Page 45 of Relentless

“He really hurt you this time,” Maeve stammered, sweeping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Why is it always your back?”

Harper felt dead inside as she clutched her pillow.

Pastor Harris Underwood could write a book on disciplining a child without leaving evidence behind.

“It’s my fault,” Harper admitted. Hardly able to cope with seeing her little sister upset, she figured it was just another consequence of her bad behavior. She suddenly felt the desperate drive for a change of scenery, some fresh air, and the feeling of some control over her life.

Harper pushed herself up off her mattress.

“I have to get out of here.”

Going to her closet, she pulled open a drawer and dug to the bottom, where she had hidden her shortest shorts and tightest tank top. It was an outfit that she knew would have made her mother faint.

Harper pulled on a jacket and took a second glance in the mirror to make sure the gashes on her back were concealed. Going to her window, she quietly pushed it open before flinging her flip-flops onto the lawn below.

“Don’t do this, Harp,” Maeve begged, her lips trembling as her voice lowered to a whisper. “If you get caught, he’ll kill you.”

“Then I won’t get caught,” she said, giving a halfhearted shrug for her sister’s sake. “Just go to bed, Maeve, don’t worry about me.”

She felt Maeve’s somber gaze track her while she climbed out her bedroom window. The moment her feet hit the soft grass, she pulled on her flip-flops and headed up the street. There was a party that night, and she knew her best friend would be ready and willing to blow off some steam.

As expected, Delia was already dressed and ready to go when Harper arrived at her door.

She slipped into the passenger seat, trying not to grimace, giving evidence of her injuries. There was something hardwired in Harper to keep up her parent’s facade. Even Delia wasn’t privy to the secrets of Pastor Underwood’s home, nor would she have even understood. Delia’s parents weredivorced, and her mother was in a perpetual state of emotionally treading water. The last thing on her mind was keeping track of her teenage daughter, and it came in handy on nights like that one. She handed off the keys to the red station wagon without a single question as to where the girls were headed or if they would even return before sunrise.

“I think this is going to be fun,” Delia practically squealed, stepping on the gas. “I heard Chet’s going to be there too,” she hinted, purely for the sake of Harper’s reaction. “Did your parents flip over the thing at school?”

“It wasn’t any big deal,” Harper replied, appearing unbothered. She ran her fingers through her blonde hair, turning her attention out the window at the blur of neighborhood lights.

Delia glanced over, studying her once again. “Ew, you look pale. Grab my makeup bag from the back.”

Harper pulled down the sun visor and examined herself in the mirror. She did look pale, but it was the least of her worries as she caught a glimpse of her puffy, red eyes. Reaching behind her, she retrieved their trusty cosmetic bag stashed away in the backseat. She dashed on blush, eye shadow, and some lip gloss. Pressing her lips together, she gave herself one last look before flipping the mirror closed.

Delia parked the station wagon by the curb. The music boomed from the packed house, and their friends from school were spilling out onto the lawn with drinks in hand.

“This looks wild,” Delia noted. Her smile faltered, giving away her nervousness. “Tommy’s parents are going to freak if they ever find out.”

“This looksfun,” Harper remarked, concealing her own hesitations with her usual unbridled confidence. All she wanted was to turn her brain off for a while, distracting her mind from the pain and anger that was still coursing through her.

She stepped out on the curb, eyeing the best path to the house that wouldn’t involve stepping in vomit or disrupting any couples necking on the lawn.

When she pushed her way through the front door, the blaring music made her ears pound, and she was hit with the musty smell of cigarette smoke.

“Get us some drinks,” Harper shouted over the raucous party around them. Delia obediently nodded and disappeared through the crowd.

Harper found a place to stand against the wall where she could survey the room for anyone she knew.

She felt someone edge beside her and hand off a red plastic cup filled with beer.

“Thanks, Del,” she said. Pulling the cup to her lips, she took a long drink. The bitterness made her nose scrunch.

“Chet, actually.”

Harper turned at the recognizable voice beside her. Instead of her best friend sidling up next to her, it was the popular quarterback of the football team who had caused her the tremendous amount of grief that day. His hair was spiked andbleached blonde on the tips, and he was wearing a t-shirt that hugged his well-earned athletic physique.

“I’m happy to see you here,” he said. Biting his lip, he looked at her like something to devour.

“You know, Chet,” Harper began. Trying to maintain her poise, she pulled the cup again to her lips. “You got me into a lot of trouble today.” She took another sip, trying to look indifferent to the terrible taste.

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