That fiery haired girl- Odette- I'm afraid she'll discover what's happening to me. No one can know. If she finds out and tries to help, my uncle will hurt her too. I can't do that. The Americans are good people; I can't drag then into my problems or get them hurt because of them.

I'm fighting tears again as I feel Odette stare at me. She stands up and I watch her walk away. Great. She's already given up on me. I thought she might be different....

It's ok, it's ok. A least now there's much less of a chance that she'll find out about my uncle.

Just as I'm telling myself it's for the best that we don't get close, Odette is back with a small box and a washcloth on her hands. She licks her lips. I can practically see the gears turning in her head. Sign language is a struggle for her, I can tell.

She puts the washcloth and box down and holds up her hands to prepare for a sign. She furrows her eyebrows and it takes her a long time to think of how to sign "help you wash."

She points at the giant gash my uncle gave me last night. I bite my lip and hesitantly swing my legs out from under the desk. She smiles encouragingly at me, squats, and begins to tenderly press the washcloth to the cut. I bite my tongue to keep from crying out, especially since it would surprise everyone to hear any sort of sound out of me. I've never had that kind of attention and I don't want it now.

I must have let out some sort of audible whimper because Odette looks up at me apologetically. In truth, the pain of the wet washcloth on my cut is a good sort of pain. We've never had the means to take care of injuries like this before.

Of course, I've never had a gash quite like this one before. She takes the washcloth off and reaches into the little box. She peels something off a little wrapper and sticks it on me, covering up most of my gash. I smile graciously at her and she lifts her hand to rub my back. I flinch a little as her hand goes up, without meaning to. Her eyes darken and she looks really concerned again. She slowly lowers her hand. I wonder if she can piece this together... I hope not.

I flash her another forced smile for good measure and push through the rest of the day, trying to act as cheerful as I can.

___________________

I trudge home with dread in my heart, just like every other day of my life. When I reach the front door I immediately brace myself for a blow, but it doesn't come. Cautiously I make my way into the house. Still on edge I creak around our small space. Then I see him, passed out on the bed he uses. I let out the breath I had been holding in but continue to eye him carefully as I go to a far corner to try to understand some of my lesson from today. I pull out a small book and my chalkboard and sit criss-cross applesauce.

Things go fine for a while and I'm actually able to enjoy the story we are reading.

But then he wakes up. I catch him out of the corner of my eye, stirring on the bed. I hold my breath and force myself to sit up straight.

Please don't let him hurt me today, I pray. Please...

I bite my lip and fight the urge to scream as he stalks over to me, nearly falling down on his way. His lips move swiftly and I feel his words echo in me. He picks me up by the collar and the breathes in my face. I can't help but shake and a sickening smirk crosses his lips at my fear. He grabs my ear and drags me over to the bed, flinging me on top. A sudden, deep dread fills me. He's not going to... Oh no... My tears start spilling over and it seems to satisfy him. The monster!

He makes a move to go under my shirt and I  swiftly back off and fall off the bed. Shaking my head I keep backing up until I hit the wall. He's fuming... Fuming more than he was last night.

He sends a punch to me head and I fall onto the floor, feeling a gasp tickle my throat. He kicks me in the gut and the ribs repeatedly until I vomit up today's lunch.

I don't even pretend I'm not afraid anymore. The tears spill and I don't try to stop them. Is this it? Is this how I'm going to die? I wanted to make my mark on the world... I was still clinging to a hope that my mom would come back... That'd she'd hold me again some day... That'd she tell me she never meant to leave me alone...

With a final kick right to the head, the world begins to go blurry and I fade from consciousness.

__________________

I'm surprised to find myself alive, honestly, but here I am. Aching all over but alive. It's the dead of night and it takes a while for my eyes to adjust but my eyesight is really good. I make out the form of my uncle passed out on the bed again. The memory of what he did to me... And of what he tried to do...

Something dawns on me.

I've told myself all this time that running away isn't the answer. That there's nowhere for me to go and that he'll find me if I tried. I can't run...

But I can't stay.

That's it... I have to run... Before he takes everything from me. He'll try what he tried last night I don't doubt it. And if I try to avoid him again, I don't doubt I'll wind up dead. I may wind up dead anyway, in the wilderness of Africa, but at least he won't have my death on his list of sins.

I can't ask any American or African family to take me in; at least not anyone around here. I have to get far away from this town; somewhere he'll never find me. Maybe I can find any crumbs or leftovers from lunch at the schoolhouse to get me as far as the next village.

I glance at the door to the little shack.

I have to get out of here. And I have to get out now.