Page 1 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter One

Sunny

Twohundredandtwosteps.

That's how far I am from freedom. Or at least as close to it as I ever get—my spot under the old maple tree in the backyard.

Just keep moving. One foot in front of the other.

My body screams with each step, but I've gotten good at ignoring pain. Practice makes perfect, right?

When I finally ease myself down onto the grass, I close my eyes. The late afternoon sun paints the inside of my eyelids brilliant red, touched by the black shadows of leaves catching the wind. It's almost peaceful out here. Almost.

As soon as my head hits the grass, the tears start. They trail down my cheeks and pool in my ears before sliding out and soaking into the ground underneath me. I don't bother wiping them away. What's the point?

This soft patch of grass is as far from the house as I can manage or dare to go right now. I'm exhausted. Broken. Unfortunately, the thing I really want to get away from is myself–not exactly a distance problem.

A groan escapes from deep in my chest as my mind starts playing its favorite game of 'let's-see-how-much-more-she-can-take-today’. The movie projector in my head rewinds and whirs to life, replaying every single sickening moment of the last few hours on an endless loop. The shudder that rips through me lights up every bruised and aching part of my body, making me want to throw up.

Silently, I begin measuring and counting each breath.

One...

Steam curls around me as I rest my head against the shower wall. The hot water running down my back feels like heaven—a rare moment of peace with the house empty. Mom's at the club, Garrett's at his meeting. It feels good to be able to relax.

Exhale…

And, two...

My favorite purple towel is still warm from the steam when I wrap it around myself. The citrus lotion I bought with Mom's stolen change feels like a small, but delicious rebellion as I smooth it over my skin. Through the window, I can see that it promises to be a perfect afternoon. Perfect to sit under the tree and read a while—pretend for a few hours that it's normal for me and not a luxury.

Exhale…

And, three...

The front door slams open while I'm working on getting the comb through my damp curls. Something crashes downstairs followed by the distinct sound of glass shattering. My heart stutters, then races. It has to be Garrett. He's home early. Too early. My hands shake as I grab for my clothes, trying to move silently despite the panic rising in my throat. I manage to step into my underwear.'It's okay, it's going to be okay,' I whisper, even though I know it's a lie. It's as far from okay as it can be and I know it.

Exhale…

And, four...

The bathroom door bursts open—and I realize too late I forgot to lock it. Stupid. Garrett fills the frame, swaying, his bloodshot eyes crawling over my skin. The stench of whiskey and cigarettes erase the sweet citrusy clean smells of lotion and soap.

"Special surprise for you, Princess." His fingers dig into my wrist. "Been avoiding me, haven't you?" One twist forces my arm up behind my back until something pops in my shoulder. My fingers go numb and the towel falls.

Exhale…

And, five...

He marches me down the stairs and into the kitchen. The cracked, dirty linoleum smacking into my knees when he forces me down. "Look at me, girl," he slurs, pressing his boot under my chin. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I blink them back and swallow them down. He doesn't get those. They're mine.

The belt whips free with a harsh hiss—leather against denim. He folds it in half, testing it with a loud snap that makes me flinch.

Exhale…

And, six...

Step. Snap! Step. Snap! Each moment stretches out—pulled tight like a piece of string ready to break. When he stops in front of me, sweat beads on his forehead. The first strike is brutal—catching me across the top of my bare thighs without warning. I crush my lip between my teeth to stay silent. Through the pain, I see him tapping the belt against his leg, his other hand moving across the bulge in the front of his jeans—

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