December 7

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"Taylor, wait!"

Mom's voice makes me halt in my race to the door. I skid to a stop, grimacing and wishing she had either been asleep or out of the house. I turn around slowly to face her standing in the kitchen doorway and already dressed for work.

"Did you really think you could sneak out without breakfast?" Mom asks. "You need to eat, Tay."

"I have to get to school," I tell Mom, making one last attempt at getting out of the house.

She clearly isn't having it, though, cocking an eyebrow at me and gesturing towards the pancakes on the kitchen counter. She walks back into the kitchen and I admit, the sight and smell of fresh food do make me change my mind about hurrying out without eating. It won't hurt to spend a few minutes -- or my entire life -- eating.

"You have time," Mom adds, turning away to unplug the coffee maker.

I give in, walking over to one of the chairs around the island and dropping my bag to the floor. Sitting on the chair, I pull the platter toward me and break a piece of the pancakes.

"Your friend dropped by yesterday," Mom tells me.

"Marla?" I ask absentmindedly, counting the time until I have to take my test. It's still early and I have nearly an hour to make it. My panic, though, isn't ready to listen, causing my stomach to twist and my heart to race.

"No, the boy. Shane, I think."

I freeze, my mouth full of the blueberry sauce. Lifting my wide eyes to stare at Mom, I see her fighting a faint smile.

"When?" I barely manage to choke out.

"In the afternoon," Mom tells me. "You were asleep and he didn't want to disturb you. I told him he could come by today if he wants. I'm sure you'd like that too."

The heat that creeps up my cheeks is one thing, the enhanced pounding of my heart another. I misinterpret my excitement as anxiety about the test and gorge down another pancake before getting to my feet.

"I have to go," I say hastily, wanting to ask Mom what Shane said but afraid of what I might hear.

"He said I should tell you he's sorry."

The ground nearly slips out from underneath me and I stare at mom. She smiles openly now, looking more like herself with each passing day. The bags under her eyes and her streaks of white hair are still present but she looks better, happier and healthier.

"He's a nice boy, Taylor," she adds. "And I think he likes you."

"I know he does," I mumble, averting my gaze. "But he also knows we shouldn't be together and he's right. We're both too messed up."

I hate saying it, the weight of the words resting on my chest. Yet, I now understand how right Shane was. We can't help each other if we can't help ourselves.

I can't love Shane if I can't even love myself.

Mom nods thoughtfully. "I'm just saying. He's a nice boy."

"I know," I answer, stuffing my mouth with food. "But I can't go around dating all the nice boys out there."

My attempt to shake Mom off doesn't work and she only continues to smile, watching me closely so that I'm sure she can tell how conflicted I am about Shane and -- more importantly -- how I feel about him. I like him, that's for sure. I have liked him for longer than I care to admit. His smile, his eyes, the way he makes everything so easy ... Shane is exactly the kind of guys I like. He's sweet and kind and incredibly caring, always knowing exactly what to do and say.

After what he said not too long ago, though, I'm not sure he's exactly the person I thought he was. Turns out, even Shane has a dark side, one he clearly keeps hidden away under all the charm and charisma.

"I could help," Mom suggests.

"No thank you!" I exclaim, jumping to my feet and grabbing my bag before swinging it over my shoulder. "And please do not meddle in my love life. You need to focus on yours."

Mom scolds after me, telling me I'm getting too bold for my own good, and I laugh as I nearly run out of the house and into the brisk early morning air. I'm glad I pulled on one of my warmer sweaters and double socks. The weather has gotten chillier and my fever will not subside if I don't take the necessary precautions.

 My laughter is cut short, though, when I see Dad sitting in his car outside our metal gate. He looks up as I approach.

I come to an unsteady stop next to the car and dad eans over the middle to push open the door for me.

"Need a ride?" he asks.

Not knowing whether to smile or break down crying, I slide into the passenger seat and close the door behind me. I glance as Dad out of the corner of my eye as he begins to drive, keeping his focus on the road ahead.

The ride is silent but I don't mind; it's a start. Slow and forced but much-needed.

"Thanks for the ride, Dad," I say when he stops the car outside my school.

I'm already out of the car when I hear him say, "let me know if I should pick you up."

Nodding and smiling, I hurry into the school and make my way to the exam center for the students taking SAT this Saturday. Riley is the only one of my friends who had waited till the last opportunity -- like me -- so it's the two of us who file into the hall with the rest of the students who are either lazy like us or had simply been busy.

By the time my test comes to an end, Riley is waiting for me. She didn't take the optional essay portion that took up another extra forty minutes of mine. When I make it out of the hall, she's already there, holding a bag of crisps and a bottle of juice for me to take.

"I told my mom what happened," she says as I rip the packet and start to eat. "Not the part about me cutting but just what happened with Dad."

"What did she say?" I ask.

Riley shrugs, picking at her nails. "Said she already knew I'd find out sooner or later."

"Why didn't she take you with her, did you ask?"

Riley nods, not looking up at me. "She said he never hurt me. She said she doesn't get why but I'm kind of an exception for Dad. He's never tried to hurt me even though he's ..."

She trails off and I reach out and place a hand on her arm. I give it a gentle squeeze as we walk side by side along the hallway and make our way out of the school.

"How can someone be good to one person but be so bad to everyone else?" Riley asks, frowning.

We stop walking outside the school entrance and face each other.

"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe he just loves you too much to do to you what he does to everyone else. Or maybe because you're his daughter and the girls he hurts aren't?"

Riley doesn't answer, shifting on her feet and tugging at her sleeves. I hate seeing her like this, so unsure and so self-conscious. It's like the truth about her father has somehow torn down her confidence in herself. Or maybe she's afraid of being just another one of his victims.

"Mom said she'll come and take me away from here," Riley tells me.

"What did you say?"

She hesitates. "I told her I'm okay. I mean, I'll be going to college soon anyway."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

Riley looks into my eyes and I see hers sparkling with tears. "I don't want to hurt my dad," she admits in a small voice. "I know he's a bad man and a terrible person but ... I can't. I should report him and send him to jail too but I can't. He's my dad, Taylor."

"You don't have to do anything," I reassure her, not sure how I feel about what she's saying.

Even though, as one of her father's prospective victims, I know how badly I want him to be punished, as Riley's friend, I can understand how hard it must be for her to not only digest everything that has come into her knowledge but also take sides. She shouldn't have to make such a big decision in haste. Maybe one day, she'll eventually know what to do. Until then, she shouldn't have to do anything.

Riley chews on her lower lip. "Do you think I should?"

I think about it for a moment. "Yes," I say. "I think you should. But I won't force you."

"Will you report him if I don't?"

A brief silence follows. "I don't know. I want to. But I think you should."

"What if I never do?"

"Then maybe someone will," I answer. "And if someone does, I will support them."

"So you'll send my father to prison?" Riley raises her eyebrows.

"I'll send a pedophile to prison. I don't care whose father he is."

She lowers her gaze and shifts on her feet. For a while, we stand in silence, awkward and sad. I don't want her to feel like she has to do something. But I also know there's only one right answer. The man might not have had his way with me. That doesn't mean he's innocent. He could hurt other girls.

"He's my father," Riley mumbles.

"He's someone's molester," I remind her. "Someone's trauma. The reason someone hates men, cries herself to sleep, wants to die. He might be your hero, but he's someone else's villain."

Inhaling a deep breath, Riley closes her eyes and bows her head.

"Will you support me?" she mumbles. "Only if I decide to report him or even if I don't?"

"I'll support you either way. Not him, though."

Riley nods, not looking reassured at all. Then she blinks and sniffs, her shoulders stiffening. "I think I should go."

"Wh --?"

Following her gaze, I turn around to see Shane standing a few feet from us and shuffling his joggers in the dirt. My heart jumps into my throat and I try to tell myself he's just there for some other reason, not to see me. He's looking right at me, though, and biting his lower lip as uncertainty clouds his features.

There's no doubt he's here to talk to me.

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A/N: I know I said one chapter but it got so long I've split it. Stay tuned for the next chapter coming in, like, ten(?) minutes or so. <3