Quinn
Ilay in bed with the comforter tucked around me, my heart racing as I heard footsteps, followed by the key turning in the lock of my bedroom door. Quickly shutting my eyes, I concentrated on breathing slowly, praying he would believe I was asleep. Through my closed eyelids, I could make out the light from the hall flooding my darkened bedroom as he swung the door open. I lay still as I listened to his heavy breathing. After a few seconds, the door closed, and the room fell dark again. The key turned in the lock and footsteps echoed down the hall.
Opening my eyes, I sat up and pushed the comforter off me. My eyes adjusted to the dark room, and I heard a car engine start up, then its tires squealed as it sped up the road. Slowly climbing out of bed, I made my way over to the window and peeked around the drapes. The streetlight across the road lit up the empty driveway, and I closed my eyes, breathing a sigh of relief that the car I’d heard had been his. Moving quickly, I opened the closet door and pulled out my backpack, throwing it over my shoulder. I’d been planning my escape for a few days, and although the room was dark, my eyes had grown accustomed enough to see where everything I needed was.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I slipped my sneakers on. Then I reached inside the drawer of my nightstand where I felt around for the small flashlight I knew was in there. Grabbing it, I flicked it on and shined the light in the drawer. I snatched up two bobby pins, left my bag on the bed and made my way over to my bedroom door. Holding the flashlight between my teeth, the light illuminated the lock. With shaky hands, I straightened the bobby pins out. I had spent hours over the past couple of days figuring out how to pick a lock. Knowing I had to wait until Evan had passed out from drinking too much or was out of the house. I couldn’t get caught trying to get away.
After about ten minutes of trying, I started to panic. The lock wasn’t budging, and I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be able to get the door open. Removing the flashlight from my mouth, I took a deep breath, willing my heart to stop racing and my hands to stop sweating.
“Pull yourself together, Quinn,” I whispered to myself as I wiped my hands down my jeans. “You can do this.”
I pointed the flashlight back on the door, trying the bobby pin again. After a few minutes, I finally heard the welcome noise of the lock click. Holding my breath, I reached for the handle and pulled the door open. A grin broke out as I walked back to my bed and threw the flashlight in the backpack before tossing it over my shoulder. Picking up my coat, I took one last look around the room before I hurried downstairs and out of the front door.
There was no way I ever wanted to come back here. I’d loved this house once. It had been full of love before my mom died. She was gone now though, and my stepfather had quickly made it too toxic to stay. I had to get away, and it had to be now.
Quinn
The cold wind whipped my hair around my face as I slipped my coat on. Folding my arms across my chest, I tried to keep warm. With my head down, I walked quickly through the dark streets of Westwood, New Jersey. I had lived here for as long as I could remember, and up until a year ago, I'd pretty much had the perfect life.
When I was sixteen, Mom had met Evan. They’d had a whirlwind romance, falling in love and marrying after six weeks. Up until then it had just been me and her. I’d never known my dad but had never felt like I had missed out. Mom had been both parents, working long hours as a waitress in an all-day diner in town to provide us with everything we needed. Once Evan had moved in, Mom still worked, but not the twelve-hour shifts she used to do. Things were good, Evan seemed like a nice guy and my mom adored him.
A year after they’d met, everything turned to shit. My mom had lived with diabetes pretty much all of her adult life. Although she managed it well, it took a toll on her body and her kidneys began to fail. She had dialysis for almost a year before the doctors mentioned a transplant. Desperate to help her, I asked if I could give her a kidney. She wouldn’t let me; wouldn’t even discuss it with me. I was so angry. I begged her to let me help, but she refused. For months, I watched her suffer while she waited for a match on the transplant list. When the dialysis stopped working she was forced to let me try to help her, and six months ago I'd given her one of my kidneys. She never made it through the operation and died in the hospital, her heart giving out under the strain.
Her death had come as a huge shock and I had never felt so alone. I had an okay relationship with Evan, but I didn’t really know him that well. Before the operation, Mom had begged Evan to look after me if anything ever happened to her. No one thought for one minute that he would ever need to. Evan was really all I had left. I had lost contact with a lot of my friends, spending every spare minute I could with my mom. Her parents had disowned her when she got pregnant with me at seventeen. Until Evan had shown up, we’d pretty much been on our own. Knowing I had no family at all made my heart hurt.
Evan’s reaction to Mom’s death was to become moody and argumentative whenever he was home. He was drinking heavily too and would yell at me if I hadn’t done his laundry or tidied the house. He’d hit me twice after heavy sessions of drinking, and a few weeks ago he’d thrown me so hard against a wall, I swear I’d broken ribs. I was in agony for weeks and it still hurt now when I sneezed or coughed. After that, I tried to stay away from him as much as possible. The house was small though, and he was hard to avoid. I spent most of my time in my room, but it was fairly obvious that I was an inconvenience to him.
Although we’d lived in the same house for almost all my life, Mom hadn’t owned the house, she'd rented it off an elderly couple who lived down the street. Once Mom and Evan married, his name was put on the lease and he began to pay the rent. I guess he considered it his home now, and I was just someone who happened to live there.
A month or so after we’d buried my mom, strange men started turning up at the house to see Evan. I wouldn’t go as far as to call them Evan’s friends—there was always shouting and arguing when they came around. They never stayed long, and more often than not Evan would get a beating off them. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew it couldn’t be anything good. I always tried to stay in my room on the nights they showed up, but sometimes I would be downstairs when they knocked at the door. They made me feel uncomfortable with the way they would look at me. Once, I heard one of the men asking Evan how old I was, and if he wanted to use me. I wasn’t sure what he had meant, but thankfully Evan had said no.
I’d become a bit of a recluse since Mom had died, only leaving the house to go to school and to do the grocery shopping. Evan didn’t like me to go out much, but he would give me a small allowance to buy food. I was careful with the shopping, managing to save a bit of the money he gave me each week which I kept hidden in a box under my bed.
School was hard. I’d become the girl whose mom had died. My clothes were old and shabby and the kids at school were cruel. Even my friends from before had slowly backed away, not wanting to be associated with me. I was lonely and missed my mom terribly.
Shivering, I walked a little faster as I thought back to what had happened last week.
Evan had been out, and I was in the kitchen fixing a drink. I’d heard the door knock and when I swung it open, two of the guys who kept visiting Evan were standing there. Though I tried to shut the door, they pushed me back, forcing their way in. I stumbled backward falling on my ass. I heard one of them laugh.
“We’re not here for you, princess; not yet anyway,” he mumbled, looking me up and down. Standing up, I tugged my t-shirt down, wishing I was wearing more than just my sleep shorts and a tank. “Where’s Daddy?” he asked with a smirk. I put my hands on my hips and glared at him.
“Evan is not my father, and I have no idea where he is,” I exclaimed.
“We’ve got ourselves a fiery one here, Den. Think the boss is going to love her,” one of them said, giving me a smile that made me recoil.
“What do you want?” I asked, nerves bubbling in my stomach as I replayed his comment over and over in my head.
“Just what we’re owed, sweetheart. Mind if we wait?” They didn’t pause for me to reply, walking past me and taking a seat in the living room.
“I’m just going to my room,” I said nervously, backing away from them.
“Sit!” one of them shouted, and I jumped, rushing to sit down, my hands twisting nervously in my lap. We sat in uncomfortable silence for about half an hour before I heard the door open, breathing a sigh of relief when Evan walked in. His eyes went wide as he saw me sitting with his “friends.”
“What’s going on?” he slurred, looking from me to the two huge guys sitting on the couch.
“Have you got the money, Evan?” Den asked him, standing up from the couch and stalking toward him. Suddenly sobering up, Evan turned to me and flicked his head.
“Upstairs, Quinn,” he barked, and I shot off the couch, not needing to be told twice to leave. I lowered my head, not making eye contact with anyone as I slipped out of the room. Making my way to the stairs, I paused at the foot of the stairs, listening to their conversation.