Chapter 3

Marcus hurled the receiver to the floor. The plastic casing shattered.

"Were you calling someone for help? Trying to run?" His eyes were bloodshot and wild, like a rabid animal's.

He grabbed me by the collar and hauled me up off the floor.

"Let me tell you something — you are never leaving me. Not now, not ever. You're mine, alive or dead."

He raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face. My ears were ringing, my mouth full of the taste of blood.

I was still holding the receiver when a crash exploded through the line, followed by a man's furious shouting.

"Hello? Hello! Nora! What's happening?" I shouted, panic rising in my chest.

Through the line came Marcus's vicious cursing, and the dull thud of fists landing on flesh.

"Still fighting back, you old hag?"

"Help me..." It was my own voice, weak and broken.

My heart clenched.

Was this my future?

Was this the rest of my life — all for what I'd once called love?

Beaten and broken by this man, over and over, until I turned into a sixty-year-old woman covered in scars?

No.

I refused to live that life.

"Nora, listen to me." On the other end, sixty-year-old me was screaming with everything she had left, straight into the receiver lying on the floor.

"Forget about me... go to Stanford... leave him!"

Bang!

Another crash.

Then the line went dead.

I gripped the receiver, my whole body shaking. Rage — rage like I'd never felt before — erupted inside my chest like a volcano.

Marcus. Paige.

The two of you were scum.

I turned and looked at the suitcase on the table. Marcus had packed it for me — everything for tomorrow's trip to Nashville.

I walked over and ripped the zipper open. Inside were nothing but Marcus's ratty clothes and his guitar sheet music. My own things barely took up any space.

I let out a cold laugh and dumped every last piece of it onto the floor.

Then I pulled an old cardboard box out from under the bed. Inside were my high school textbooks, and the Stanford acceptance letter I'd hidden away. I lifted it out carefully and tucked it into my backpack.

Just then, the basement door swung open.

Marcus and Paige walked in. Marcus's hair was soaked — he'd clearly been caught in the rain. The second he saw the mess on the floor, his expression shifted.

"Nora, what are you doing?" He hurried over, trying to sweet-talk me with that same devoted tone as always. "Baby, what happened at the motel was a misunderstanding. You have to believe me."

Looking at his lying face, I felt nothing but disgust.

"A misunderstanding?" I stared at him coldly. "Marcus, we're done."

Marcus went still. He clearly hadn't expected me to be this decisive.

"Nora, quit playing around." He frowned, his patience clearly wearing thin. "We leave tomorrow. What's this attitude about?"

"I'm not going." I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed for the door.

"I'm going to Stanford."

Marcus's face went dark with fury. He grabbed my arm.

"Have you lost your mind? You promised me!"

"Let go!" I wrenched myself free.

Paige chimed in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Marcus, if she wants to leave, let her. She'd just be dead weight in Nashville anyway."

Marcus shot her a glare, then turned back to me, something dangerous flashing in his eyes.

"You think you're actually walking out of here?"

He lunged, grabbing for my backpack.

"Give me that acceptance letter!"