I reach out around me in search of something, anything to stop him. My hands find something metallic and cold shaped like a cylinder. I pick it up and hit him in the side. He eases his grip on my throat, and I fight back harder, feeling that hope surge within me again. I hit him on the head, and he falls back, screaming and crying. I struggle to my feet fighting the wave of nausea and dizziness that threatens to overtake me.
“Run, Addie. Run before I hurt you again.”
I’m confused, but I heed his warning. I run. I run like I ran the first time I was nearly murdered on the night my mom died at the hands of my step-dad.