Shelly laughed as two girls appeared at her side and joined in.

“You know…” She placed her hands on the table and leaned in closer to me. “You could spare us all and just kill yourself. It’s not like anyone wants you here.”

“Her own stupid mom doesn’t even want her,” Keri added, and I felt like I was going to be physically ill.

I looked to the boy who sat in front of me. He was eating his food as if he were oblivious to the torture I was enduring. Even he knew I wasn’t worth standing up for.

“Maybe I’ll do that.” I grabbed my tray and hurried to the trashcans by the door, where I dumped my food and dashed into the hall. My feet picked up pace when I was out of sight from the bullies, and I ran toward the emergency exit at the end of the hall, desperate to get outside before I began to sob.

It took only another ten minutes to reach my apartment, and I was thankful Abel’s car wasn’t out front. I stomped up the steps and into my room, anger flowing from every pore. I wanted to break something; I wanted to show everyone I wasn’t a f**king kid, but I barely owned anything, and what little I did I couldn’t part with. My phone rang again, and I answered it, ready to snap.

“What?” I yelled, as I slammed my bedroom door behind me and paced toward the living room.

“Are you home?” Abel sounded just as angry.

“Fuck you.” I hung up, and the rang again before I could slip it into my pocket.

“Are. You. Home?” He paused between each word, and I knew he was trying to keep his cool.

“Oh, you want to come save me now? Is this the game you’re playing? You can’t be both the hero and the villain.”

“Unlock the door.”

I glanced toward the front door, and my heart jumped in my chest. I knew I should run up to it and turn the deadbolt, but my feet didn’t move. “It’s unlocked.”

The line went dead, and a few moments later, Abel walked through and straight down the hallway toward me.

“What are you trying to prove?” I asked him. “I’m not as cool as you? I’m not as pretty as Trish? I f**king get it. I get it. You can stop now.”

He stepped right in front of me, and I had to bend my neck to look up at him. “You want to get raped at a f**king party to prove you’re popular?”

“You had no right to talk to me that way. What I do is none of your f**king business!” I poked my finger into his chest, and he wrapped his hand around my wrist, jerking it away to stop me.

“Is it Brock’s business? Were you thinking about him at all while you were busy trying to become a statistic?” His grip on my wrist tightened.

“What the f**k do you care?”

“I don’t give a shit about your stupid little boyfriend who won’t even get on a f**king plane to come see you. I don’t want you to get hurt just because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, Abel. That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t give a f**k about you.” I pushed against him with my other hand, and he stood there, unmoving.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” I pushed again, and he took a step forward.

“You didn’t give a f**k when I held you all night and you cried over Brock?” His voice was quiet and almost sweet. Almost.

“No.” I glared at him as I shoved. He took another step forward, and I stepped back again, my body pressed against the wall.

“Not when we were on the couch together, Kettle?” His nose skimmed along my cheek as he inhaled.

“Shut up.”

He grabbed my other wrist from his chest and held my hands beside me as he took one last step, his body flush against mine. “You don’t feel anything?” he asked, his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. Our breathing was out of control from the anger and sexual tension that swirled in the air. “What about…” His lips moved to my ear. “…when I f**ked your only friend in the room right next to you? What did you feel then?”

“I hate you.” I used my body to push him away from me, and he stepped back with a light, sardonic laugh. I ran to my bedroom and slammed the door closed as I broke down, finally unable to hold back everything I’d been feeling since the day I’d lost Brock.

“Good. I’ll stop wasting my f**king time,” he yelled, as the front door slammed behind him.

Chapter Thirteen

Running

It didn’t escape me that Trish never bothered to come see if I was OK. It wasn’t something I’d ever expect of her, but on top of the pain that settled in my chest, it made it impossible to breathe.

I began to gather my things, throwing them haphazardly around the room through blurred vision. I wouldn’t be here when she finally showed up, and I damn sure didn’t want to face Abel again.

I shoved a few outfits into an old suitcase and made my way down the flight of steps on shaky legs. As I reached the curb, I pulled out my cell phone and called Uncle Greg. It took a few tries, but he finally answered.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice laced with sleep and concern. He coughed and wheezed as I waited patiently to respond.

“Nothing. I just need to get away for a few days.”

He cleared his throat. “What about school?”

“I can drive one of your cars there.”

He sighed loudly. “Why don’t you use some of that money to get yourself something dependable? There’s more than enough.”

“I will. I just…Can I come for a few days?” I didn’t want to think about the money Greg had given me when I moved out here. He already had done too much to help me.

“I’ll leave the light on. Delilah, you know you never have to ask. This is your home now too.”

“It’s just for a little while.” I hung up the phone and hailed a cab to take me to my uncle’s place. It was larger than any one person could ever need. He had told me I was welcome to stay with him until I graduated from college, but I wanted to be on my own, away from anything connected to my past.

I slipped inside the front door of the massive two‐story house, careful not to wake him as he snored on the recliner in front of the television, and made my way to my room. The house had minimal decorations, because Uncle Greg was a perpetual bachelor and thought knickknacks and paintings were clutter. My room was just at the top of the stairs, and I sighed as I pushed open the door. I didn’t bother turning on the light because the moon shone brightly through the double doors that led to my balcony. Boxes of memories I had no intention of ever revisiting lined the left wall, but my uncle refused to throw them away. He insisted that one day I would regret tossing it all away, but all they did was remind me of the painful events that had brought me here. Still it warmed my heart that he had gone through the trouble of having my things sent here. It was nice to have someone who cared about my life.

I fell onto my California‐king‐size bed and stared at the ceiling fan until my heart rate slowed enough to allow me to get some rest.

“What do you think you’re doing?” My mom had her hands on her hips as she stood at my bedroom door. Her hair was dark like mine, but she rarely wore it down or took the time to make herself look presentable anymore. Although she was younger than the other moms, her skin was beginning to wrinkle from her two‐pack‐a‐day smoking habit. A cigarette dangled between her lips at this moment, and smoke drifted into my bedroom.

“I can’t stay here anymore.” I turned back to my bed, where I had gathered a few items and was shoving them into a tote bag.

“You runaway again, you can bet your ass you’re going right back to that shelter.”

My heart raced at the thought of going back to Brock, but I knew he’d be out any day now, and I’d just be alone again.

“No one wants me here. Not even you. What’s the point of forcing me to stay here and suffer?” I used the sleeve of my hoodie to wipe my tears as I continued to shove clothing into my bag.

“Who do you think you are, smartin’ off to me like that, girl? You got a lot of nerve.”

I turned around, and my mother was pointing at me with the two fingers that held her cigarette, her eyes narrowed in anger. “I don’t think I’m anyone, Mom. That’s the point. I’m a nobody. I just want to leave.” I was practically hysterical and couldn’t take much more of this. Any of it. Shelly was right; I should just end my suffering now.

“The seed of sin. Nothing good can come from that.”

I fell onto my bed, my legs unable to support me under the weight of her words. I covered my face with my hands as sobs racked my body.

“Why can’t you just love me? What did I ever do to you?” I knew better than to try to have any kind of meaningful conversation with my mom. I saw the nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the kitchen table. But I needed her now, and I was desperate.

“You were born.” Her voice was cold, and there was no emotion in her words. She simply closed my door, and I was left alone with my pain.

I had hit a wall in my life, and at only seventeen years old, I didn’t see any point in looking forward to tomorrow. I cried until the tears stopped coming, until my thoughts were a jumbled mess of sadness and regrets.

A knock came at my door, and I didn’t bother to respond. After another knock, my mom opened it, not bothering with an invitation.

“You have a phone call.”

I looked at her with confusion. No one ever called me. No one even had my number except…I jumped from my bed and shoved by her in the narrow doorway. I grabbed the phone from the kitchen counter, my lower lipped pulled between my teeth as I held the receiver midair, scared to find out who was on the other end. I couldn’t handle anymore disappointment.

“This is the first and last time a boy calls this house, you hear me? Last thing we need is another unwanted kid around here,” she slurred, and my heart was in my throat as I pulled the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I asked, and a breathy sigh came through the other end.

“I’ve missed your voice, Bird.”

“Brock? Where are you? Are you out?” I looked around the room as if he’d suddenly manifest in the kitchen.

“Yeah. My mom picked me up this morning. I’ve been dying to call you for hours. I miss you.”

“I miss you so much. You have no idea.” I squeezed my eyes closed as I forced back the sadness that had plagued me all day. I twisted the phone cord around my fingers.

“I need to see you, Bird. I can’t take being out without you.”

“Same here, but my mom would flip if she found out I was gone.” I glanced behind me to make sure she wasn’t listening. When I was certain she had retreated to her bedroom, I couldn’t help smile.

“I have to see you tonight,” Brock said.

I ran my hand through my hair, knowing I should say no, but I couldn’t. “OK.”

“Where?”

“How far are you from the Piggly Wiggly?” I glanced over my shoulder again, but I was in no danger of my mother coming back out tonight. She was probably out cold.

He laughed. “That grocery store?”

“Don’t make fun of the pig, city boy.”

“I can be there in ten minutes. My parents went to bed an hour ago.”

“I’ll ride my bike over. Meet me where they keep the extra buggies off to the side.”

“Bird, you’re killing me. What the hell is a buggy?”

“The shopping carts.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s like you’re speaking a whole different language down here.” He laughed into the phone, and I pictured him shaking his head.

“You can pick on me once we’re together,” I told him. “I’m gonna leave now.”

“See you there.”

I hung up the phone and hurried into my bedroom to grab my sneakers. Then I slid out the door, putting them on at the top of the steps before making my way out of the apartment building. My bike was leaning against a wall, and I pushed up the kickstand, hopping on as I pushed the bike forward, anxious to get to Brock.

My feet couldn’t pedal fast enough, and even though the store was right down the road, it felt like a million miles stood between us. The parking lot was empty; I was glad I wouldn’t have to worry about running into anyone from school.

I leaned my bike against the building and looked around for Brock. Only a couple of minutes passed before I saw him walk across the parking lot in his anarchy shirt and dark jeans. I couldn’t help laugh out of sheer happiness when he picked up his pace, and soon his arms were wrapped around me as he squeezed me painfully tight. Gone was the nasty soap smell from the shelter. I inhaled deeply, breathing in Curve Chill cologne and a wintergreen scent.

“Jesus, Bird. I’ve missed you so much. These last few weeks were hell.” He pulled back to look at me. Suddenly his smile faded, and his eyebrows pulled together.

“What?” I asked, as his hands went to my cheeks.

“What happened? Why were you crying?”

“I wasn’t. I’m fine.” I was in such a hurry to meet him that I didn’t even glance in a mirror. My eyes were probably puffy, and no doubt my skin was pink from all the tears I’d cried. I tried to look away, but he held me still.

“Don’t do that. You can tell me what’s wrong.” His thumbs slid over my cheeks softly as his eyes searched mine.

“Things at school have gotten worse. It’s fine. I’m fine now. It was just a bad day.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I will…I promise. But can’t we just be happy that we’re finally together?”