I don’t put them in. Sparks of fear get the best of me as I imagine Conner turning back around, declaring he forgot to tell me something, or that I left something in the car.
I need to be on high alert, and if I see his car, hide before those headlights illuminate me.
When I get to the service station, I sigh with relief. There are no cars.
I enter the store, and James smiles tightly as I walk past him. Looking away from him, my smile falters, becoming short-lived at the blatantly obvious sign declaring it is out of stock.
My organs drop out of my body as I imagine every violent act known to man that Dad will subject me to when I come home with the brand of beer he doesn’t like.
14
SAVE ME
My breaths hitch louder,and choking gasps break out as I walk home. Snot drips down my trembling lips, and my tears spool down my cheeks. My eyes burn as if I have entered a furnace with my eyes wide open, letting the fire peel at the surrounding flesh.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
My legs weaken, and I land on my knees and sob into my hands while my body shakes uncontrollably. Salty tears drip onto the plastic bag.
Pull it together, Noya. Go home, place the bag on the table, and lock your fucking door. Don’t open it. Hide in the closet. Hide under the bed and stay there until the sun comes up. You can do this.
“I can’t,” I cry. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
“Noya?” My eyes widen, and I look to my left at Mrs Crawford standing on her porch. “Are you okay?”
Deep breaths. Pull yourself together and keep it in, okay?
I sniff, grab the bag, and rise. As she watches my pathetic attempt, I force a smile, only for my bottom lip to betray me. It trembles while the rest of my body musters the courage to head home.
“Mrs Crawford, I’m okay,” I lie.
Her eyes watch me like a hawk as I walk down the street and towards my home. Once I’m inside, I close and lock the door behind me.
Mum’s at the table, and I glare at her as I rest the bag on the table. She peeks inside, and her brown eyes widen. I wonder if she imagines what I’ve pictured the entire time I’ve walked home.
“He is going to kill me, isn’t he?” I whimper.
Mum doesn’t say a word. Instead, she slumps in her seat and buries her face in her hands, her shoulders quivering as she cries.
“Mum,” I say, my voice breaking. “Please say something. What should I do?”
She sniffs, and as she removes her hands from her face, she says, “Go to your room and lock your door.”
“He’s going to kill me.” I crouch beside the table, my hands gripping the wood tightly. “I got the wrong beer. It’s my fault.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, struggling to keep her tears at bay. “I’m sorry for everything.”
Sucking in my breath, I rise and glare deathly at her. “I hate you,” I seethe.
She lowers her focus, knowing that my words aren’t a bluff. They are a chant inside my head, on repeat as Dad beat me, and she didnothingto save me.
I enter my room and close the door without locking it. Instead, I reach into my schoolbag, take hold of the bills, and sit on my bed. I log into my internet banking, hoping the beatings won’t hurt if I pay some bills now.
I’ll even give Dad all of my money—my entire card if it prevents what I’m in for when he gets home.
I don’t want to be the trigger.
He’s always like this on Friday nights. They’re the worst nights of the week. Mum and I do everything we can to stay out of his way and give him everything he needs. She cooks him a nice homemade meal, and I set the beers on the table before I hide in my room and pray the storm doesn’t arrive.