“If you want out of there early, you know exactly what to do, Ashlyn.”
His slurred voice seeps under the gap between the door of the closet and the kitchen. My feet are firmly planted on either side of the frame, fingers gripping the smooth brass doorknob with all my weight. Neal continues to jiggle it every so often, not letting up.
Usually, he goes away. I hear some of the other girls give him what he wants. They even act as if they like it. Flirt with him and all that.
Not me. Fuck him.
If I grab that butcher’s knife on the block just outside this door, I can use it as a weapon. Maybe snag his lighter from his pocket and set him and this place on fire.
“You want another day in there? Because this is how you’ll get one.”
The sick joke is that when Aiden can’t break free to visit,Neal’s my only choice for company. He talks at me as if he’s my age. That’s probably the creepiest thing about him.
And when I told my mom and dad that he was the worst counselor, they said he’s the founder’s son. There wasno wayhe could be as bad as I hinted at.
“You’re just looking for another way out of here. But you can’t do that, firecracker. It’s either Crest, or juvenile detention. That’sjail.”
So I didn’t bother anymore.
Neal is feistier this year. Bolder in his assumptions about what I want and what experience I have.
I’m not from a broken home like most of these girls. My parents are wealthy. Good looking. Respectable members of their community. If I make a comment about abuse? No one believes me, saying I’m just overly dramatic. How could a rich girl with everything be traumatized?
And if I was, did it even count? Did it matter, when I had money, a family, and a future worth protecting more than me? I wasn’t a sob story.
Because rich girls aren’t supposed to hurt. Pain is supposed to bounce off money.
Eventually, I realized it wasn’t that they didn’t believe me.
They just didn’t care enough to do anything about it.
So now I’m stuck. Clinging to the doorknob to prevent myself from being molested by the big adult man on the other side.
“Fuck you! Go away!” I scream at the top of my lungs until my throat is raw.
But my body’s fear betrays me. My hands get slicker until I can’t hold on anymore.
Falling backward, I scramble into the corner as Neal flings the door wide open.
That’s when I spring. Nails first. Growling like a wildcat, I leap at his face, slashing, tearing, digging. One of his armsgathers my waist, and he curses at me, then throws me off him as I kick and spit and hit.
The moment I’m out, and he’s inside the closet, I slam the door on him and lock it, then sprint hard. Heart pounding against my ribs. Vision blurring. I make it through the side door and out into the woods. No shoes. Shorts. And it’s a chilly evening.
But I don’t stop.
Not until I trip over a large foot.
With the same fury, I unleash on the person in front of me. Wailing out sobs of terror and gripping skin, trying to dig in and make ithurt.
“Ssh! I got you. I’m here. Fuck! You’re like a fucking kitten from hell with those claws.”
Blinking back tears, I still tremble as Aiden throws me up against the wall behind the garden shed. The force yanks the air from my lungs.
And it’s comforting.
Not to have to breathe in Neal’s sweaty stench.
But my body still isn’t sure that it’s the boy I’ve gotten to know. He gathers my wrists and forces them above my head, his tall, lean figure pressing into mine.