"I need to get out of here." Mitchie taps me on the shoulder as soon as the light enters our bedroom. We're curled up on both of our beds, which we pushed together last night after I half-carried her up the stairs because she could barely control her entire body as it wracked with sobs. For a moment, I was afraid that she would go back to her silence, but right as we laid down, she kissed the skin by my ear and whispered, "Thank you."

Now I'm slowly waking up to her soft voice, groggy and completely exhausted from last night. "What?"

"I need to get out of here."

Instantly, I'm awake. I push myself away from her, scared that she's having relapse. I hobble off the bed and get to the far corner of the room before I dare to speak. "Do you need me to go? Am I making you uncomfortable? Is this-"

"Alex." She stops my rant with a little bit of a giggle. "I'm fine. I'd like you to come and sit with me again."

Tentatively, I shuffle my feet just a couple of inches closer to her. My voice is small as I ask the next question, the one encounter bleeding fresh in my mind. I still have to fight the urge to wince when I think about it. "Are you sure?" For some reason, the sight of her sitting still on my bed and looking so utterly confused and determined at the same time sends a flurry of moments rushing at me as they dance through my mind: last night, the confession, her first words, our first kiss-

"Mitchie?" I realize instantly the oddness about that first kiss; not that it wasn't absolutely mind-blowing and brilliant, but it was Mitchie who initiated the contact. Why?

She draws her knees up to her chest, like she's afraid my next move is going to break her heart. "Yes?"

I clear my throat, feeling slightly hesitant. That feeling probably comes from the fact that I don't want to hurt her again, not after last night when she told me she loves me. Not after we've just recovered from a disgustingly awkward patch in our relationship. But I need to know the answer. For some reason, it strikes me as important. "That very first time you kissed me- I want to know why you kissed me. As opposed to me kissing you, I mean, because you're not really all that aggressive. Whenever I pictured it happening, I was always kissing you."

She smirks at me after I say this. "I think it's cute how you pictured it." Just realizing what I had said, I blush a little bit, but she seems to find this entertaining as well considering that she giggles for just a moment before returning to her serious expression. "But honestly, I kissed you first because... I was scared that if I let you start off in control, I would lose all control I could have over this. And I- I just can't let that happened. Not after what happened with... yeah." She's close to tears again even though we both know she needed to make that explanation.

I slowly make my way back over to the bed. I'm just about ready to pull her into a hug when-

"MAX!" My father's voice thunders through the house followed by a large THUD onto what sounds like the wood of the landing. Worriedly, I rush out of the bedroom with Mitchie close behind me. We both are shocked to find Max sprawled out on the floor, his lip cut and a book thrown open in front of him. 1984. His eyes are filled with tears, but he's not crying. Like me, my little brother is much too strong to let them see him cry.

I hurry over beside him to help him up, but that is over quickly as I feel something connect hard with my back, knocking me over. Mitchie stands nervously watching as my father pulls both me and Max up by our collars and holds tightly onto them. I almost feel like I'm suffocating due to his choke hold, like he's sucking all the life out of me. Max's face starts turning colors and tears drip from his eyes as if my father as squeezed them out of the small boy. He looks so young to me at this moment, so innocent.

"I knew you had something to do with this, Alexandra!" he seethes. "My youngest son! How could you! I always knew Max would never be Justin, but I never thought he'd be you either!" The last comment stings so much that I have to stop myself from physically wincing at it. No matter how many times I hear them say it, no matter how much I tell myself I don't care, insults from my family always cut deeper than I want them to. We learn at Havenwood how important family and its structure is, and how we're always supposed to care for and help each other. Maybe that's why it feels so painful whenever they act like I'm not one of them, like I'm a blemish on what would otherwise be a perfect record.

"I should have expected this from a girl!" my father spits out, his face raging and fluctuating between shades of red and purple. "A girl! Why did we have to have a girl!" When it comes to these sorts of comments, I have been beyond tears for a long time. Now I become limp; I just stop fighting and let it roll because somewhere it hurts to be such a disappointment to my family. I wish I could turn that part of me off, flip some sort of switch, but that's not possible.

In the end, though, I can't let Max get blamed for this. He doesn't deserve the kind of punishment I know he will receive and me, well, I've had worse. "Don't blame Max for this. I gave him the book!" I shout desperately, trying to get my father's murderous gaze away from Max's trembling face. It's hard for me to force that much noise out of my mouth due to the strong grip he still has on my collar.

"Why am I not surprised!" he roars, completely livid at this point. I sneak a glance at Mitchie, who is just standing terrified beside the bathroom. She shouldn't have to see this- it's not her fight. But then again, I suppose it is. Every one of her fights, I fight right with her because I love her and can imagine no other way to do things. So maybe she, too, is fighting for me, albeit in a very different way, but it's still making me nearly burst with pride. "Where did you get this book, Alexandra!"

Shit. I didn't think of that.

He shakes me violently, tossing me back and forth like I'm helpless in a hurricane. "Answer me!"

My brain twists and spins, but I can't think of a good explanation without revealing Max's secret lair. So I just throw out some ridiculous explanation, knowing that he won't believe me. My hope is that he'll become so preoccupied with my lies that he'll forget about Max and the book. "You wanna know where I got it? Fine. I dug a hole to the center of the earth, battled scary monsters, and then sold Justin's soul to the devil!"

SMACK.

My father has apparently released Max because he finds a way to slap me clear across the face, most likely leaving an enormous red mark on it. The sting hurts like hell, but I'm too shocked to react. With all the shit my father has thrown at me, he has never stooped to hitting me. The general rule is that physical punishment should be left to the Enforcers, but in dire situations, it is acceptable. Never has he resorted to this. Never. I honestly am about to cry.

"Stop it!" The voice rings out not from Max trying to help me, not from Justin running up to enforce the rules, not from my mother trying to calm my father down, but Mitchie, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stares my father in the eyes. Even through her tears, she looks so determined.

Hearing her cry out isn't that much of a shock to me, but then I remember my father doesn't know that she can speak. In his surprise he lets go of my collar and drops me through the ground. The impact sends a wave of pain through my entire body, though my neck opens up and I start to cough incessantly. I barely can lift my head off the ground as I turn to stare at Max's wide eyes; he's almost paralyzed with the fear of what will happen to the three of us next. I try to be brave for him, but I don't know if I possibly can.

Despite how vengeful and intense Mitchie looks, my father appears to be amazingly excited by her speech, which is understandable. I was, too. But still I wish she hadn't said anything. Now she'll be taken away from us, locked up in the High Chapel with the Shepherds all the time... I don't even want to know what kind of relapse that could easily bring back.

"Theresa! Theresa!" my father calls, excited as a small child receiving a piece of candy. "Go run for the Shepherds! Take Justin! Mitchie has finally spoken!" In his daze, he speeds down the stairs to find his wife and son whilst leaving myself, Mitchie, and Max to fend for ourselves. As soon as he disappears, Mitchie cuts the act and comes to us in a fit of concern. She reaches out to each one of us and pulls our winded trio into a group hug. Max looks a little uncomfortable with the physical contact at first, but he adjusts fairly quickly. I even feel his hand slip around behind Mitchie to hold my hand as it wraps around her waist.

"Are you two alright?" she whispers, probably because she thinks a softer voice will soften the blow.

Max nods his head as I reply, "I'm fine. What I'm worried about is you, though. Who knows what will happen now?"

"Alex," Max pleads. He's addressing me for the first time as though I'm his older sister, the one who is supposed to protect him from the evils of the world. "I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to hide books and I don't want to get my lip split for reading them. I don't want Mitchie to have to go live with the Shepherds and I don't want you to get beaten. I don't want to listen to Dad yell and I don't want to hear Justin talk about God for one more second. I want to leave." I stare at him, his words mirroring Mitchie's from earlier this morning. "Please... take me from here." Upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that his eyes have turned red and puffy from crying and he's left the smallest bit of a watermark on Mitchie's shoulder.

Almost simultaneously, Mitchie and I lift our heads and lock eyes. We know what we need to do; not just for ourselves, but for Max as well. My gut latches onto my conscious like a leech, telling me that Max will be dead from suicide in a few years if we don't take him out of here. And myself- well, I can only last so long. And Mitchie- who knows what will happen to her when the Shepherds get a hold of her.

We don't have time to make a formal pact with words because my father comes rushing back up the stairs a second later, but I know that Mitchie understands the plan. We're leaving. As soon as possible.