Life was hard being the daughter of Allan Strong. Esquire.Heaven forbid I leave that part out. And it was even harder being the daughter of the woman who’d left him. My father had lorded his influence over my mom for years, threatened her with bitter consequences if she so much as got a pedicure without his approval. As a child, I was an eternal optimist with stars in my eyes. I absolutely believed in the fairytale, the knight in shining armor who would ride to our rescue and slay the dragon. That’s not what happened, though.
On my eighth birthday, we had a party. Not for my birthday, but for Labor Day. My father liked to entertain his colleagues and his clients. There were so many people at our house and lots of food. Typically, I’d spend these parties alone in my room with a good book, my music, and my imagination. But I’d spent a good portion of the day outside with the other kids. On my way back inside, I’d stumbled on my mother talking in hushed tones to a man I hadn’t seen before. Staying in a kid’s place was something that had been drilled in my brain. I attempted to give them privacy but tripped over a basket of clothes on my way to my bedroom.
When she heard the commotion, she glanced over at me and smiled. At the time, my mother’s smile was everything to me. This particular night, her golden skin seemed to glow under the dim light of the hallway. Even her white dress gave her an angelic appearance. Instead of chastising me, she’d held her finger up to her mouth, signaling that I needed to be quiet. Then, she told me to pack my bag because we were going on an adventure. Like the dutiful child I was, I completed my task and waited. And waited. I fell asleep atop of my suitcase and awoke to the sound of broken glass and my father’s booming voice calling me downstairs. My world shattered when he informed me that my mother had taken my sister and left.
Time had done nothing to dull the ache I felt when I thought about that day. As a result, I avoided birthday celebrations. I didn’t care to go outside on Labor Day. I definitely hated the idea of a barbecue with my father’s colleagues, but he’d dragged me out to yet another gathering. Even though I’d begged him to let me go up north with my best friend, Dallas, and her family. Putting on a fake smile to people who hated my mother and only tolerated me wasn’t my idea of a good time.
“I told you to play nice with my boss,” my father grumbled. “That dour expression on your face did me no favors.”
I glanced at him, noted his tight grip on the steering wheel. While my father had never punched me, I often wondered if one day he would. Ignoring him, I turned my attention to the scenery.
“Always embarrassing me,” he spat, disgust in his tone. “You’re useless. Just like your mother.”
“I’m nothing like her,” I murmured. That ethereal image of her six years ago had faded with the memory of her voice. In its place was resentment. Some days, I hated her. Mostly, I just didn’t care.At least, that’s what I told myself.
“I can’t tell,” he sneered, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye. “You’re selfish, entitled, undisciplined, and disobedient.”
“I’m not,” I argued. “I told you I didn’t want to go.”
“What you want doesn’t matter to me,” he said through clenched teeth. “It never did.”
I hate you. I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs, but it would do nothing but make everything worse. Tears burned my eyes, and I swallowed past a hard lump in my throat. Praying had never really helped.Is God even here? Where was my deliverance? All those fairytales my mother read to me… Where was my happy ending? There was no horse drawn carriage waiting to whisk me away, no glass slippers that magically transformed me into a beautiful princess. There wasn’t even a poisonous needle, or an apple, to put me out of my misery.
My father muttered a curse. “Now you’re crying. Useless.”
My vision blurred as he sped down US-23 toward Ann Arbor. “If you hate me so much, why didn’t you let me go with Mom?”
“I’ve been shielding you from the reality long enough. You’re old enough to know the truth now, Demita,” he told me, almost gleefully. “Your mother didn’t want you to go with her.”
My stomach dropped and a chill shot through my body. “What truth?” I asked. “That you made her life so miserable that she left her own child to get away from you?”
The sting of his hand across my cheek took my breath away. My hand flew to my face, shielding it from him. But he didn’t hit me again. At least not physically.
My father snickered. “Telling you to pack that suitcase was her way of keeping you preoccupied while she took my shit and left. When she filed for divorce, she was very clear.” He launched into the details of the proceedings, even giving me a quick summary of the court-ordered alimony. “Your mother gave me full legal and physical custody and requested no parenting time.”
To some teenagers, legal speak would probably go over their head. Since my father made his living as a divorce attorney, I knew exactly what he meant. Before today, I understood that my father was an abusive, cruel asshole. Now, I understood that my mother was a selfish, weak bitch.
Lightning cracked the sky ahead and the loud clap of thunder followed as the storm intensified. I turned away from him and wrapped my arms around myself. The tears finally fell then, but I wouldn’t give my father the satisfaction of seeing them. I blocked out the music, the insults, and him to concentrate on a survival plan. Four more years of living under his roof. Four more years of pain. Four. More. Years.I can’t do it.
Several minutes later, my father pulled over to get gas. I scanned the area. The gas station was less than a mile away from Dallas’ house. I knew this because we’d walked there several times. I peered up at the sky. The rain was coming down hard and fast now. I could barely see the traffic light on the corner. But I did see the faint green circle. The sign was clear.Run.
Sucking in a deep breath, I opened the car door.
My father glared at me. “Get back in the car.”
“I have to use the restroom,” I lied. I ran into the small store and hurried to the bathroom. The torrential downpour was evident even from inside the small stall and I started to rethink my plan. The Youngs were on vacation and the house was probably locked up. Although they lived close, their massive property was hidden behind a wall of trees at the end of a private, dirt road. I remembered where Dallas said they kept the spare key, but…What if they moved it? Biting down on my thumbnail, I struggled to think of another option. It was either now or never.
“God, I know you probably won’t even hear me,” I cried. “But please help me.”
I blew my nose, washed my hands, and stuffed my palms into my pockets. I made my way to the door. My father was now seated inside the car, so I bolted out of the store and ran. By the time I made it to the dirt road, I was out of breath but determined to get there. I jogged a few steps and fell face first when the strap of my flip flop broke. I lay there for a moment before pushing myself to my feet. I walked the rest of the way, shivering from the nonstop rain and the slight drop in temperature.
The moment I caught a glimpse of the house, I sobbed. Because there were lights on. Someone was home. I made it all the way to the paved driveway and then stepped on something sharp, crying out as pain shot up my left leg. Bending down, I checked the bottom of my foot for metal. My eyes zeroed in on a nail lying on the ground and I cursed it to hell. But I kept walking.
Finally, I made it to the door and pressed the doorbell. A moment later, no one had opened the door, so I raised my hand to knock. With all of my remaining strength, I used my fist to pound on the wood.
Seconds later, Dallas’ brother, Tristan, opened the door. He frowned. “Demi?”
“I ran away,” I offered. “Can I come in?”
