The Girls I've Been(74)

I take two steps to the right. If I can just get to the ladder . . .

But he lunges and I slash out, not instinctual; practiced. You have to put your weight into it, using a knife. You have to be strong. And quick. I’m not right now. The knife catches messily against his forearm, jagged and long, not deep. He yelps, batting my arm away so hard the knife goes clattering. He closes his hand over his bleeding arm, hissing between his teeth, and the knife’s too far away and this may be my only chance, this little window of pain I’ve caused, so I bolt.

I’m halfway down the ladder when he grabs it, jerking it forward so it flings me backward like an old-fashioned flip toy. I have one second to decide: head or back, head or back, and then I tuck my knees up and try to twist in the air as my hands come up to shield my skull. The road rash from my jump out of the car slows my reaction time, and I slam awkwardly into the barn floor with a horrible crunch, but my head doesn’t smack, thank God. Then it radiates down, the shock of the impact, catching up to my brain and heart, and then I’m sucking in air that’s not there anymore as my entire body seizes against the pain.

My lungs shudder, and for a second I’m not sure if it’s because the fall knocked the wind out of me or there’s a rib sticking through my lung or something. It certainly feels like the last thing, not the first one. I’m afraid to move, not just because it’ll hurt, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to. I stare at the barn ceiling, blinking slowly. I know I need to get up. He’s going to come down from the loft now. He’ll hurt me.

I can’t move. I can’t even focus. My fractured mind’s skimming over memories like a mosquito hawk across a puddle.

Wes and a bully’s black eye and my fist; the day we met, that was a good punch; his hand on my arm . . . the first time in forever I hadn’t flinched.

Iris and gold swirls on her skirt; her twirl on the sidewalk, they don’t make clothes like this anymore, Nora . . . her smile catching mine, lighting up my entire world.

Lee. Her hair honey blond instead of deep brown. Bending down to meet the same blue eyes. A smile too sad at the edges. I’m your sister.

Lee. A scrap of paper. A scribbled number. A hand held out. You can always use it.

Lee. A code word. A promise whispered. A truth acknowledged. Mom won’t have your back.

Lee. Late night. Scared girl. Bloody sand. I’m on my way.

Lee. Lee. Lee.

She’s like a heartbeat inside me, my sister. The person who taught me what strong was.

What free looked like.

She saved me before. I’m not sure she can pull it off this time. I don’t think I can, either.

But I gotta try.

I wiggle my toes. Then I turn my ankles. Good start.

Thunk, thunk, thunk. He’s coming down the ladder.

It’s time to get up.

Time to make her proud.





— 60 —


    Raymond: How I Did It (In Four Acts)



Act 4: Run

It’s still dark inside when I get back to the house. I don’t flip on the lights. I’ve already done the hard part, so I just go upstairs to his safe and get what I need to earn my freedom.

I put them on ice when I’m done with them. I don’t know why in the moment. But I’ll spend hours thinking about it later. I wish I could say it was a fuck you to him, because of his favorite drinking story. But the truth is, it’s plain shock and horror and gore running through me and all over me.

It’s because I’m scared of what he might do to me if he comes back and they’re gone for good.

Even after all of it, I operate like he’s going to step through the back door and grab my arm with his good hand.

So I put them on ice because I’m scared, still, and then I go into his office, because I can’t be scared still. I have to keep moving. She’s on the ground. Right where he left her.

“Mom, come on, get up.”

She bats my hands away. Her skinned knees have made little full moons of blood on the carpet.

She’s in my way. I only have so much time.

“Where is he?” And she’s not asking because she’s scared, but because she wants him. She wants to be comforted by him after he does this to her. I will never understand it. I will always hate it.

But I guess I’m done with it now.

“Come on.” I pull her up, gentle as I can, and I get her upstairs to bed. She asks again where he is.

I don’t answer.

Leaving her should be hard.

But it’s not.

I walk downstairs, and it’s like a dream. I have only so much time. His office is dark, and I leave it that way as I set the hard drives I took from his bedroom safe on his desk. I pull out the burner phone and dial her number as I plug in the first drive to his computer and turn it on.

It rings twice. Her voice crackles in my ear. “Hello?”

Say it. Do it. You have to.

“Olive.”

My sister’s breath hitches. “I’m on my way.”

I don’t say goodbye. I hang up like she told me to.

There’s only so much time.

I check each drive—the four big ones are password-encrypted. But when I plug in the thumb drive I almost missed, tucked in the back of the safe, lines of code appear across the screen. When the code finally stops scrolling, a red cursor blinks. I’m supposed to enter something.