I barreled down the main street at four in the morning. Stores were closed and only a faint glow of light covered the empty parking lots and streets. I barely noticed the icy air against my numb skin after what I had been through, but I was a fighter. I lived with abuse and I would not let Peyton be the monster that devoured me.

I dialed Lan but she didn't answer. She was a heavy sleeper. I toyed with the idea of calling , but I couldn't bear admitting I was wrong. My GPS estimated a ten-mile walk. By the time I made it home, Courtney would be awake.

A text came from Davianté.

Donna: please text me and let me know you're ok

I ignored it as I strode down the sidewalk, holding the side of my head that was throbbing. The last thing I wanted was Davianté to know I had gone out with Peyton. I couldn't crush him, especially when I was finally ready to admit I had feelings for him. What was Davianté doing up at this hour anyway? Oh, right—his paper route.

A loud rustling came from a dumpster a few feet away in the Taco Hut parking lot, and a couple of raccoons popped their heads out. One was enormous with bristly, speckled grey and white fur around its body, and the black mask with a white outline. We locked eyes. Its retina reflected the glow of headlights from a car turning the corner. I turned to see it speeding in my direction. The tires squealed, and I realized Courtney was in the driver's seat. My heart pounded. I considered hiding behind the dumpster, but it was too late—she had spotted me. She swerved around to the curb and yelled from the window, "What are you doing?"

I didn't answer. No answer was better than the truth. I stared at her with my hands in my pockets.

"Get in," she screamed, her eyes flashing. Her hair was matted from rolling out of bed.

I wasn't sure what I would rather do at this point—get in, or stay on the sidewalk. This was what it meant to be out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"Get in!"

I turned and kept walking. She pressed the gas and traveled along beside me.

"Deja!"

I turned to walk the opposite direction without a plan, just knowing I didn't want to be beaten now if I could delay it until later.

She put the car in reverse. "What are you doing? Get in."

I leaned in, resting my hands on the door frame. "What are you going to do to me?"

Her face creased. "Never mind that. Explain to me where you've been."

"I'm not explaining anything." Then it occurred to me, I could avoid all of this if I never came home. I wanted freedom more than I wanted shelter. "This is my life. My choices. My mistakes to make. This is your fault. I can't go anywhere without your permission so I had to leave if I wanted my own freedom and—to get away from you."

She was wounded by my words and speechless for once. It must have dawned on her that she finally lost control over me. The older I got, the less authority she had, and when I turned eighteen, her ability to dominate me would dissipate like a fog in sunlight.

"Listen," her voice softened, "please come home. We'll forget about it."

I could hardly believe she was bargaining with me—like I had gotten indemnity for sneaking out. I got in.

She rolled up the window. "You could have been dead on the roadside—raped and murdered." This was the analogy she used every time she told me I couldn't go somewhere. Unfortunately she was right this time.

I stared out the window, avoiding her stare. "I thought you said we would forget about it."

"I can't just forget everything." She angled her head to try and get my attention, but I looked away. "What were you doing on Wolf Street?"

She had tracked Peyton's address on GPS. I ignored her.

"Were you meeting a boy?" Madness thrummed in her voice like she might unhinge at any moment.

I turned away. "Leave me alone."

"Something went wrong, didn't it? That's why you were out walking the streets at four in the morning, and you have a bruise on your face."

I had gotten the bruise when I struggled to get away from Peyton, and he punched me. "None of your business." I didn't understand why she cared. She had left plenty of bruises on me in my lifetime.

Her eyes were a blaze of fire. "Tell me, Deja. What happened?"

I shook my head and turned away for the rest of the car ride home as she continued to ask who did it and what happened.

We got to the house, and I ran upstairs to my room and slammed the door as she called after me.

"You are just like her!" Courtney yelled. "I can't take this anymore."

I opened my bedroom door and yelled, "What are you talking about? Who am I like?"

She headed into her bedroom, ignoring me, and I followed. "Who am I like?"

She went into her closet, came out with a suitcase, and threw it on the bed. "I need a break from you and your devilishness. If I stay here another minute I'll go crazy."

I folded my arms.

She opened her dresser and pulled out clothes, tossing them into the suitcase. I watched her grab her toothbrush from her bathroom and shoes from the closet. I pivoted on one foot as I watched her go back and forth. Finally, she nodded to me. "I'll see you later." She walked out of her bedroom. "Out of my room," she said.

I followed her out. She locked her bedroom door with her suitcase in hand, walked downstairs to the garage, and left. At first it was hard to believe she was actually leaving. I checked the garage ten minutes later to make sure it wasn't a trick. It was empty. A wave of relief washed over me. I could have peace. I took a shower, letting the warm water run down my face, washing off the leftover dried-up saliva Peyton left on my neck from his kisses I had reveled in. now the thought disgusted me. I wished he had been who I thought he was, but it just goes to show, you never really know someone as well as you think.

All the wrestling I had done with Courtney prepared me for that moment, so there was at least one good thing that had come of our fighting. Peyton had gotten in a solid blow to my face after I told him I would rather die than give myself to him. He thought he had me pinned, but after the punch he kneeled on the cushions unsteadily before the next blow. His look of surprise when I twisted around and flung him onto the candle-covered coffee table as it collapsed replayed in my mind. I got off the couch when he reached for my ankle, but my heel made contact with his groin before he could get me. He curled into the fetal position long enough for me to grab my coat and shoes and I ran like mad, praying he wouldn't follow me. I shivered at the thought and put the memory out of my mind.

I went to bed at four fifteen a.m. and woke up later that afternoon. I wouldn't let my encounter with Peyton stop me from my goal of getting out of here—now more than ever. The less time I had to spend between the walls of our school the better. I spent the day plowing through my driver's ed videos. Sometime around six o'clock Courtney still wasn't home. It was a relief, but at the same time I was curious where she was. I texted her.

Me: what do you want me to do about dinner?

Mom: fend for yourself

That was unusual. I heated up a pizza from the freezer and wondered where she could be staying. It wasn't that I was worried about her, I was relieved not to have her prying into my life, but it made me anxious not knowing when she might show up.

Me: when are you coming home?

Mom: when I'm ready

I had really pissed her off this time, but she was handling it better than I would have ever imagined. She was finally realizing she needed space to control herself. In any case, I was relieved I wasn't being interrogated over the ordeal. I had been through enough.

I checked my private messages. My stomach jumped into my throat when I found replies from the three Gerrys'.

Gerry number one: I've never known a Courtney.

Gerry number two: No.

Gerry number three: She's my ex-wife. Who is this?

I bit my knuckle. This was potentially my biological father. This was it. I couldn't mess this up.

I started my message:

Me: I think you are my dad.

I hoped the idea didn't scare him. He already had a new wife and children on his profile. I deleted that and started again.

Me: You are the father of my sister, Hillary. I found your old wedding picture. There is no father listed on my birth certificate and I'm wondering if there is a possibility you could be my father?     My mom won't tell me who my father is.

I hit send.

I hoped I would get an immediate response but I didn't. I kept checking back every few minutes to see if he had read it, but he hadn't.

What would I say if he was my father? Catch up on everything we've missed? Find out why Courtney hid me from him? Ask if I could come visit, then see if I liked living with him better? The possibilities were infinite.