Page 23 of Older

Ladybug barked.

I collapsed the moment the door swung open, revealing my wide-eyed, gasping best friend.

“Mom!” Tara screamed over her shoulder before yanking open the screen door and wrapping her arms around me. “God, what the hell happened?”

I cushioned my splintered arm with the other as blood dribbled into my eyes. “He…hit me…”

“Shit, Hals.” Tara gaped with disbelief.

As I sobbed against her fuzzy blue sweater, snot bubbles and blood oozed through the fabric. I was mortified. Tara and her mom didn’t deserve this. They didn’t need the extra burden of me and my abusive home life landing on their doorstep.

And now Tara’s fuzzy sweater was ruined.

“Oh, my God.”

Sniffling, I lifted my head and my eyes met with Ms. Stephens’ horrified gaze.

“Halley…what…?” She shook her head back and forth, her long brown hair fluttering in the cold wind. “Get in the car. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No,” I croaked. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t fine.

My arm was broken. It probably needed pins to keep the bones in place.

Pain sliced up my forearm, all the way to my eyes, and I saw stars. My body trembled and swayed as Tara held me to her chest.

“Mom is right.” She stroked back my blood-crusted hair. “You need a doctor. And you’ll be staying with us for a while.” Glancing up at her mother, she confirmed, “Right, Mom?”

Ms. Stephens swallowed. “Did your father do this to you?”

I couldn’t hold back the lie any longer. I was confident they’d already suspected as much, thanks to all my mysterious bruises. “Yes. He’s a monster and I never want to go back there.”

Her expression hardened. “That son of a bitch. I’m calling the police.”

“No, please. He’ll take it out on me.” Panic inched its way through me, lacing my plea. If the cops got involved, my father would come for me. He’d find me and end it, once and for all.

I wasn’t actually ready to die. Hope still lingered.

“Halley, listen to me.” Tara’s mother fell to her knees beside me and placed a loving hand on my shoulder. “I’m getting you out of there. I’m not letting you step foot inside that house again if I have any say in the matter. Look at what he’s done to you, sweetie.”

There were tears in her eyes.

And an awful, twisted part of me relished the sight of them.

She cares.

She cared about me, and that was a good feeling. Almost good enough to overpower the slices of pain shooting through my shipwrecked body.

I let them take me to the hospital.

I didn’t need pins, but I did get a hot-pink cast that Tara quickly signed with her name ringed in doodle hearts.

My mother dragged herself into the hospital room a few hours later, her face gaunt and chalklike and her eyes gleaming with alcohol glaze. She’d given the receptionist my medical card then landed at my bedside, unable to make direct eye contact.

“Mom.” My eyes begged for her to see me. To really see me.

I loved her so much.

---