My foot catches on an exposed tree root, and I let gravity take hold. My muscles don’t have the energy to break my fall or make any attempt to stay upright, barely registering the pain from the distorted surface against my back. All I do is lie there, feeling the cold breeze bite my skin as I get lost in the blanket of stars above.
It looks so peaceful up there. Calm. I wonder what would happen if I became one with the stars. Would it be serene, or would life be like it is down here? Would I still be an inferno of rage condensed into one body, moving through space because there’s no other choice? Will people call me pretty from a distance, but turn their eyes away the closer they get?
Hot to the touch. Able to destroy. More terrifying with each piece of knowledge acquired.
But still,pretty. Just from over there. Like a star.
Hidden away to only come out at night, when the sky is clear and the clouds pushed away. And only if the smoke from the city doesn’t choke the heavens, turning the stars into a dwindling speck of dust, barely visible to the naked eye.
Kohen calls me a fighter. But if this is what fighting means, I don’t know how much more fight I have in me.
He calls me fiery and beautiful and wild. I don’t feel like any of those things. I want to line up white powder and forget the world exists after a couple inhales. I want to close my eyes and hope that I don’t wake up so I won’t have to live with pain anymore. I want to curl up and wither away to become one with the earth; maybe thenI’ll do something good for once in my life.
But I don’t want to be good. I don’t want to feel weak anymore.
Staying here means that my grandfather wins. It means that every person who ever saw me as lesser becomes right.
I’m compulsive. Unhinged. The epitome of self-destruction.
I’ve killed. Maimed. Drank until I choked on my vomit. Got so high I tore skin from scratching so hard.
I’ve been starved. Left for dead. Tortured. Locked up. Beaten.
My mother neglected me. My father didn’t care what his fucked-up friends did around me. My grandfather keeps a noose around my neck like a collar.
They don’t get to fucking win.
They don’t get to dance on my grave or spill cheap wine over my fallen corpse.
Another shiver runs down my spine from the biting cold. A whimper falls from my lips as I drag myself back onto my feet and limp in the direction of the road. I can barely peel my eyelids back open every time I blink. It doesn’t help that my mouth is dry, and my stomach turns in need of food.
Only a couple more miles. I try to hype myself up, even though I know it’s a lie. After over six hours of walking, I’m no longer confident I’m heading in the right direction. Left and right, north and south, blur together into one direction.
Even though there are a few roads leading to and from Seraphic Hills, I’ve been avoiding the main streets to stay hidden within the safety of the forest in case my grandfather drives past. Kohen choseTornne Motor Innas our backup rendezvous point if Tony let me down, because it’s just off one of the main roads and looks like the least likely spot where… where I might feel tempted to consumethings I shouldn’t. And I’ve been really fucking tempted lately.
Kohen never said as much, but I think part of the reason he’s kept me entertained at night was so I wouldn’t succumb to the urge to sneak out to the church. Each time I’d start walking in its direction, he’d be there to steer me back on my path with three words:Jonathan will win.
So I’ve stayed sober. Four weeks now. No alcohol. No drugs. Nothing stronger than the recommended dose of Panadol and ibuprofen.
But there’s still a voice in my head saying that one bump won’t hurt. Just a single one, and everything will get better.
It won’t. I know it won’t. None of this shit will fix itself unless I do something about it. I just wish it were easier.
I shiver again as I double-check that I can still see the road. Kohen made me memorize the route in case Tony bailed. Had there been a car waiting for me in front of McGill’s house, I’d be heading a hundred miles from Seraphic Hills with no chance of being found. Instead, I’m limping through the forest with a broken knuckle.
Another hour passes before I spot an old building up ahead, a neon sign blinking on and off. Even if it isn’t the right motel, I will crash there for the night. There’s no way my feet will take me any further than they already have. My heart pumps faster the closer I get to the building, and soon the wordsTornne Motor Innclears, and I find myself running the last leg.
It’s a sleepy-looking building, with flowerpots and rose bushes all around the single-story blocks. None of the motel rooms look like they hold any sign of life. There’s a single bug-shaped car and a truck at the back of the property, right in front of the house with the gnomes, flowerbeds, vegetable garden, and a sign that readsReception.
I rub the soot off my face and hands with the inside of my hoodie in the hopes I’ll appear semi-presentable. I can’t imagine what I must look like, covered in dirt and dried blood. If they turn me away, then… No, they can’t turn me away.
I’ll sleep outside if I have to. I’ll drink from the fucking garden hose. I just need something. Anything.
The house seems still; there’s no sound or light except for the buzzing lamp above the porch. My legs wobble as I climb up the two steps and press the buzzer on the door. It must be late. They might not even wake up. I’m tempted to push it again, but the fear of rejection stops me. What if they do wake up and kick me out? What if they call the police or tell the school that someone escaped? What if my grandfather had warned them I was coming and told them to contact him the second I arrived? What if—
I hold my breath when the door opens to reveal a woman with deep cobwebs indented into her skin, wearing a floral nightgown wrapped tightly around her middle. She pushes her glasses up her nose then looks down at me with a scrutinizing stare.
“Evening,” I croak and force a smile on my face because if I don’t, I might collapse.Please, let me stay the night.Just one.“S-sorry to wake you. Is there a room booked for Bethany Milroy? I’m meeting my boyfriend here.” At the woman’s skeptical look, I add, “My car broke down, and my phone is dead.”
