Chapter Fifteen

I FELT LIKE I could puke. I think if that had happened, the Mitchells would have seized the opportunity and leaped across the table in an attempt to bind me up and demand answers. Thankfully I held my pasta down.

I turned and took off full speed up the stairs to my room. Slamming my bedroom door, I desperately wanted to lock it behind me. But the Mitchells had a rule and there were no locks on the doors so that each was always accessible, night or day.

I leaned my back against the door, waiting for them to break it down any second. They didn’t. Then it began to dawn on me, as I looked around my room, that none of this was truly mine. Suddenly things started looking foreign to me. I had spent a year in this room, a year of making memories in this new life with this new family—all good things, or so I’d thought. Maybe I had become just another occupant of this room, just passing through. Once I was gone, someone else would take my spot and replace my memories with their own.

My thoughts rounded on Dad and Dr. Vance’s phone call. Would Dad get better? What kind of treatments was he going through? Would he fight to get custody of me? Would I move back in with him? The idea traumatized me in ways I had never really realized. I had no idea how Dad was progressing. Maybe one day he’d show up on the front step and take me back, or the cops would pull me from school because Dad was moving to a new city. Heck, Deputy Mitchell might even be the one who would come to get me.

I stood up and listened. I could hear Rick and Tracy’s voices and clinking dishes downstairs. An old thought bubbled up: was I still safe here? This seemed to be a reflex in my mind—safety. Had I ever truly known it? Don’t get me wrong—I liked the Mitchells. They weren’t bad people. But a snippet of dread crept into my head and fueled a long-abandoned plan I had when I first moved in.

Run away.

It would be so easy. I had plenty of cash saved up. Something deep inside me whispered. Was that the real reason I read minds at school? A way out? But where would I go, and how long would I last? I was fifteen and still didn’t have my license, let alone being able to afford a set of wheels of my own. Dean drove me everywhere, and considering how dinner had just played out, he wasn’t an option.

Moving back to my bed, I leaned back onto its sea of strewn blankets, but I didn’t dare close my eyes. Tonight I was sure I would have little to no sleep. I hated this. I was tired of fighting and losing. What I needed to do was something for myself.

The idea I had now flooded my head and I made a decision.

I was leaving.