Abby
The oppressive air seems to weigh us down, an invisible blanket of fear and despair. Roger insists I"m in shock, but my senses are razor sharp: The waves lapping against the boat reverberate in my ears, and Blake"s blood lingers on my father"s hands despite his scrubbing.
Tension hangs between Jenna, huddled on the couch with her arms wrapped around her knees, and me and Roger facing each other across the cabin.
My father strips off his bloodied shirt, revealing a chest marred with mottled bruises. Worry creases his forehead as he stares at me for what feels like eons before saying, “Just let me think for a minute, okay?”
"I don"t want to go to the cops," Jenna whispers. "We don"t have to tell anyone…”
She begs us with wide, frightened eyes.
"Of course we do," Roger and I answer
