He still hasn’t figured out who I am.
I guess that makes two of us, but at least I know what I’m capable of. I warned him, but he didn’t listen, so now I’ll make him hear.
Shuffling forward to the edge of the hayloft railing, I watch as he walks farther into the barn, waiting until he passes the farthest stall. Then I drop the handful of dirt right on the tarp, ducking backward before the spray of soil hits the plastic with a rustle-ping.
I’m already moving as he whirls toward the sound, crossing the loft as I search for something . . . anything . . .
There’s a broom. The bristles are rotted and the broom part’s just a stubby suggestion, but it’s a staff. Something to hit with. If I can daze him first, break it across his face or something, then maybe I can use the knife and run. Maybe he won’t follow this time. Maybe he won’t be able to if I yank the ladder down and trap him in the loft.
It’s an awful plan and it’s the only one I’ve got. My hand tightens around the broom handle as the ladder to the loft squeaks.
I hide as far back into the shadows I can, retreating from the sun spilling from the big window, but it’s not enough. His head crests the floor of the loft and he spots me immediately.
I wait until he’s stepped onto the hayloft floor, away from the ladder, and it’s a mistake, I realize it too late, because there’s not enough time to charge. I feint to the right, but he’s moving with so much purpose and that purpose is to hurt me enough to get me to finally break. Not just my bones. All of me.
Never going to happen.
Swinging the broom handle, I aim high, but he blocks it. The old wood snaps in half against his arm, and he howls because I got his elbow at least. I have just enough time to back up a few steps, out of snatching reach, and pull the knife out. I flick it open, putting it between us, and it’s déjà vu; here I am again, a girl and a blade and a bad man. It never seems to change, but I do.
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.