How could he do this, Tara mused. How did Mother stand it? Why didn't she take me and Donnie and leave? He was young enough then, wasn't he? She was so strong, but they never knew it. They said she had to stay for her own sake. Maybe they're right. She wiped the steam off of the bathroom mirror and peered hesitantly at her own face, blurred by moisture on the mirror's surface. A fading yellowish bruise marred the pale beauty of the blonde's face, crossing her left cheek. Her father had done that. Her father's fist. Too many times he had threatened her, bullied her, and hit her. Tara was forming a plan, or more accurately, what she'd been hoping to do for nearly four years was about to spring into a reality. Soon.

It was one week until her eighteenth birthday. One week until she could leave and he would have no power to make her come back. She wanted and wished that she could leave immediately; change towns, change schools, change lives. Start over, somewhere with no more pain. She'd lost so much here, in this speck of a town. Well, why not? Why not just leave everything here behind? Tara nodded grimly at her reflection. There wasn't much she had a legitimate claim on owning, just clothes, books … her sanity and pride. These, she would take with her. The pain and fear would gladly be left and, maybe some day, even forgotten.

The blonde turned her attention to the scrape on her elbow. It looked dramatically better, it was healing quickly now. She studied the too-smooth, pale shininess of the new skin, which contrasted sharply with the dark pink of the center which was still healing. That was the worst of the injuries she'd been dealt - this time, anyway. She'd been knocked backwards to the ground, sent sprawling, and had gotten a pebble pretty much embedded in her elbow. The heel of her left hand had been scraped too, but not nearly as bad as the elbow, which had been harder to reach to clean, initially. She'd been worried about infection for a few days, but she finally found a good angle to get at the wound and completely cleaned it out, painfully re-opening the skin to make sure there was not a speck of dirt in it. She had become something of an expert at making sure scrapes, cuts, and bruises healed safely and quickly – not to mention remaining as hidden as possible.

Tara combed her long blonde hair out very carefully, using her left hand to make sure the scrape didn't break open. She was already thinking about where she could go. Somewhere with inexpensive rent and an availability of jobs for eighteen-year-old girls with no prior work experience. Though actually, anywhere sounded better than here. Tara pulled on her robe and made her way quietly to her bedroom. This was going to be tricky, but she was sure it could be done.

Shutting the door almost silently, Tara waited a moment, then flicked her light on. It was "late" according to her father, meaning it was fully dark, so he'd gone to bed. He always left his bedroom door open, and any light would wake him. And when he woke up, he wasn't happy. She wasn't about to do anything that would add to her collection of injuries, especially when she was this close to having a way out. She went to her closet and looked back at her door, as if expecting it to open and reveal her and her plan to the man who knocked her down and beat her. Deciding it was just paranoia, she turned and knelt, wiggling loose a floorboard on her closet floor. She pulled out a tall, thin glass mason jar that was filled with small bills and change, a triumphant grin on her face. How much did she have now? She opened the jar and pulled a crumpled and worn piece of paper out, studying it for a moment. Under a long list of math, the final total was $264.77. Not trusting her luck to hold out much longer, the blonde replaced the paper and closed and returned the jar, laying the floorboard neatly over it again.

Now, how far would that take her? She would need to set aside at least $250 for housing, so that didn't leave too much left for the Greyhound. $14.77, she frowned. Though Greyhound was pretty cheap, it wasn't quite that cheap. Maybe she'd be able to get farther than 100 miles? Well, she still had a week. She could get more money, borrow some from her $250 for the ticket. That would work. Tara went to her bookshelf and pulled out an old atlas, taking it to her bed to study. She ran her finger down the 1, the 101, and the 5, looking for … something. Past San Jose, but not all the way to Los Angeles. There! Tara leaned closer to the fine print of the old map. Sunnydale. They had a college there, didn't they? UC Sunnydale, she remembered with a smile. She could finish high school there; she'd arrive during Thanksgiving break, go to school part of December, then just about five more months left until graduation. And she'd apply to UC Sunnydale and live in the dorms if they had room. If not she'd stay in, well, the same place she would for the last part of high school. This could actually work.

At that moment her door flew open, her brother bursting in. Tara snapped the atlas closed and clutched at the neck of her robe with one hand. The towering boy sneered down at her, closing her door.

"Donnie, w-what are you doing in here?" the girl asked in a quiet voice.

He smirked. "Maybe I should be askin' you that, hmm?" He strode over to her bed, as always, looking like he felt he was so superior. "Whatcha got there?"

"It's called a book? N-not that you'd know anything about them," she retorted boldly but quietly.

Donnie snorted derisively. "Who says I don't? That's one of those map-books. Whatcha want one of those for? Planning some kinda trip?"

Tara mutely shook her head. She would not be caught by her weasel of a brother. Not tonight, and not any night. "C-colleges. Looking for the um, the close s-s-schools," she lied.

Donnie made a "tsk" noise. "Should be somethin' you already know." He paused as if considering something. "But … I'll let ya tell me that. For now. Don't think you're gettin' away with anything though, ya hear that?" He turned and sauntered out of the room.

Tara let out a sigh of relief, replaced the worn atlas, and shut her light off, falling into a dreamless slumber.