Page 66 of Just One Moment

Myheart stutters.Hewould take on that responsibility, because that’s who he is.

Itighten my grip on his fingers as fresh tears pool in my eyes. “Whydoes she hate me?”

Heshakes his head slowly, and beforeIcan repeat my question, he scoops me up in his arms and pulls me to his chest; his warmth smothers the frost left behind by my mother. “It’snot about you.It’sabout her.Youwere just caught in the crossfire, but you got out and now you’re here.”

Witha steady gait, he walks us down the hallway.Ithink he’s going to take me into my bedroom but when he turns into the bathroom,Ilook up at him in confusion. “Whatare we doing?”

“I’mgoing to run you a bath with those funky bath bombs you love, and you’re gonna soak whileIheat up some apple cider.”Helowers me until my feet land on the fluffy bath mat—my pink and orange one he laid in here without question.Iwatch with bated breath as he pulls out my phone and holds it up to my face to unlock it—too emotionally drained to ask him what he’s doing. “Youwant your sad or happy girl playlist?”

“Iwant to be happy.”Myvoice cracks and his gaze lifts from my phone screen.Hishandsome face plastered with understanding.

“Happygirl playlist it is.”Henods. “Whydon’t you go and grab your pajamas.I’llget everything set up in here for you.”

Acouple of minutes later,Itrudge back into the bathroom with my flannel pajamas and freeze in the doorway.Calminglavender greets me.Theroom is lit up in a warm, orange glow.Severalcandles sit along the edge of the bath, their flames dancing with the soft melody of music.Grahamis bent over the tub, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up as he stirs the bright pink water.Tearswell in my eyes again, andItry to brush them away so he doesn’t see, but he turns right at that moment.Inthe blink of an eye, he’s in my space, his warm, wet hand wrapped around my waist.

“Nomore,Quinn.Nomore tears; unless they’re happy.Ican’t stand to see anything but happiness on your beautiful face.”Heplaces a soft kiss on my forehead before leaving me to relax.

I’mnot sure how much time passes, but the warm water and uplifting lyrics melt away the sadness.Yougot out and now you’re here.Asthe water swirls around me,Graham’sheartfelt words take me back to the day it all changed.

Tothe dayIset myself free.

Mostgirls spend their eighteenth birthday showered with gifts.Anew pair of shoes.Perfume.Jewelry.

Ispend mine cleaning the scratches left on my face and packing up the few belongingsIown.

Thewater has been cut off again, leaving the potent smell of gin to cling to my hair and skin.

I’llshower whenIget there.

Wherethereis,Idon’t know.

Ittook five minutes for me to pack up my entire life into a small backpack, whichIshould find depressing, but it just meansI’llbe out of this godforsaken place quicker.Iignore the pang of discontent thatIwon’t get to graduate from high school, because after last nightI’mnot sureI’deven make it to graduation.

Mymother was already in an anger-fueled state last night, and as usual, it took the tiniest of inconveniences to have all that hatred directed at me.Only, things escalated well past the typical slap or hateful slur of words.WhenIwoke in a puddle of gin with bruises and scratches all over my body,IknewIcouldn’t stay here anymore.

There’sno sadness, regret, or anger asIstare down at my mom passed out on the sofa.Ifeel nothing asIlook at her for the last time, clutching a bottle of vodka to her chest like a mother would a baby.

Whatwill she do when she wakes to find me gone?

Itmight be my birthday, but she’s getting the gift she’s always wanted.Meout of her life.

Islip on my worn sneakers and steel my spine.Witha few changes of clothes and $317I’vemanaged to save cleaning tables at the local diner,Icarefully open the door to our trailer, cringing when the hinges creak.Idon’t dare look back to see if she wakes up or to take in the four squalid wallsIgrew up in.

Idon’t look back asIwalk down the steps of the trailer.

Idon’t look back whenImake my way down the gravel path leading to the main road.

Idon’t look back asIbuy a one-way ticket toSalem.

Idon’t look back as the bus crosses the state border.

Idon’t look back once.

Tellingpeople about my childhood has always been somethingI’veavoided, worried that once they learned about it, they’d see me differently.It’salso whyInever stuck around the same place for too long.She’dnever follow me; that was where she drew the line thankfully.Butsettling in one place for too long meantIhad to set down roots and open up to people.

Inthe nine years sinceIleftCalifornia,SuttonBaywas the first place that felt different.Findinga location to start my dreams and making a friend likeJohelped me decide that this little fishing town is whereIwant to stay.

Butit’s the man who brings me flowers every day who helps me see a future here.

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