When Tomorrow Starts Without me

by Stacy Claflin

  Why did they have to die? Couldn't they have found someone better to leave me with?

  Dad turns to me. "Trash day is Tuesday."

  "What?"

  "You better get your stuff now. Anything left is getting tossed."

  "Oh." Things seem so unimportant all of a sudden.

  I stare at the show, which turns over to a commercial. A pretty woman talks about an expensive fashion line.

  Dad swears.

  "What?" I turn to him.

  His face is pale, and he turns off the TV.

  I whip my attention to the now black screen. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing!"

  "But you never turn off the—"

  "Go to your room and pack your things!" He releases a string of profanities. "Or I'll burn them all right now. Go!"

  "I'm not done asking you questions."

  He jumps to his feet. "Well, I'm done talking about this. Pack your stuff or start paying rent if you're going to stay. You're eighteen and graduated. No more free ride."

  "Free ride?" I shout. "You've been living off my parents' life insurance policy!"

  "Get the hell out of my house! I don't ever want to see you again."

  Tears sting my eyes, but there's no way he'll ever see them. I storm down the hall to my room. Thankfully, he doesn't follow me. I'm not going to be able to hold back the tears.

  I slam the door and find the two bags I own and throw them on the bed. I dump out what school papers remain in the backpack they forced me to use. Nobody carries backpacks, and I received no end of mean comments from it at school, but it was only a distraction from my poor-fitting, out-of-style clothes.

  Tears blur my vision. I blink them onto my face and go through my things—not that I have much. My clothes aren't worth saving since Sutton offered me hers, but I pack a few favorite items. Then I tuck my jewelry into the pants' pockets.

  Footsteps sound in the hall. I grab whatever else I think I might want and shove them into the duffel bag.

  The door opens without a knock.

  It's Theo.

  Kenna

  My heart jumps into my throat. It sticks there. I can't breathe.

  Theo licks his lips. "Looky what we have here. Just couldn't stay away from me, could you?"

  "I'm leaving."

  He flicks his head, moving his signature too-long blond bangs out of his eyes. "Not so fast."

  I zip the duffel bag and glance around for anything that could be used as a weapon. "I have a ride outside."

  "Invite them in. They can watch."

  My stomach twists again. Maybe if I vomit on him, he'll leave me alone. "Move. I need to get by."

  Theo presses his palms against either side of the doorframe.

  I glance at the window. It's been nailed shut for years. Ever since Theo convinced Dad—I mean Merle—that I could sneak out at night. Really, he just wanted to make sure I couldn't get away from him. I'm pretty sure Dad knows that too.

  "I'll scream."

  "Who's going to help you? Dad?" Theo laughs. "You know he'll just tell you to shut up. As long as we don't disrupt his show, he doesn't care what we do."

  My stomach churns acid. Theo's right. And even if I do yell, Rogan will never hear me across the street.

  "Take off your shirt." My stepbrother unbuttons his shorts.

  My pulse races so fast, it pounds in my ears.

  "I'm waiting." He unzips.

  I swallow air. There has to be a way out of the room. I'm not going to be his victim again.

  Those days are over.

  He tilts his head. "Is that shirt new? I've never seen you in anything that looks like it just came from the store."

  I bring my hands to the bottom of the shirt. "Come to the bed."

  Theo snorts. "So you can try to run? Not 'til everything's off. Then I know you won't run."

  Unfortunately, he's just as smart as he is disgusting.

  My room is so bare the only thing I could use as a weapon is a dresser drawer. If only I kept my gun hidden inside, but everyone snoops through my things. It would be a matter of days before either he or his mother found it.

  "I said, I'm waiting."

  Bile jumps into my throat. Different scenarios run through my mind. I could hit him in the head with a drawer, then grab my things and run. Or I could pull his shorts down so he couldn't run—at least not until he pulls them back up.

  "You're making this hard on me." He laughs like he's so witty. "Hurry up. The only place I wanna see that shirt is on the floor."

  I need to do something, and fast. Leaving without my stuff is probably my only way out without having to be Theo's plaything one last time.

  The drawer or a bag? Hitting him with a bag wouldn't hurt. It'll only piss him off. It has to be a drawer.

  "Okay. Just give me a minute. I have to be careful—this isn't my shirt."

  He tilts his head, but amazingly, doesn't reply.

  I start to pull on the bottom of the shirt, only to buy time as I glide over to the dresser.

  "What are you doing?" Theo demands.

  "Taking my time. Doesn't that make it more exciting?"

  He narrows his eyes. "What are you up to?"

  I reach for the nearest drawer and yank it out.

  "What the—?"

  I charge for him. My heart thunders out of control as I swing it at his head.

  Theo's eyes widen. "You bi—"

  The corner of the drawer hits him in front of the ear and slices him across the face to his nose. Blood drips from the cut along his face.

  Rage like I've never seen fills his eyes. He grabs hold of the drawer and shoves it against me. I stumble back. The bed stops me, and I crash onto it, landing on one of my bags.

  Theo wipes blood from his face and swears at me. He races for me. I roll away from him, but he grabs me. My stepbrother flips me around, and the side of my head hits the corner of my nightstand. He pins me, grasping each of my wrists. His blood drips on my cheek.

  I knee him in the balls and spit in his face.

  It's enough of a shock that he lets go of me.

  Gasping for air, I grab the nearest bag and run.

  My head yanks back as he grabs my hair.

  Theo pulls me close, pressing his body against mine. "You're going to regret that."

  "The only thing I'm going to regret is not fighting back sooner." I jab my elbows against him as hard as I can.

  His grip on my hair tightens and he reaches around to my front with his free hand. He fumbles with the hook on my shorts.

  I squirm to get out of his hold, kicking him.

  Theo yanks my head back and bites on my ear. "You know better than to fight me. What panties are you wearing today? I always love the surprise. Are they new, like your other clothes?"

  I spin around as best I can and knee him in the crotch again. Then I scratch his arm, digging my nails in as deep as I can.

  He lets go of my hair, and calls me a slew of names.

  I glance at my bags. Theo is in between them and me. They're not worth it. I spin around and run out of my room and down the hall.

  "Stop her!" Theo screams as I burst into the living room.

  If Dad hears him, he doesn't turn from his show.

  I throw open the front door. "Rogan! Help me!"

  Rogan

  My heart sinks. Rage tears through me. I fling open the door and bolt across the street, not bothering to close the door. I don't care if a car drives by and tears it off.

  Kenna needs me.

  She's running across the long grass with a look of terror in her eyes. There's blood and a long bruise down the side of her face.

  I will kill whoever did this.

  A blond dude appears on the porch. "Whore! She's a filthy whore!"

  Kenna and I reach each other. I pull her into my arms and hold her tight. "What's going on?"

  "We need to leave!"

  The blond piece of garbage marches over and grabs Kenna's arm, but he stares at me. "But sh
e's my whore!"

  I shove Kenna behind me and step closer to the dude. His fist comes toward my face, but I block it and push him.

  He calls Kenna more names. I punch him in the nose. His head flies back and blood gushes out.

  I turn to Kenna. "Run to the car! Lock it!"

  "But you—"

  "Go!" I spin around just in time to get a fist in the temple. The sound rings around in my head. I punch the jerk in the mouth before following Kenna into the car and slamming the door shut. "What the hell happened in there?"

  She stares at me, her face paling. "He didn't want me to leave."

  The jerk looked nothing like Kenna. There was no way they were related. An ex-boyfriend? I start the car. "Who is he?"

  Kenna looks down at her lap. "Fake step-brother."

  "Fake?"

  She sighs. "I just found out I'm adopted."

  "What?"

  "My real parents are dead."

  "And they just now told you?"

  Kenna nods.

  I rub the bruise on her face. "What happened in there?"

  She glances up. "It's nothing. Forget about it."

  "You're bleeding."

  "It's his blood. He—" Her eyes widen. "Go! He's coming!"

  Kenna's fake step-brother is running across the street, carrying a baseball bat and screaming profanities.

  I start the car and punch the gas, sending the back of my head against the headrest. In the rearview mirror, I see the jerk throwing his baseball bat at my car. It misses and bounces on the road. I turn a corner, tires squealing, and he's out of sight.

  Once we're out of the neighborhood, I pull over and look Kenna in the eyes. "Did he hurt you?"

  She opens her mouth, but doesn't say anything.

  Anger tears through me, toward that piece of garbage, not her. "Did he hurt you?"

  Kenna nods. Barely.

  "What did he do?"

  She looks away. "He threw me on the bed."

  "Did he—?"

  Her ear is red. I push hair away and study it. "Are those bite marks?"

  "Yes. Can we go? He's probably coming this way. I just hope he didn't get your license plate."

  "He'd better hope he didn't get it. If he does anything, he's going to severely regret it. He'll wish he was dead." I take a deep breath. "That jerk really bit your ear?"

  "I don't want to talk about it."

  "Kenna, if he tried to rape you—"

  "He didn't."

  "What? Try or succeed?"

  She doesn't reply, which tells me what I need to know.

  It takes all of my self-control not to turn around and beat him to a pulp. That's what he deserves. "He can't get away with that."

  Kenna doesn't respond.

  "He's the reason you broke down crying, isn't he?"

  "Can we go back to your house?" she whispers.

  I'm too angry to drive even if I wanted to. "We need to call the cops."

  She looks at me. "No. Let's just go."

  "You want him to get away with it?"

  "I want to get away from him. That's all. I'm never going back, especially since I'm adopted."

  "Then I'm calling the cops."

  "What?"

  "Someone needs to stand up for you."

  She shakes her head, flinging her hair into her face. "Please don't."

  I stare into her eyes again. "He bit your ear. Threw you on a bed. You've got a bruise on your cheek. That's more than enough evidence against him, even if you won't talk."

  Her expression tightens, then twists.

  "Tell me this."

  "What?"

  "Has he ever raped you?"

  "I don't want to talk about this!" Her eyes shine with tears again. "Take me back to your house, or I'm getting out now and I'll live on the streets. Or go back to the train tracks. Yes, my family is the reason I wanted that train to kill me! Happy?"

  "No! I'm furious. You don't have any idea how hard it is for me not to go back there and beat that piece of crap to the grave."

  "Please, Rogan." Her pleading eyes nearly convince me.

  "If you won't talk to me, will you at least talk to Sutton?"

  Kenna looks down at her hands. "I don't know…"

  "She's really good at listening, I swear. She'll won't judge you."

  "No. I need some air."

  "Kenna, no." If she leaves, what's stopping her from running back to the tracks, or somewhere else equally dangerous?

  "I feel like a trapped animal in here."

  "If we call the cops, I'll stay with you the whole time. You don't have to talk to them alone, I swear."

  "Just let me step outside."

  "I'm not letting you do anything—you're an adult. Do what you want. Just don't hurt yourself. You know I'll try to stop you then."

  "Air. I just want air." Kenna flings open the door and runs across the street to a park with rusty and broken playground equipment. She stops behind a slide with a gaping hole in the middle.

  I crane my neck to try and see what she's doing. My knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

  She screams.

  I scramble out of the car. Did her step-brother find her, and I somehow missed seeing him? I run over, leaving both doors of my car wide open, and skid to a stop before reaching her.

  Kenna's alone. She yells out again.

  I can't leave her alone like that. I run over and wrap my arms around her. She struggles against me, but I hold her tight. "I'm here for you."

  She fights me a little more before finally going limp. I hold her up and help her back to the car.

  Once inside, I turn to her. "Do you feel any better?"

  She frowns. "Not really."

  "Are you willing to call the cops? He needs to pay for what he did. The cops will dole out justice. I can't guarantee he'll live if I'm the one who confronts him."

  Kenna twists her hair and looks away.

  "Now's the time. You're walking evidence against him."

  "I hit him too."

  "You think they'll care about that? Obvious self-defense."

  She sighs. "You're not going to give up, are you?"

  "Either the cops deal with him lawfully or my fists deal with him. Your choice."

  "Okay." Kenna leans against the seat and closes her eyes. "Are you going to call them, or are we going to the station?"

  "I'll call." I pull out my phone.

  Kenna

  I pull off the shirt and throw it into the trash. While I appreciate that Sutton gave me the clothes, I never want to see them again. I remove the shorts and put them in the garbage too.

  My reflection in the mirror looks like someone else. A bruise runs up the side of my face and my one ear is super red. I have some more bruises on my ribs. Like I told the investigator, I don't remember how I got those.

  She also noticed some older bruises on my legs and one near an armpit. Yes, those were from Theo too.

  The officers told Rogan to bring me to the station, so I didn't get to see Theo arrested, but apparently, he put up a fight, adding police assault to his charges.

  I wasn't told much else, but I'm sure he called me all kinds of names and told them that I'd had it coming and that I'd wanted it. All stuff he'd said plenty of times to me directly.

  My fingernails hurt. The officer who scraped underneath for Theo's skin hadn't exactly been gentle, but at least that was more evidence against him.

  I sit on the toilet lid and take a deep breath. I'm not only physically exhausted but also emotionally spent. I'd had to go over so many excruciating details to build the case against Theo. Reliving my worst nightmares to officers while a camera rolled turned me into the victim all over again.

  Knock, knock.

  "Are you okay in there?" Rogan asks.

  "Yeah. Be out in a few." I turn on the shower. Finally, I'm about to wash Theo off for the last time.

  I may never be able to forget, but at least the nightmare is over. I remove my undergarments and s
tep into the hot stream. It's a little too hot, but I don't care. It beats other kinds of pain.

  I stay there as long as I can stand it, scrubbing my skin raw. Tears threaten, and as much as I fight them, they eventually win. I sit in a ball in the tub and sob quietly while the water runs over me.

  Knock, knock.

  "I'm fine!" I turn off the water, dry myself, and put on a pair of Sutton's track pants and a loose tee. I want to cover every inch in something thick and protective.

  I'm not sure I can face the world. Even if by the world, I mean Rogan's house.

  Ready or not, I can't spend the rest of my life in the bathroom. The best way to stick it to Theo and my dad—Merle—is to move on with my life, head held high.

  Even better would be if I could make something of myself. That would be like giving them the one-finger salute and saying, "Look at what I did despite you horrible people!"

  But first, I have to face life outside this bathroom.

  Baby steps.

  I stare at the doorknob. Turning it shouldn't be difficult. How many doors have I opened in my life?

  Yet my entire body freezes. My breath catches. My hands shake.

  So much for the one-finger salute.

  Today, they win.

  I sit on the floor and stare at the door disguised as a monster.

  How can I ever move on from all that Theo has done to me? The fact that my dad and his wife knew what was going on and didn't do a thing to protect me?

  Or the fact that I'm adopted? Did Dad really expect me to remember a conversation from when I was three? Was there no time he could've brought it up again?

  Even though I'm not his blood, I'm still his daughter. Why not at least attempt to help me? Protect me?

  I need to find out more about my parents—my real parents. Who were they? Why didn't they leave me to a decent human being?

  Were they just as bad as him?

  "Kenna?" Rogan's voice brings me back to the present.

  I'm stuck to the ground, unable to find my voice.

  Rogan calls my name again.

  "Hold on."

  "Can I come in?"

  "It's locked." I rest my head on my knees.

  "I can get a key if you want me to."

  If I want him to?

  "You've been in there a long time. Are you okay?"