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“Do you need money?” she asks.
Tears fill my eyes as I shake my head. “No, but thank you,” I say, my throat thick with emotion.
An unfamiliar car pulls up to the steps outside the house, and Mark climbs out dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He mounts the steps to the house brazenly, like he doesn’t even care if my parents are in or not, and I’ve never been more grateful to have someone who cares about me like my loyal driver does.
Mrs. Humphries opens the front door, and Mark strides in. He takes one look at my face and starts to breathe faster, his eyes bulging. “Those evil motherfuckers,” he growls.
“I just want to leave. Can you please just help me leave?” I beg.
“I’ll kill them,” Mark hisses.
“No, you won’t. They’re not worth it, but I do need your help getting to a hotel. Penelope told me that they can’t take my trust fund, so I have plenty of money. I just need to leave,” I say calmly, despite the tears that are rolling down my cheeks.
“Tell the fuckers, I quit,” Mark shouts to Mrs. Humphries.
She nods. “I’m only staying to keep an eye on Miss Penelope, or else I’d quit too. I don’t trust them enough to leave her here alone, even if all I can do is watch. Take care of yourself, Miss Izabella,” she says, squeezing my arm affectionately.
“Thank you, Mrs. Humphries,” I say as Mark grabs my case and we leave, walking toward his car.
He drops my case into the trunk as I climb into the passenger seat, keeping my gaze fixed forward and avoiding even glancing at my family home until he’s sitting next to me and we’re driving away. Only then do I risk one last look back at the place my family fell apart, all because of money.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Mark tells me.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“It’s the hospital or the police station, your call,” he growls angrily.
“You know I can’t go to the police. I just need to leave. I’ll be fine.”
“Honey, have you looked at your face? I’m worried something might be broken. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Mark,” I say, begging him to understand.
His sigh is pained. “I have a friend who has a private clinic, he’s discreet,” Mark relents.
“Thank you.”
“I’d rather take you to the police,” he mutters. “Fucking assholes.”
Two hours later, we’re back in Mark’s car again. The doctor he took me to insisted on taking X-rays because he thought my jaw might be fractured, but thankfully it’s not. What I do have is a fractured rib, severe bruising, two stitches in my cheek from Mom’s rings, and a script for some painkillers.
Just like my sweet companion, the doctor tried to convince me to go to the police, but I’m not naïve enough to think any charges would last long before my parents paid off a judge or called in a favor to make them disappear.
“Are you sure about this?” Mark asks for the fiftieth time as we slow to a stop outside the hotel I convinced him to bring me to. “Why don’t you come back to my house? My wife will fuss over you, and you can decide what to do next, where to go.”
“I appreciate the offer more than you will ever know, but I don’t want to impose on you and your family, and I shouldn’t involve you in my problems more than I have already,” I assure him.
“It’s no imposition. My daughter is only a year younger than you, and I’d rather you were somewhere safe,” he says imploringly.
“I’ll be fine. You’ve helped me more than you realize. I don’t know how to thank you,” I say, my voice cracking a little.
“You’re a good girl, Miss Izabella.”
“Please call me Izzy,” I say, offering up the nickname that Gulliver uses and that I’ve become fond of.
“Miss Izzy, please come home with me. I really don’t like the idea of leaving you alone and hurt at a hotel.”
“I promise I’ll be absolutely fine, but you have my cell phone number and I have yours, so maybe we can stay in touch?” I say, feeling silly for asking but needing a link to someone who cares about me.
