No need for my brothers to worry over me in addition to Mom.
“You’re cold,” he says with concern. “I couldn’t find you at first—what are you doing outside?”
“Just needed some privacy.”
“Shit. I’m going to get you out of here, Sky,” he promises, his tone ice with rage. “When I leave for college, you can live with me.”
We reach the back door, and Nick meets us as we step inside.
“Feel how cold her hand is,” Ben says to Nick. “How much longer is Mom going to look the other fucking way?”
“She’s got a plan,” I mumble, but I don’t know if they hear me. “She said ‘someday.’ It will be okay. Someday.”
* * *
“This article on increasing funding for the arts program is exactly what people need to hear.”
I beam as Mr. Colby looks up after reading my latest piece.
“I was worried the section on the funds was too detailed,” I say.
“Not at all. You need that part to really impart the seriousness of this issue.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“You’ve got a knack for this type of work, Skylar. I’m thinking you’d make a great contributing editor next year for the paper.”
I try not to squeal. “Editor? That would be incredible. I’d love the opportunity to try out.”
“I’ve got you on my short list.”
“Thank you, Mr. Colby.”
He takes off his reading glasses and cocks his head. “Skylar? Is there something you want to tell me?”
I widen my eyes and instantly cross my arms over my chest. “What do you mean?”
He steps closer and gently lifts my long hair back from where it’s been covering the left side of my face.
“How did you get this bruise? Did somebody hurt you?”
Every day.
Normally, the marks left by my father’s slaps disappear overnight. Almost like magic, the pain is no longer visible for anyone outside of our house to see.
But the slap he gave me yesterday came with a little extra sting. He always leads with his strong hand—his right. Yesterday, he was holding his beer in his right hand, and he hit with his left. His wedding band—fucking joke that it is—is a heavy platinum band. It left a mark, a black and blue bruise that my concealer and thick layer of foundation couldn’t cover.
So I wore my hair down, and no one noticed.
Until now.
I feel the anxiety rise inside me as my lungs constrict. Staring at my teacher, I try my best to stave off my panic attack.
“I have to go,” I say, turning on my heel. “I’m sorry.”
“Skylar.” His stern voice stops me from running. “What happened to your cheek?”
I spin around wildly, knowing I have to get out of here before I lose control.
