Chapter One:
Wednesday, the 17th of May 2000

I started the day with an argument. Renee had used my book as a coaster and spilt beer all over the pages. This led to a 20-minute screaming match that ended in tears.

"How the hell am I supposed to replace this?" I demanded, tears streaming down my face. Renee held Amelia's copy of Prisoner of Azkaban by the cover. She waved it around, so it looked like a distressed bird.

"It's a dumb book, she can just buy another," Renee said. She wasn't drunk, but she was hungover. Which made her mean.

"Be careful, you're hurting it," I said. "She's not gonna loan me anything again."

Renee dropped the book on the floor. She pointed a manicured finger at me and snarled. "You care way too much about what other people think, Isabella Swan."

"You—You don't care enough," I said. "You ruin everything."

Renee leaned down, slowly, as if every movement made her a little sick. She paused before picking the book up. Then slowly lifting herself up to her full height, she looked down at the book. She opened it slowly, as if seeing the wet pages for the first time.

"I really did," Renee said. She sounded almost apologetic.

Then taking hold of a random page, she ripped it clean out of the binding. Then another. She then threw the book over her shoulder at the wall. It broke a picture hanging there, cracking the glass and knocking it onto the floor.

Renee sat back down on the couch. Picking up a piece of the ripped page, she used it as a coaster for her beer.

"Find your own ride to school, Bella, I am not feeling well."

I stood in shock, not knowing what to do. I didn't want to pick up the book, she would win. But the idea of not having it, of looking Amelia in the face and saying, "Renee…Renee happened" was almost worse.

I couldn't afford to pay for the book, it was a hardback from England. Mama Sandy would tell me it wasn't an issue. Amelia would tell me it was just a book… but I wanted her to know I could be trusted. I didn't want to see the truth behind her eyes… That anything that came home with me would be destroyed if Renee felt like it. And I shouldn't have left the book on the table, but I did.

Water started to build up behind my eyes. I turned and walked away.

Phil saw me in the hallway and didn't say anything. He must have watched the whole thing, from his spot in the kitchen. Instead of comfort, he told me he called Mama Sandy to come get me and take me to school.

"I told her to get me anyways," I said. "She knows you won't take me."

"It's hot," Phil said. "But—I still wanted you to have a ride."

"Thanks," I said. But there was no life to the words. Nothing to make me feel like—I didn't know what to say.

Instead, I got my backpack, headed outside, and waited. Sometimes it felt like whole decades passed in the morning, between waking up and speaking to Renee. She had the ability to make people love her… and hate themselves in the process.

Five more years, I said. Then you're free.

That made me want to cry harder.