Tied (All Torn Up 2)

It’s been over a week since my outing with Feather and seeing my prince at the traffic light. I find myself peering around the café and out into the street, hoping to see him again. I have no way of knowing how to find him, but this town is very small—I can only assume he must live here. I wonder how close we have been to each other all this time.

For the past year, I’ve asked my parents if they know where he lives, so maybe I can write to him, but their answer is always the same: “leave it alone” or “that’s not acceptable.” I asked them when I first moved to Merryfield and even asked Dr. Reynolds if there was a way for me to contact him, but they were all adamant that it was best for me to leave him alone as he was “mentally unstable.” For now, I push those thoughts away so I can focus on my outing with my older brother.

Next to me, Zac orders a bagel and coffee then turns to me. “Well?” he prods, gently breaking my thoughts.

He came down this weekend just to see me. I appreciate his effort. I know it’s a hassle for him to visit me since he lives in the city, but it breaks the monotony of my days. Usually, he takes me out of Merryfield and Anna joins us and, for a few hours, I feel like a normal person and less of a freak. Zac always tries hard to treat me like I’m just his sister and not some kind of victim. He’s never condescending, never full of pity, and he never acts like he’s in a rush to get away from me. He was even nice enough to hang my Christmas tree photographs on the wall next to my bed this morning, so I can look at them every day.

“Um…” I look at him for help while the young guy behind the counter waits with a bored expression on his face. Behind us, the line is getting restless. The pressure becomes even more unbearable, but Zac seems unconcerned, and I’m grateful for his patience. Decisions aren’t easy for me. For ten years, all I was given was bread, water, dry cereal, Fruit Roll-Ups, little boxes of juice, trail mix, and an occasional apple, cookie, or cupcake used as a bribe.

“Do you want the cupcake? Be a good girl then. Bend over and don’t scream or fight and I’ll let you have the cupcake.”

I’m ashamed to admit that, some days, I wanted that cupcake so bad that I bent over and bit my tongue until it bled to keep from screaming as he touched me. I always regretted it later, when the sweet icing was burning in my tummy, the appeal of the treat long gone.

“Holly?”

I shake my head and force out a breath. Those memories always gut me, but no one needs to hear them. No one needs to know how they continue to torment me. The bad man is dead, and I have my prince to thank—if I can ever find him.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I apologize a lot because it makes everything feel better, like saying everything is “great.” I recite what Feather always gets for me. “A blueberry muffin and a vanilla latte with skim milk.” I have no idea if I like anything else, and I’m embarrassed to ask him to describe everything on the menu to me.

“Okay.” Zac grins, his left dimple making an appearance. “Why don’t you go grab us a table, and I’ll bring it over.”

Nodding, I head for a small table by the windows, avoiding eye contact with the other customers, and settle into one of the wooden chairs to wait for Zac.

“You should talk to someone about that,” a female voice says, and I turn to see a girl at the next table pointing at my arm. “I used to cut and burn, too. You can get help. Self-harm isn’t the answer.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I pull my sweater sleeves down to my wrists and push my hair back over my shoulder. “Thank you,” I say as politely as I can. “But I didn’t do it to myself.”

With wide eyes she shakes her head, sending her short, black bob bouncing around her shoulders. “Girl, that’s even worse. Don’t let some asshole hurt you. I been there, too.”

Zac sets the tray of food on the table in front of me, looking from me to the girl as if he’s waiting for an introduction.

“Did he do that to you?” The girl shoots him a look that could melt ice.

“Do what?” Zac asks, his brow creasing.

“Put them cigarette burn marks all over her arms. That’s what.”

The look of surprise and hurt on his handsome face makes my chest hurt, and I struggle to breathe. I want to run back to the car, to my backpack in the backseat of Zac’s car. He always lets me bring it if he takes me somewhere as long as I leave it in the car.