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boys returned. I didn’t fight it this time. I was alone in the woods. No one would see if I cried or got angry.
    I punched the cat.
    If the stupid thing hadn’t died, Dominic wouldn’t have found it and then he couldn’t have put it in my locker and he couldn’t have made fun of me and all those boys would’ve had no reason to laugh at me. Everything would’ve been fine.
    I punched it again.
    And again.
    And then, I grabbed it tightly with both hands and raised it above my head. I brought it down quickly, slamming it against the ground to the sound of crunching bones. Again, I raised it and brought it down. And again. And again.
    It felt good.
    I kept slamming the cat’s lifeless body against the hard earth. After twenty or so times, I realized I was crying. And cursing. I was damning Dominic and Taylor and Spencer and Garrett. I was damning my mother and father. And I was double damning Travis.
    How dare they? How dare they do this to me? I did nothing to any of them. I didn’t deserve to be treated the way they were treating me.
    And there was nothing I could do about it.
    After I’d exhausted myself, I stopped abusing the cat. I sat there, crying, until I’d calmed down enough to dig a hole. Overwhelmed with guilt, I then placed the cat’s broken body in the hole and filled it with dirt. I took my backpack back to the house where I tried to clean the blood out of the bottom. I got most of it, but I could still see the outline of the stain. I didn’t even care anymore.
    I threw the backpack on the floor of my room and collapsed on the bed. As soon as I did, I heard Travis coming down the hall toward my room. I shut my eyes and prayed for him to just keep walking.
    He threw open my door.
    “Where the fuck have you been?” he yelled, shirtless and drunk.
    “Outside.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Nothing.”
    He stomped into the room and jerked me off the bed by one arm.
    “You ask me to go outside?”
    I shook my head no.
    “That’s right, you didn’t. Prick. You’re supposed to ask me. I’m your daddy. Right?”
    I said nothing.
    He slapped me across the face hard, causing my ears to ring.
    “Say it,” he said through clenched teeth. “Say I’m your daddy.”
    I hated him. I didn’t see him as my daddy so I said nothing.
    He shoved me aside, sending me flying into the chest of drawers. He was at me before I could recover.
    “Say it, you little bastard.” His eyes were wild and spit flew from his mouth as he spoke, splattering my face in foul-smelling drops.
    “No,” I said, scared to death. I didn’t want to say it. It would be a lie.
    He punched me in the face, his fist connecting with my left eye. I saw white flecks floating in front of my eyes, and blackness at the edge of my vision. I felt like I was floating. Unfortunately, it didn’t kill me. It didn’t even knock me out. And somehow, I’d managed to remain standing. Then I realized I was using the chest of drawers for support. I was pushing myself up against it, and with my hands behind me, was clutching the sides of it.
    “You disrespectful little son of a bitch,” he said. He backhanded me with his E-V-I-L hand, making my head snap to the left.
    He unzipped his pants.
    “Don’t,” I said quietly, voice cracking.
    “Shut up. If you won’t say what I tell you to say, keep your mouth shut.”
    He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around so fast, I nearly fell.
    “Drop your pants,” he shouted.
    I hesitated.
    “Now,” he barked into my ear, slapping the back of my head.
    I unfastened my jeans as I fought to keep tears from falling. I didn’t want him to see me cry. I had a feeling he’d like it. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d hurt me.
    I let my jeans fall to my ankles.
    He punched me in the ribs.
    “Underwear too, dumbass.”
    I felt my chin quiver as I dropped my underwear.
    He grabbed my throat from behind with his G-O-O-D hand and used his other to guide himself into me.
    The pain