Chapter 1.



He struck me hard across the face and my feet went out from under me. I could feel my heart beating in my ears, my eyes, as i slammed into the floor. He was breathing heavily above me, his hands clenched into fists. Empty beer cans littered the floor, the scratched and grimy futon lay upside down in the middle of the dirt covered room. My hand slowly moved up to cover the throbbing area on my cheek. It was numb. There was a cut on my lip from where his ring had hit, and a slowly forming bruise near my temple from smacking my head against the floor. My lungs felt like the were filled with lead as i laid there in a mixture of pain and fright.


“Get up.” He growled. I just sat there. His voice sounded fuzzy somehow, and my brain could not compute his order.


“Get the hell up!” He roared, grabbing me by my hair and pulling me into a standing position. I didn't yelp. I was used to the pain. He pushed me toward the kitchen where I collapsed into a chair. He grabbed something off the the dining room table and threw it into my lap. I caught it easily and squinted. My vision was still blurry from where he's smacked me, so it took me a while to register what i was holding. But my father is not a patient man.


“Are you freaking slow in the head!” He yelled. I realized what the papers were. My eyes widened and i couldn't open my mouth. “Why did i find bus stop locations, money, and maps to Boston in your bedroom!”


It was quiet. I cleared my throat slowly. “Why were you in my bedroom?”


This really ticked him off. He grabbed my chair and threw it back. Instead of hitting the floor, my back hit the corner of the table. I winced.


“Don't you dare be fresh with me you little s***! Where are you getting this money! And why the hell do you have maps to Boston! I swear if you think your gonna freaking leave me, you are dead wrong. I will lock you in your bedroom for a month straight if i have to!” A spit bubble formed at the corner of his mouth and a vain in his neck was pulsing.


I sat there in silence. I couldn't form a decent explanation. I had been planning my escape from this hell-hole, and he had found me out.


“God dammit answer me Rachael!” He shook me. My chair fell to the floor this time, with me in it. He grabbed me and ripped me back up, pushing me against the table. The flower pot fell over and crashed. Water, dead flowers, and glass shards scattered everywhere. My barefoot stepped into a shard and i jumped in pain. I slipped on the water and fell into more glass. It cut into my elbows and the palms of my hands. Instead of helping me up again, my father just stood there and stared. Then, he started laughing. He kicked the fallen chair at me and it bounced off my arm. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he started mumbling about how i was such a waste of his time, his money. That i was a waste of life. I put my hand on the table as support to lift myself off the floor, and as i did my fingers grazed the maps and money he had moronically left on the dining room table. I shoved them into the pockets of my stained, ripped Lee jeans.

If he thought i didn't have the guts to make my big escape, then he was the one that was about to become dead wrong. I had always been quiet and defenseless since my mother had died from ovarian cancer 2 years ago. But it was about to end. I couldn't live the way i had been since i was only 13 years old. Things were about to change. I limped my way upstairs to my closet of a bedroom. It wouldn't take long to pack the few belongings i had, but it also wouldn't take long for my father to realize that the money and maps were missing. I had to act quick.


I threw some food, water, and clothes into an extra large hefty bag. Then i grabbed a thick, wool winter coat and a blanket. I shimmied my way through my crawl space window, then jumped the 10 feet down to the icy dirt floor. The fall hurt my legs, but that was little compared to the hurt i knew i was going to feel not far into my future.