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A little “too much,” even.

And, naturally, that led me to making a poor decision and rendezvousing with him in the middle of the night.

It’s to be expected, isn’t it? I am at that age of rebellion, after all.

A little punishment, and I’ll repent and be forgiven for my atrocious, rebellious, stupid behavior.

Six days in, though, I find myself stewing in bitterness instead of repenting. The second I can leave…I’m leaving. For good.

Wynn: I miss you. So much.

Wynn: This is actually —ing insane.

Wynn: You know that, don’t you?

Wynn: You’re a —ing adult, December.

The messages light up my screen where I’ve left my phone in my lap. Turning my head from the window, where I’ve been busy dreaming about a world where this isn’t happening, I reply:

Me: I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise to never let you go another week without me. I really had no intention of breaking it.

Wynn: This is messed up, December.

I tap on his profile picture—a photo I sneakily took years and years ago. It was during his PE class in high school. I was in the bleachers, watching him play soccer, and he was pouring an entire bottle of water on his head. At the very last second, he looked at the camera, at me, and the way he smiled when he saw my phone poised and on him…

It robbed me of my soul all over again.

Tapping the call icon, I lift my phone to my ear.

“Dece,” he murmurs.

“The minute I can leave, I’m moving in. Screw plans. Plots. Time. Christmas. The minute I can get out of here, I am never ever coming back.” Closing my eyes, I curl up. “Please take me in. I’m sorry to ask so suddenly, but please.”

Wynnter swears. “Of course. My home is yours. It always has been.”

“I won’t have much with me.”

“I’ll get you anything you need.”

“I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t know how to do anything. Not cooking. Not cleaning. But if you’re patient enough to teach me, I’ll learn. I’ll do anything.”

“Oh, Dece…”

Fighting the wobble in my voice, I grip my hair. “I’m sorry. I have a little money I can take out of the bank, but my accounts are in my father’s name, so it might be hard.”

Soothing, Wynnter murmurs, “We’ll get those things taken care of and make sure you have a savings of your own. It’s gonna be okay, Dece. I promise. I can do more than take you in. I can take care of you.”

It’ll be November before they let me out of here. It’ll be a first Thanksgiving without my family. A first Christmas. A first New Year’s. It sucks that this is happening right now, when the media is shoving pictures of happy little homes down everyone’s throats.

It sucks.

But I just can’t keep living here. Like this. My parents’ world isn’t the one for me.

I’m not a princess in a tower, and I don’t want a prince.

I’ve always been more interested in falling for the dragons.

“Eight days,” I whisper.