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“Come on, you need to get up,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she tries to lift me up.
With her help, I manage to get to my feet. The room spins as dizziness wars with pain, and my body threatens to collapse. Each step hurts, but Penelope doesn’t release me, supporting me as we slowly climb the stairs until we’re in my room with the door closed and locked behind us.
“You need to leave,” she whispers urgently, tears filling her eyes as she lifts her hand and carefully touches my face.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Run. Use your trust fund and run away, as far away from them as you can get. They’ve…” She pauses. “They’ve lost their minds. This money; it’s corrupted them. It’s corrupted me too, but this…” A tear rolls down her cheek, but she swipes it away. “God, your face,” she brokenly rasps.
“What about you?” I ask, feeling closer to my sister in this awful moment than I have in years.
“I’ll be fine,” she says, a small, shaky smile tipping the corners of her lips. “God, Izabella, I’m so sorry.”
“What?”
“I should have stopped them down there. I should have?—”
“Did you know what they were going to do?” I ask, interrupting her.
“No,” she sobs brokenly. “No, of course not. I thought they’d shout at you, but that…your face,” she gasps, pushing my hair off my forehead and wincing as she looks me over. “You need to go. We’re eighteen, and they can’t take your trust fund, no matter what they said. You need to get away while you still can. If you stay, they’ll never let you go. I overheard her and Dad talking about making you have sex with someone in my place,” she whispers, covering her mouth with her hand as a ragged sob bursts from her. Turning, she rushes to the closet and drags out my large suitcase. Dumping it on the bed, she unzips it, then rushes back to the closet, grabbing handfuls of clothes and dumping them into the open case.
I want to argue, but I don’t. Because she’s right, I can’t stay here. I knew things were escalating, but what’s happened tonight and what Penelope just told me confirms it’s not safe here for me anymore. So, I carefully stagger to my feet and start to grab the things I don’t want to leave behind and stuff them into the case.
“Call Gulliver, ask him to come and get you,” she says, urgency lacing each word.
“No, I have someone who can help,” I say, not wanting to tell her that Mark has already offered to help me run. “But how am I going to get this case downstairs without them seeing?”
“We’re going out. We’re due at the Harvey’s at six, and it’s over an hour’s drive, so we’ll be gone soon. Lock the door once I go, then as soon as we leave, run. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says, shocking me when she pulls me into a tight hug.
Wincing at the pain that radiates from my ribs, I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, sad that we’ve never had the relationship I’d hoped we would and knowing that now we probably never will.
When she pulls back, her eyes are glassy. “I’m so sorry, Izabella. Be safe,” she says as she walks to the door and leaves.
I lock it behind her and spend the next hour packing everything I need to run and never come back. I haven’t looked at my face, but my right eye has almost swollen closed, and the inside of my cheek feels like raw meat when I cautiously run my tongue over it. My ribs burn, and there’s several scrapes on my arms and stomach from Mom’s heels. The ringing in my head slowly starts to fade, but it’s replaced with a headache that makes nausea burn in my throat.
It’s Mark’s night off, so Dad’s driver, Tim, is taking them to the Harveys’, and I watch the car pull off down the drive with a mixture of relief and trepidation. My hands shake as I open Mark’s contact in my cell phone and hit Call.
“Miss Izabella, is everything okay?” he answers, worry lacing his voice.
“Mark, if that offer still stands, I need some help,” I say, my voice cracking.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“It’s going to be okay, Miss Izabella,” he says before he ends the call, and I sit staring at my cell and the huge suitcase that holds everything I own.
A knock at my door has me jumping to my feet, and I panic, terrified that one of my parents didn’t leave, even though I watched them climb into their car.
I freeze, not even breathing, as the door handle rattles. “Miss Izabella,” Mrs. Humphries calls.
Unsure what to do, I carefully pad to the door, unlock it, and pull it open. I doubt she’ll stop me from leaving, but it’s a risk I’ll have to take because there’s no way I can get out of the house without her noticing.
“Oh, Miss Izabella.” Her mouth snaps shut when she sees me, her eyes quickly darting over my face.
Pushing the door wider, I flinch as she reaches for me, carefully turning my head so she can see my swollen face and split lip more clearly. Her lips purse, and she inhales sharply. Her shoulders visibly slump when she looks past me and sees my suitcase. Smiling weakly, she marches across the room, takes hold of the handle of my case, and drags it to the door without another word.
I follow her silently, not sure what I can even say in this moment as our deceptively strong housekeeper lifts my case like it weighs nothing and carries it down the stairs, lowering it to the floor in the foyer.
