It’s why I need more than what life has given me so far. I need an outlet.
“Finley! Get your ass out here. It’s time for school. If you miss the bus, I’m not fucking taking you again. You hear me?” my mom yells from the living room. I’ll bet anything she’s smoking a cigarette, sitting there in her underwear with a fan blowing on her. We don’t have air conditioning since Trevor or my mother won’t get it fixed.
Who would have thought having a/c in the middle of summer was such an inconvenience?
I download the app on my phone and stuff it into my pocket. I swing my dark auburn hair over my shoulder as I lace my arm through the backpack strap.
“Now, Finley!”
I roll my eyes at my mom’s despair. If she would stop doing the drugs Trevor gives her for one damn minute, she’d remember my schedule.
I’m a senior in the last semester of school. I don’t have a first block class anymore. I have a ten o’clock math class and that’s it. Getting out of this house at seven-thirty is fine by me. The less time I have to spend here, the better.
I open my bedroom door and smack into Trevor’s chest. He’s shirtless, sweaty, and smelling of booze and cigarette smoke.
“Well, well, well, look at you, Finley,” Trevor mumbles around the cigarette he has in his mouth, and the ashes flicking off the burning ember float toward the ground. He takes a step forward, his chest almost touching mine. His dirty fingers run through my clean, freshly washed hair, and he hums. “So damn pretty. Looking at you, it’s hard to believe you’re only seventeen. With a body like that and the face of a model, you look like you’re twenty-five.”
I slap his hand away. “Looks can be deceiving then. I am only seventeen. Those are facts. You should remember that.” Sidestepping him, Trevor blocks me and raises his arm to lean against the doorway. I try to move to the other side, to break free, but he blocks me there too. I sigh with impatience. I hate dancing, especially with him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t look so pretty then. Isn’t it what you want? Attention? You’re wearing those skin-tight jeans and low-cut shirt to show your small tits. If you don’t want attention, maybe cover up.” His hand slides around my backside and squeezes. Tears brim my eyes when he jerks me flush against his body. “Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen, would we?” he taunts.
I shove at his chest and run down the hallway, away from his wandering hands. I don’t say goodbye to my mom. I open and slam the door behind me and run through the woods like I typically do so Trevor can’t watch me through the window.
Once I feel like I’m a good distance away, I sag against the tree and glance toward the sky. “It’s all okay. You’re going to be okay.” I hate crying. It shows how weak I am when it comes to protecting myself. I don’t know where else to go. Trevor is a creep, but until I turn eighteen, it’s the only place I can sleep and eat.
Until I’m an adult, what are my other choices?
I brush the tears away and reach for my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. Out of habit, I glance around to make sure no one is around me when I click on the dating app. I’m too young to use it, but people lie all the time on these things, right?
My feet settle into the pine needles on the ground, cracking and crunching under my black Converse. The bark of the tree snags my hair, and I wince as a strand is plucked from my scalp. I rub the spot and scowl.
Still, the woods are my favorite place to be. It’s quiet, peaceful, and no one can touch me here. I miss my dad. I miss what my life used to be. I hate always having to be on guard. I don’t mind being alone if I can learn how to adapt to being lonely.
With another wipe of my cheek, I open the app and sign into the account I created last night. The site says I’m twenty-six, a redhead with green eyes, and looking to meet new people. My age is the only thing that’s a lie on my profile. It’s wrong, I know that, but I need an escape. Nothing is ever going to come of this, so what’s the big deal?
It isn’t like I can say I’m eighteen because I’m not for another two weeks, and no one on this site is going to talk to an eighteen-year-old. The only thing I don’t have on there yet is a profile picture, so I lift the camera and take a quick snap of the tree tops and peak of the blue morning sky.
“There,” I say, happy to see that my profile is now complete. “Oh.” I click the edit button on the ‘about me’ page and add that I love hiking and being in the woods. It’s true. It’s like a second home to me, the only place I feel safe.
I set my phone down and lean my head against the tree, imagining a place where I’m safe, loved, and protected. Even if it’s just a friend, someone I can be myself around and my guard isn’t up, I’ll be happy.
I’m not looking for forever. I’m looking for sanctuary. A place to call home.
I’m almost asleep when the sound of my phone dinging pulls me out of my slumber. The sun is shining between the tree branches, and my cheeks are warm from the early morning heat. I blink away the drowsiness and rub my eyes, staring at a notification from LoveFocus.
It’s a message from IsaacGray88.
I bite my lip and debate if I’m really going to do this, if I’m really going to answer. If I do, there’s no going back. I don’t know who Isaac is, and if he finds out the truth, he’ll be the one to get in trouble if word ever gets out.
It’s a good thing I know how to keep my mouth shut. Not one has to find out. It can be my secret. The entire point of creating this profile is because I want to talk to new people, get away from my everyday life and maybe find a splinter of happiness.
The hell with it.
I click on the message, and the app takes a second to load. I huff out a breath of annoyance and slap my phone in my palm as if that will help. As if on cue, his message pops up.
IsaacGray88: Hi. How are you? I noticed the picture you posted. You like the woods?
Well, so far he doesn’t seem creepy. He could have started with something like, “Why didn’t you post a picture of your face?” Or worse, “Let me see your tits.”
Something I’ve heard so many teenage boys say since they run off erections and hormones. It’s disgusting.
Before I reply, I click on his profile. I smile when I see his profile picture is of a beach. It’s pretty. There are a lot of cliffs, and the sand is dark. It’s different than Virginia. Maybe he isn’t who the site says he is either if he isn’t posting a picture of himself? I’m relieved. I don’t care what he looks like.
I’m just glad to have someone to talk to.
I decide to risk it.
FinleyPark: I’m alright. You? I love the woods. They are my escape.
For the hell of it, I snap a picture of the trees in front of me and send it.
IsaacGray88: Looks beautiful. I could go for a good hike.
I stand and wipe the back of my jeans to get the dirt and the pine needles off when I see the time. I need to start walking to school before I’m late for class. My phone dings again.
IsaacGray88: Is your name actually Finley Park? Is there a story behind it?
FinleyPark: Yes, but the story isn’t that impressive. It will bore you to death.
IsaacGray88: Can’t be any worse than seeing my roommate try to see how many Cheetos he can fit down his leg cast.