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  “Now, I don’t remember it being that long. I’m pretty sure you said tonight. Technically, the night is over.”

  “It’s two ’o’clock, that is not over,” I whisper, nestling my face deeper into his chest to get comfy.

  He begins playing with strands of my hair, twirling them around his giant fingers and then releasing them to fall down onto the blanket. "So, when will I see you again? Hopefully, it’s not another two weeks.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I say. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Is it something to do with your parents?”

  I bring my head up, suddenly startled. “What do you mean?”

  “I just find it odd that you’ve met my entire family and yet, I’ve never even seen yours.”

  “You know how it is,” I say. “They’re really old-fashioned, they won’t let me date until I’m eighteen.”

  “You’re eighteen in three weeks,” he says quietly. “Will I get to meet them then?”

  He breaks my heart when he talks like this. I don’t know why he’s so determined to meet my parents, but I think it’s something that people see as important in a relationship. I can’t compare Nathan to anyone else because he’s my first ever boyfriend, but I’ve read plenty of books to know that the male will always feel nervous before meeting his girlfriend’s father for the first time. In most cases, it goes well. In my case, it will never go well. I can’t tell him that, I can’t burden him with that information. It isn’t fair.

  “Not straight away,” I say. “Otherwise, it’d be a little obvious. Maybe in a few months.”

  “Months?” he chokes out, biting down on the word. “How old-fashioned are these people?”

  “You have no idea,” I say, rolling my eyes back towards the sky. “Sometimes, it’s hard to bear them.”

  “They sound like a ray of sunshine to meet,” he says sarcastically.

  I widen my eyes. “They’re… different. I don’t really know what they are. I just don’t want you to meet them, ever.”

  “They’re that bad?” he gasps. “Damn. No wonder you sneak out in the middle of the night.”

  “That’s because you’re a bad influence,”

  I laugh.

  “I think you’ll find you’re the influencer and I’m the influencee.” “That is so backwards.”

  “You’re backwards,” he snorts.

  I fall back onto his chest, listening once again to his heart beats. “What would you do for me, Nathan?” I say quietly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Would you… cross an ocean for me?”

  “Yeah, on a plane.”

  “No, not a plane,” I say. “Would you cross an actual ocean?”

  “I would…” He takes a deep breath, lifting my head up and down as he exhales. “Swim so far, like a few feet, then probably drown because I’m not on a plane.”

  “You’re allowed a boat,” I grumble.

  “Oh!” he says. “Then definitely.”

  I glance up to meet his eyes. “Would you, though?”

  “Yes,” he says with a gentle smile. “I’d do anything.”

  I fall back down, closing my eyes against his skin. I want to believe that he’s telling the truth, that he would actually do anything, because it’s the only thing strong enough to make me remain by his side. I allowed him to affect me this way, I opened myself to this new kind of hope, but will any of that matter if my parents ever found out about him?

  I might act brave and I might be defiant of their rules, but I’m still their daughter. And I’ll still always let them control me, even when I’m fighting against it. Otherwise, they’d make my life hell, even if I escaped them, they’d find a way to bring me back. I’m too scared of them to question it.

  It’s all about time. I’ll just have to wait. One day, I’ll be old enough and strong enough to walk out of that house for good, but without them allowing me to take on a job, how am I supposed to fund that?

  Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do? Who am I supposed to be?

  I’m hoping that it’ll all make sense one day and for now, I can just keep doing things the only way I know how.

  Suddenly, cars with flashing blue lights begin to appear on the street below, and the screams of the teenagers on the ground can be heard with panic and fear.

  “It’s the cops! Run!”

  Nathan jerks himself upwards, pulling me to my feet beside him as we stare down at the many cop cars that are filling up the driveway as all the party-goers scatter across the lawn and disappear into the shadows.

  “Nathan, I can’t get caught,” I say quietly, swallowing a lump of fear.

  “Come on, we’ve got to run,” he says back.

  He grips my wrist and pulls me back through the dim bedroom, and we collide on the landing with several other bodies that are eager to do a runner. Why did we have to pick the top floor? We should have just stayed on the ground, we could be long gone by now. The staircases are filled with people and we wait anxiously as they all try to get past each other while causing serious injury in the process.

  Eventually, we make it to the next staircase, to where even more people are gathered, thumping down the stairs like malicious thunder. Nathan keeps hold of me in the crowd and we break out into a run as we reach the ground floor. The front entrance is a swarm of chaos as all the party-goers descend out into the open, while trying to dodge police officers that attempt to grab them.

  “They’re just looking for the drunk ones or drug dealers,” Nathan says to me. “Just act normal and we’ll be fine.”

  I nod. I take the first step out of the house, surrounding myself with sticky, hot air that makes it harder to breathe. The police officers are occupied, chasing run away teenagers down the lawn and we see our golden ticket to slide by unnoticed.

  Nathan jogs with me down the driveway and I assume we’re going to take to the streets, but he instead pauses beside his car and unlocks it.

  “What are you doing?” I demand as he casually gets into the driver’s seat.

  “Come on, get in,” he says.

  “Nathan, you’re drunk, you can’t drive!”

  He dismisses that as he turns the engine on. “I’m fine. Get in.”

  I fight with the right thing to do, but I know that nothing is worth the repercussions of a police officer catching me walking alone and driving me home. So, I do the stupid thing, the wrong thing and I run around to the passenger’s side.

  As soon as my door closes, Nathan begins reversing; he looks backwards through the window and spins the car around, aiming it for the only gap in the drive way that isn’t blocked by police cars.

  He almost makes it, almost. Suddenly, several police officers jump out into the direct path of the car with their palms in the air, motioning for us to stop.

  “Shit!” Nathan shouts as he slams on his breaks. “This can’t be happening!”

  “I can’t get arrested,” I say. “Nathan, I can’t—”

  “Just let me think.” He bangs his head into the stirring wheel and then rubs a hand through his hair in sheer frustration. “I can’t leave this car, they’ll kill me, they’ll kill me!”

  “What are you talking about?” I demand.

  A police officer makes his way to Nathan’s door and swings it open. “Step out of the vehicle, now.”

  Nathan doesn’t look at me as he obeys the officer, he surrenders his hands in the air and leaves the car. I leave the car too and I run around it in a panic.

  “Officer, please, he wasn’t doing anything wrong,” I say.

  The officer brings out a small, black machine attached to a long, clear tube and holds it in front of Nathan’s face. “I’ll be the judge of that,” the officer says. “Breathe into this.”

  “No,” Nathan responds.

  “Don’t make things even harder for yourself, son, just do it.”

  “No,” Nathan says again. “I refuse.”

  “If you refuse the breathalyser, then I’ll have to brin
g you to the station.”

  To that, Nathan just shrugs.

  “Very well then,” the officer says, and then he withdraws his handcuffs from his pocket and leans Nathan against his car while he tightens them around his wrists.

  All I can do is watch, watch with a tear rolling down my cheek as the person I love gets taken away to be held in a lonely, cold cell for the evening. Nathan glances at me one final time before the officer shoves him into the backseat of one of the police cars. The way he looked at me, it’s almost as if he was trying to tell me something, something important.

  I see police officers making other arrests too, most of the drunk teenagers had put up a fight and are being pushed to police vehicles in every direction.

  Suddenly, a police officer approaches me. He is a man that looks to be in his late forties, with a curly moustache and small, rounded eyes hidden behind thick eye-glasses.

  “Miss, come with me and I’ll take you home.”

  I swallow. “It’s alright, I can walk.”

  “I’m not asking,” he says.

  His hand reaches for my arm, and although my first instinct is to resist and punch him in the face, I can’t find the energy but to let him guide me to a car. He slams the door shut as I cower into the back seat, shaking and petrified of what is going to happen.

  Not only to me, but to Nathan. He could lose his license because of this and that car means a lot to him.

  But I, I could lose much more.

  Chapter 5

  I fold my arms over my chest, squeezing my fingers deep into my arms as the police officer bangs onto the front door of my house.

  “Is that really necessary?” I snarl at him.

  “Would you rather have me arrest you for underage drinking?”

  I bite on my lip, glancing at my feet as light flickers to life inside the lounge—it happens so quickly that I’m wondering if they were sat up waiting for me anyway. I remember the face I saw in my bedroom window, I hoped I had hallucinated it, I convinced myself it was just a moment of projected fear instigated from my subconscious because of the fall.

  I was wrong.

  A few seconds later, the door gently opens and I see my mother’s long, bony fingers tap against the frame in agitation.

  “Good evening, officer,” she says, pretending not to see me. “What can I help you with?”

  “Are you Amelia Sanchez?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have your daughter here.” He flicks his eyes to me and I nervously walk over to his side, to where my mother stares straight at me. “Were you aware she attended a party tonight and has consumed alcohol unlawfully on the premises?”

  I roll my eyes away from him, taking a deep breath as I fidget. I know he’s only trying to help me, like he probably does every single night with countless other teenage girls, but he has no idea that the devil itself hides behind my mother’s friendly, shocked expression.

  “I had no idea,” my mother says. “I thought she was in bed.”

  The officer laughs slightly. “Yes, well, we hear that a lot. I thought it would be in your daughter’s best interest for me to drive her home, as the boy she was with was arrested.”

  I widen my eyes, glaring up at the sky in disbelief as I fall to the verge of tears. Why did he have to say that?

  “A boy?” my mother repeats, her eyes are now well and truly scorned into me, and there’s no escaping it. “I can assure you, officer, Elizabeth will be punished appropriately for her actions tonight. Thank you and God bless you for bringing her home safely.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am. Have a good evening.”

  He begins to turn, but just as he does, I grip my hand into his arm and I force him to look me in the eye.

  “Don’t leave me, please,” I whisper. “Don’t leave me with her.”

  The officer widens his eyes, confusion washes over his face at first, but then he sees something in my eyes, something in my face, something in my fear that he recognises immediately as though he has seen it on a thousand other faces.

  “Come along now, Elizabeth, I’ll make you a cup of tea and we’ll talk about this.” My mother takes my shoulders and starts stirring me back towards the house.

  Every moment that I’m in the officer’s line of sight is a safety net—and as he stares back at the front door, with his eyes just a tad narrowing, I hope somehow that he has heeded my cry for help. But he doesn’t come for me, he doesn’t stop that door from slamming shut which causes my body to jolt in terror. I count my heartbeats that are bursting through my chest, it wasn’t that long ago when I was listening to Nathan’s heartbeats, now I might never listen to them again. I might never see him again. And I still have no idea how much trouble he’s in.

  Just like he has no idea about me.

  My father stands in the kitchen doorway—pulling a long, leather belt back and forth between his fingertips. I stand as far from them as I can, I keep my arms crossed, my eyes down, trying to focus on anything else other than their glares.

  “Do you wish to repent?” my mother says calmly, she strolls across the back of the couch, trailing a finger along the back-board.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, backing up to the window. “What I did, it was immoral and unforgivable.”

  “What did you do?” she says.

  “I attended a party down the street and—”

  “You lied!” she screams, charging for me with her finger stabbing at my nose. “You recited the passage in which one should not lie and you lied while speaking it! You are not ill.”

  I stand still as she observes my eyes, she widens her dark, blue holes of evil into mine like she’s searching for my soul.

  “You have the devil inside of you,” she says, then spits down at my feet. “You are riddled with sin.”

  I don’t know why I say what I say next, but I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of their judgement, enough of their abuse, enough of their ramblings. Anger courses through me like a lit match, it reaches every part of my body, pushing me to the limit of my self-control.

  “I would rather have the devil inside of me than your God!” I spit back at her.

  My mother remains still, emotionless, as she takes in my outburst with no instinctive reaction. If anything, it seems to amuse her, she turns around eyeing my father in the doorway and he steps forwards—stretching the belt between his hands.

  “You think that will scare me?” I ask. “You think that will hurt me? You have done much worse to me every day of my life.”

  “Your father saw you leaving the house with that boy tonight,” my mother says quietly. “Have you sinned with him?”

  A smile spreads across my face. “Yes. I’ve had sex with him, mother. And I liked it.”

  She pauses half way across the lounge and spins on her axis. I’ve finally ignited a reaction from her, I’ve finally cracked her. "

  “You are hanging on by a very thin thread right now, Elizabeth. We have been patient with you, guided you and have done nothing but protect you from the dirt of the outside world, but yet, you don’t seem to be grateful of our sacrifices.”

  “Sacrifices?” I whisper, my hand begins to shake. “Sacrifices! You water-boarded your own daughter!”

  “And you still didn’t listen,” she says. “I’m afraid she is beyond our help now, Jonas.”

  My father nods in agreement.

  “It is time to take the necessary action.”

  I stare down at the belt in my father’s hands and although I’m afraid of how far he will take it, I know that the physical wounds will heal. I know that it won’t break me, not anymore. I have Nathan now, I have something to fight for, something to hold on to, something to bring me to the near edge of fearless, I just have to be brave enough to cross that path by myself. I straighten my body, looking my father at eye-level, confident and ready.

  “You may go now, Elizabeth,” my mother says. “You will not receive the belt this time.”

  This is a trick. It must be a trick. I flic
k my eyes between the two of them, waiting for the catch, waiting for the real test.

  “Why?” I say.

  “You will see the light by yourself. We cannot guide you anymore. The Lord will judge you.”

  I take a breath, relaxing my body as relief captivates me. I’m still unsure about what she means by that because punishing me is something they’ve always found pleasure in. Whether that be hitting me with the belt, with the back of a shoe, dumping my head into a sink of water or smacking me across the face—they always punish me.

  So, as they share a look with each other, both of them frowning with a strange disappointment, I begin to wonder something else: what could be worse than the belt?

  Chapter 6

  I spend a few hours in bed with my hand curled over my head, hiding away the anxiety and shame of the events that have just happened. I still don’t understand why they let me off unless they have something bigger planned. They must have something planned, my mother was too calm down there.

  I didn’t manage to sleep because of worry for Nathan, so I stared at my window until the sky turned a bright, fluorescent orange as the sun began to rise. I kept my phone close to me, in case he used his phone call to get in touch—but I’ve heard nothing.

  It’s a few hours into the morning now and I’m scared to leave this bedroom. I’m scared of facing whatever is waiting for me downstairs because this situation is unusual. Hitting me I can deal with, cursing me I can deal with, even isolation I can deal with—but forgiveness? I can’t deal with that. I want them to be angry, I want to provoke something out of them, I want them to find me so hopeless that they kick me out.

  I don’t intend to leave yet, but I suddenly have no choice as my bedroom door swings open dramatically. I sit up against my headboard, rubbing my eyes tiredly as my mother strolls inside with her hands entwined behind her back.

  “Are you ready to renounce your sins, Elizabeth?” she says as she walks straight over to my window and blinks up at the sun.

  “No,” I say. “Screw my sins.”

  “You need to start watching that attitude of yours, it won’t protect you where you’re going.”