Page 85

I carefully set my rabbit near the pillow and whisper, “Stay here,” then slide off the mattress and startle when my foot touches the chilly floor through the hole in the bottom of my sock. Shoot. He took my shoes.

Okay. That’s okay. I don’t need my shoes to escape.

I stand, head swimming, legs shaky. The room doesn’t tilt, so I take a breath and move toward the dresser. Every step seems thunderous against the quiet.

Dad’s box is useless unless I’m willing to hit somebody with it, which I’m not, so I quietly pull the dresser drawers open one by one.

They’re all empty.

My eyes land on the lamp sitting on the top of the dresser. That could work.

It’s cheap, off-white, the kind with a heavy ceramic base and a cream-colored shade. Not huge, but solid. My mom had one like it in the living room for a while, before one of her boyfriends knocked it over.

The cord pulls tight as I lift it, reminding me it’s plugged in. I set the lamp down again and crouch to look behind the dresser for the wall socket. Thankfully, I can just barely reach it. It’s a bit tricky, especially because my fingers decide to be incredibly unhelpful and all jittery, but on the third try, the plug finally comes free.

I wrap it loosely around the base so it doesn’t drag, then position myself by the door. My whole body is trembling now as I hold the lamp with both hands, fingers spread wide across the cool ceramic. It’s heavier than it looked, so I hope I can build enough momentum with a swing to land the hit.

I don’t want to really hurt him. Just enough for me to get past. I’ll run, find a door to the outside, and then run some more, I guess. Yeah. I’ll run until I see another house, and I’ll ask them to call 911.

One thing at a time, Kamden.

First, the man.

I raise the lamp over my shoulder and wait there in the corner beside the door frame, lamp balanced above me like a baseball bat.

Nothing happens for what feels like forever. My arms start aching almost immediately; my shoulders burn first, then my forearms shake from holding still. Cold sweat slides between my shoulder blades.

I lower it slightly, just to rest my arms for a few seconds—

Then I hear footsteps in the hall outside my door.

Oh God. Okay. I can do this.

I can.

I position myself closer to the wall beside the door, where he won’t see me until he’s already through it. My palms are slick against the ceramic base; any second now, this thing is going to slip out of my hands and ruin everything before he even gets here.

Soon, the footsteps stop outside my door, and the lock turns.

The door opens toward me, and I swing. I make some horrible noise along with it—a half-scream, half-sob—as I bring the lamp toward his head with everything I have.

He ducks, takes a quick step back, and the lamp goes past his ear without touching him.

One hand catches my forearm before I can even register his dodge; the other closes around the base of the lamp, his fingers covering mine.

“No!” I try to yank away.

He twists the lamp out of my grip with embarrassing ease. One quick turn of his wrist, and my fingers open whether I want them to or not.

“Kamden—”

I kick at him. My heel catches his shin, and he grunts but doesn’t let go.

“Let me go!” I yell, flailing against him.

The water bottle he was carrying hits the floor and rolls beneath the dresser.

He gets the lamp away from both of us and sets it back down on the dresser, giving me just enough time to lunge toward the doorway.