he snarls, pointing to his head, where I see a massive gash across his bald scalp. “And since he isn’t here, the only thing we want is you.” He smiles, and she kicks her legs at him.

“Hardin, baby, go upstairs . . . Now!” she yells.

Wait, why is she mad at me?

“I think he wants to watch,” the injured man says and pushes her onto the couch.

I jolt awake and sit up.

Fuck.

They keep coming, every night worse than the last. I got so used to them not coming that I could sleep. Because of her, it was all because of her.

But here I am at four in the damn morning with bloody sheets from my busted knuckles and a killer headache from my nightmares.

I close my eyes and try to pretend she’s really here, and hope that sleep will come.

Chapter seven

TESSA

Tess, baby, wake up,” Hardin whispers as he touches his lips to the soft skin just under my ear. “You look so beautiful when you’re waking up.”

I smile, pulling him by his hair to meet my eyes. I brush my nose against his, and he chuckles.

“I love you,” he says and presses his lips to mine.

Only I can’t feel them. “Hardin?” I question. “Hardin?”

But he fades from my side—

I snap my eyes open and am thrown back into reality. The strange room is pitch black, and for a second I forget where I am. And then it comes to me: a motel room. Alone. I grab my phone off the bedside table and see it’s only 4 a.m. I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes and close my eyes to try to get back to Hardin, even if it’s only in a dream.

WHEN I FINALLY wake up again, it’s seven. I step into the shower and try to enjoy the hot water as it relaxes me. I blow-dry my hair and do my makeup; today is the first day I feel like looking decent. I need to get rid of this . . . mess that’s inside of me. Not knowing what else to do, I take a page from my mother’s book and paint a perfect face on in order to bury what’s inside.

When I’m finished, I look well rested somehow and actually really nice. I curl my hair and dig my white dress out of my bag, and cringe. Good thing this room has an iron. It’s cold, too cold for this dress, which doesn’t quite reach my knees, but I won’t be outside long. I choose some plain black flats and set them on the bed with the dress.

Before I get dressed, I repack my bags so they’re more orderly. I hope my mother calls with some good news about the dorms. If not, I’ll have to stay here until she does, which will drain what little money I have, and fast. Maybe I should just look into getting my own place. I might be able to afford something small close to Vance.

I open the door to find the snow mostly melted under the morning sun. Thank goodness. Just as I unlock my car door, Trevor walks out of his room two doors down from mine. He’s wearing a black suit and a green tie; he looks so put together.

“Good morning! I would’ve helped you get those, you know,” he says when he sees I’m carrying my bags.

Last night, after we ate pizza, we watched a little television and shared stories of college. He had a lot more stories than me since he’s already graduated, and while I really enjoyed hearing about what my college experience could have—and should have—been like, it made me a little sad, too. I shouldn’t have been going to parties with people like Hardin. I should have found myself a small but true group of friends. It would’ve been so different, so much better.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks and pulls a set of keys out of his pocket. With a click, the BMW engine starts. Of course, the BMW is his.

“Your car starts itself?” I laugh.

He holds up his key. “Well, this thing starts it.”

“Nice.” I smile a little sarcastically.

“Convenient,” he counters.

“Extravagant?”

“A little.” He laughs. “But still very convenient. You look lovely today, as usual.”

I put my bags in the back of my car. “Thank you, it’s freezing out,” I say and get into the driver’s seat.