Page 8 of Hurts So Good

“I know you’re a jerk!” She stomps back inside and slams the door.

A few seconds later, Mr. Rylee is yelling, “Who slammed the fucking door?”

Shit. I get to my feet and rush inside. If I don’t do something, Lakelynn will get hurt. I glance up the stairs as Mr. Rylee storms into the hall. Luckily, Lakelynn is nowhere in sight. She made it back to her room without being noticed.

“Was it you?” He points at me with his beer bottle.

“Who the hell else would it be?” I retort.

It’s not the first time I’ve taken the rap for Lakelynn, and it won’t be the last. Lakelynn is the only one to care for me, so I take care of her.

Even if that means taking a beating.

“You’re always causing problems. If it wasn’t for the money we got for you, we’d have thrown you out years ago,” Mr. Rylee rants.

He staggers, showing how drunk he is. He won’t remember any of this in the morning.

I roll my eyes and head back outside. “Fuck you.”

“Get back here, you little bastard!” He follows me, but stops at the porch steps while I keep going.

He’s too fucked up to chase me. I’ll come back after he passes out for the night. With everyone else already in their rooms, Mr. Rylee should leave them alone.

I walk around the neighborhood for a few hours, enjoying the quiet. There’s not enough of it at home. Guilt at upsetting Lakelynn eats at me. I need to apologize. While there’s not much that gets to me, hurting her does.

When I arrive back at the house, all the lights are off. Mrs. Rylee’s car is back in the driveway, signaling she’s home from work and in bed. She only works part-time at the hospital on the night shift. With all of us in the house, she doesn’t need much more money to live. Mr. Rylee’s drinking habit consumes most of their income.

Whimpering comes from the shed. I feel bad for whoever’s in there, but if I let them out, it will be worse. I creep inside the house and into Lakelynn’s room. She’s been roommate-less since Sierra turned seventeen and ran away almost a year ago. No one has seen her since.

I don’t blame her. Most of the teenagers escape when they find a chance. I didn’t because of Lakelynn. She wouldn’t leave. She still won’t leave. I have to find a way to convince her. The longer we stay, the more chances Mr. Rylee has to hurt her. We’ve been lucky so far, but I don’t like pushing it.

Streetlights pour in, eliminating Lakelynn’s bed. It’s empty. For a moment, all I can do is stand there, shocked. She’s never out of her room at this hour, except when she’s following me.

Fear I haven’t felt since I was little courses through my veins. Remembering the sounds in the shed, I bolt outside. She’s never been forced in there. Not once in two years. She’s the good girl, the boring one they don’t bother with.

I yank on the door. The lock on the outside rattles.

“Lakelynn?” I call.

Muffled sobs are my only response. Glancing around, I search for something to help me open the door. The neighbor’s utility truck catches my attention. I clamber through the truck bed until I find a crowbar.

Using the bent claw, I hook it onto the top of the lock and push up. It snaps apart. I unlatch the door and open it, flicking on the overhead light. Lakelynn cowers atop the makeshift bed. Tears stream down her face as tape covers her mouth. Her hands are cuffed to the metal bar of the cot. There’s blood on her nightgown from her busted lip and a bruise on her cheek.

My gaze travels downward. The hem of her dress is hiked up; more bruises cover her legs.

The dark red stain on the sheets tells me what I’ve been dreading all these years.

I’m going to kill him.

My grip tightens on the crowbar. Lakelynn tugs at her cuffed hands, making the metal rattle. Stepping closer, I pull the tape off her mouth as gently as I can. Her sobs get louder. My heart physically aches at the sound.

I caress her cheek. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, but I promise no one will ever hurt you again.”

She wordlessly responds with more tears. I kiss the top of her head. No one hurts what’s mine.

Grabbing the keys off one of the hooks, I release her from the cuffs. “Stay here and don’t come out, no matter what you hear.”

She nods, rubbing her wrists and hugging herself. My palm sweats, warming the cool metal of the crowbar. My hands shake as I leave the shed, but not from fear. All I feel is red-hot rage.

---