5
I dream of being beaten by Deacon James and his thugs most nights, of running through dark woods to escape, so it took me a while to realize I wasn’t dreaming. Someone was actually beating me.
Hands struck my back and my shoulder, and I curled in a ball to protect my head. I’d swung my arm before my eyes were open—not even making a proper fist—but I’d swung hard enough that it hurt when my hand made contact. I rolled, falling off my bed and knocking my attacker over in the process. I c****d my arm and curled my fingers back to strike with the heel of my hand.
And then I realized Renee was beneath me. A tiny trickle of blood dotted her upper lip.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked.
I jumped backwards off her, falling when the couch took my legs out from under me. Renee’s tatty, sheet-
