Page 4 of Grit & Glamour

Jared darts towards me, and I bring my hockey stick up, smashing it into his face without hesitation. Pausing for guilt or shame would only end in pain for me instead. A lesson I’ve learned well. I wince from the loud crack that rings through the air as the stick makes contact with the side of his face and nose. That definitely hurt.

He lunges at me as I strike again and again, swinging the stick around like an insane person. I manage to get a hard knock on his head when he comes barrelling towards me, sending him swiftly to the ground with a hard thud. Before I can enjoy my victory, a fist slams into my face, sending pain racing through me. I stumble back, my hockey stick dropping to the floor as my hand instinctively goes to my face. A moan of pain escapes me. Mum doesn’t pull her punches, but then again, I’m not so little anymore. She can’t just whack me over the head with her bag a few times and expect me to cower on the floor.

She spares a glance at her boyfriend, and I take the opportunity to escape. I lunge for the window, basically throwing myself out of it. I catch onto the ledge and hold myself there for just a second, before twisting and jumping onto the balcony. My mother’s face appears at the window as I walk across the low wall on the balcony towards the tree.

“Get your ass back in here right now, Scarlett!” she screams after me, beginning to try and follow. She’s shakier and more unsteady as she leans out of the window and stretches towards the balcony than I am. I turn away, afraid to waste any more time watching her instead of escaping.

I jump for the tree, grabbing onto the same branch I always do, then do my own mixture of shimmying and climbing down. Seeing my mother, standing on the wall of the balcony, considering jumping onto the tree, I take off running in the direction which Caleb had fled only minutes before. I’ll make a turn up ahead, taking a different route from him, and lead her in the wrong direction, before doubling back to him at our meeting place. That’s if she actually follows me?

I spare a glance over my shoulder but don’t see anybody pursuing me. Still, paranoid that she’ll catch up to me, I keep looking back as I continue to run, my legs aching in protest. Cuts cover my bare feet and bits of debris dig in, sticking to the bottom of them. I want to stop, to find something to put on them, but I know I need to keep moving.

Nervously, I look over my shoulder again and see a car driving up the road after me in the distance. It’s creeping along, getting closer, almost too slowly. Like it’s taking its time watching me. It’s not a car I recognise, but she could easily have brought home a new one. I pick up my pace, only slowing when I get a better look at the age of the car. She’d never drive anything that old, even if it was once a more expensive Mercedes. Its prime has come and gone, and the layer of dirt covering the lower half of the car shows that the owner knows it too. This isn’t a car that’s kept pristine and taken care of. It’s definitely not one of my mother’s.

I breathe a sigh of relief and slow to a jog. Curious, I spare another glance at the car, wondering why they seem to be trying to approach me. It comes to a stop beside me, and I step back.

“Maybe they just want directions,” I mutter to myself, and then I look down at my attire. Or maybe they’re worried about the crazy girl running around without shoes or a jacket at god only knows what time in the morning. I probably have a red mark on my face by now too from that punch… No wonder they’re following me.

The window begins a gradual slide down, in an unhurried manner that must be deliberate. I stare at the small gap as it gets bigger, waiting for a face to appear, but it never does. A hand smacks over my mouth from behind, then two more grab my own hands and hold them behind my back. The hand covering my mouth is removed for just a second, only to be replaced by a cloth pressing down on my mouth and nose. I kick out and thrash, trying to break free from their hold. A masked man steps into my view, and I shoot him a hateful glare as I continue to attempt an escape from their clutches.

I did not just escape all of that just to get kidnapped by some assholes!

“Sleep tight, Princess,” a voice in my ear whispers sarcastically, as my vision begins to blur. Princess? It occurs to me I’m not wriggling anymore, and then I stop noticing anything at all, as blackness fills my vision and steals me away.

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