“Yeah.” I swallow. “I like the skull on it. I was hoping I could borrow it.”

Tate’s uncomfortable eyes shift to me, and my mother arches an eyebrow. If we were alone, I would’ve been hit.

When we are alone, I will be hit.

“Tatum?” my mother starts, her voice dripping with sweetness. “K.C. has a doctor’s appointment. Are you okay to make it home on your own?”

Doctor’s appointment?

Tate glances at me, looking as if she’s holding her breath, and then smiles, nodding. “Of course.” She leans in for a hug. “See you tomorrow, K.C.” And then whispers in my ear, “Love you.”

“You, too,” I mumble, because my mom is watching.

Tate walks out the door, and my mother steps in front of me, cocking her head. “Upstairs,” she orders.

I’m not sure what she wants, but my stomach rolls anyway. I’m tired of being afraid of her.

I still remember my dad being home and cuddling on the couch with him, watching Barney. He hated the show, but he’d sit with me for hours, because he knew it was the only way I was allowed to watch TV.

My mother never takes me anywhere unless it’s to pretty me up shopping or to the salon, or to smarten me up at a museum. She rarely laughs with me, and I don’t remember ever being squeeze-hugged, tickled, or gushed over.

I wish she loved me. Like K.C. I hear her cry sometimes in her room, but I don’t dare tell her. She’d get mad.

I walk upstairs, glancing back out of the corner of my eye every so often to see her behind me. I’m afraid to turn my back on her.

Opening the door to my bedroom, I stop.

Our family doctor is standing by the window in his suit minus the jacket.

“No,” I choke out, and turn for the door again.

But my mother grabs me, yanks me into the room, and slams the door.

“No!” I cry.

The tears that pooled at the memory didn’t spill over. I wouldn’t allow it. This twisted house wasn’t mine anymore, and I didn’t have to stay once I got my journals. I would forget the slaps. I would forget the harsh words. I would forget the doctor’s visits.

I wouldn’t spend another day giving any of it more attention than I already had done.

I rang the doorbell.

Moments later, a light came on inside and then the front porch light. I shifted, immediately wondering how I looked, but then I stilled again. I was still dressed in my pajama shorts and Jax’s T-shirt, looking completely out of sorts, and it didn’t fucking matter.

My mother opened the door slowly, eyes narrowed as she took us in. “K.C.?” She looked between me and Shane and Fallon. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I need my journals.”

Her confused and annoyed expression turned to a scowl. “You will most certainly not get your journals right now. How dare—”

I pushed past her, barging through the front door, and spun around.

“Fallon? Shane?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “My journals are tucked in a secret compartment at the bottom of my hope chest. Would you mind?” I asked, and then looked to my mother. “My mother has things to say to me in private.”

I knew the word “private” would buy me some time. My mother’s back straightened, and her gaze barely flickered to them as they darted past her and up the stairs.

My mother closed the door and walked toward me. “How dare you? It is the middle of the night, and I told you you could have your journals when you came home.”

“I’m not coming home.” I hoped I sounded defiant.

“K.C.—”

“My name is Juliet.”

And I sucked in air as she grabbed my upper arm. “You will do as you’re told,” she growled, jerking me closer.

My skin burned where she buried her nails, and I clamped my mouth shut and held her eyes. I wouldn’t let her see me falter.

I got in her face. “No,” I countered.

Her eyes flickered upstairs, and I knew she was gauging whether or not to hit me.

I dropped my voice to a whisper. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”

Her mouth twisted up, and she went for it. She dropped the hand from my arm and whipped it across my face, sending me stumbling back into the wall.

But I shot back up. “Again,” I demanded, holding out my arms, inviting her.

Her eyebrows dug deep, and she looked at me, searching my eyes for what—I don’t know.

Her hand came down again, this time her fingernails catching my lip, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wincing.

My breath poured out of me shakily, but I pulled myself up straight. “Come on. You can do better,” I challenged, my eyes pooling with tears, but I wasn’t sad or angry or even hurt. The more she hit me, the more powerful I felt. This was all she had.

“Juliet, what—” I heard Shane at the top of the stairs, and I darted out my hand, signaling her to stop.

I sucked in breath after breath, shaking my head at my mother as I cried. “You can’t hurt me.”

The hardness in her face was like steel, but her voice shook. “I’m calling the police,” she warned, and turned to walk to the living room.

“And tell them what?” I taunted.

I cocked my head and continued. “Sandra Carter. Vice president of the Rotary Club, president of the Shelburne Falls Garden Association, and School Board chairperson?” I listed the many forums on which she could potentially be embarrassed. “What will you tell them that I can’t?”