Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls #1)(93)

“Hamiltons are not quitters,” was her response.

I get through the day without incident. This doesn’t happen very often, but have no fear. My locker is jammed. By the time I hunt down the custodian to help me get it open, I’ve missed the bus. I have a choice: wait an hour for the late bus or walk home through the woods. At the most, the trek will take fifteen minutes, and the last thing I want to do is stay at school for another hour. This place is my prison. I just want to go home, but I’m not calling Mom or Dad. Besides, Mom’s job is the closest, and it would take her a half hour just to get here. She’d taken the morning off for the appointment with the psychiatrist.

My favorite hours are the ones between school and when my parents get home, before the questions about my day begin.

“What happened today?”

“Did you write it down?”

I’m supposed to keep a log of all the bullying, but I only put about half the incidents in the notebook. Writing it down is like living it all over again. Once is enough, you know?

I don’t want to lose my alone hours today. I shut my locker and sling my backpack over my shoulder. The winter air slaps my face as I head out the door. On the bright side, I avoided a nasty bus ride with lots of staring. Shivering, I cross the parking lot. The track team passes me, decked out in winter running tights and hats. And then I am alone.

I like being alone.

Once I cross the street and enter the woods, the trees protect me from the wind. This isn’t so bad. Maybe I should stop taking the bus home. Mom leaves first in the morning, and Dad has been driving me in on the sly. So walking home would completely eliminate the torturous bus ride.

Cheered, I speed up my pace. There’s a snowstorm forecast for next week, but today, the ground is clear, frozen like rock under my feet. A bird shoots out of the underbrush, startling me. I take a deep breath of pine-scented air and watch a rabbit dart across the trail. This is nice. For the first time since I started school here, I relax. I always considered myself a city girl, but maybe I could learn to be a nature lover. But my peace is short-lived.

They are waiting for me in a clearing. Regan, Autumn, and four other kids. Two of them are boys who want to get laid. They’ll do whatever the girls ask in exchange for blow jobs. Regan is famous in the junior class for giving head. I don’t understand how the teachers and administration can be so duped. I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t so terrified.

I know instantly that me missing the bus was no accident. I walk right into an ambush.

I’m almost home. I can see the bright spot ahead where the trail opens to the meadow behind my house. If I ran, I could be on my porch in five minutes.

My heart sprints, mimicking the way my feet want to run away. But my combat boots are frozen to the ground. The muscles of my legs feel weak. Sweat rolls down my back and soaks my waistband.

“Hey, look who it is,” Regan sneers.

I make my feet move, backing up to try and get away from them. Over their heads, I can see freedom. My escape is right there. I can see in her eyes she has something special planned. This is not like in school or at the arena. No security cameras in the woods. No adult within shouting distance. There’s no limit to what they can do to me out here.

As the possibilities roll through my head, I turn and break into a run. I get maybe three steps before one of the boys has me by the arm. He drags me back to the small clearing.

Liquid drips down my face. Tears or sweat. I can’t tell which, not even when it runs salty into my mouth. My body is shaking so hard, my molars chatter.

They surround me.

Regan leans in. “Are you scared?”

“She should be.” Autumn is grinning.

I rip my gaze off her face and look around.

They have a rope and a long log turned on its end. The rope is draped over a tree limb overhead. My brain goes blank as I realize the end is fashioned into a noose. Numbness washes over me.

The boys have my arms. I struggle, but they are much stronger than me. The only thing fighting does is hurt my shoulders. But I can barely feel my arms pulling in their sockets. Adrenaline sends my pulse skittering. Light-headed, I pant for air.

“Smile for the video.” Autumn steps in front of me. She holds a cell phone in front of her, steadying it with two hands, recording the event for posterity.

“I told you we’d be happy to help you commit suicide. The world will be a better place without ugly you in it.” Regan tosses the noose over my head.

Someone ties my hands behind my back. I’m lifted by my arms onto the upturned log. The leather soles of my boots find little purchase on its unsteady top. The rope is tightened until there’s no slack.

“Stand up, stupid.” Regan slaps my ass.

I straighten my legs and stand. Then I kick at her, my sudden motion breaking the boys’ holds. But I miss. My balance goes haywire. The log teeters. My vision goes red around the edges. My throat narrows until it feels like I’m breathing through a milk straw.

“Grab her.”

My boot connects with a head.

“Ow.”

I can’t stop kicking my feet. It’s like they aren’t connected to my body. Panic whirls in my head. My lungs burn. The rope isn’t tight enough to cut off my air, but I can hardly breathe. My bladder gives out. Warm wetness floods my legs, soaking my jeans with hot liquid.

“She pissed herself.” Autumn laughs. “Oh my God. This is even better than we expected.” I can see her in my peripheral vision. I watch, almost detached from my jerking and spasming body, as she circles around to film the incident from all angles.