Dinessa put a leg through her bedroom window and leaned over, peering down at the three-story drop to the jagged ground below, now barely visible in the light of the new moons sliver thin crescent. She refused to sleep another night in this battered, run down house—if dozing in the corner with one ear on the door and jolting awake whenever the house settled could be considered sleeping. The bedroom handle jiggled behind her and she winced as the screeching sound of metal scraping on metal set her teeth on edge.
From the amount of cursing and grunting at the door, he was furious and locking the door was only a temporary obstacle. The scraping and cursing intensified and she tucked her other leg under her, settling into a crouch to survey her options. Before her, a sheer drop down from her window. To her direct right, the window to both brother's room; to her left, the roof as it sloped down beside the dormer, ending in a series of sturdy hooks that once held a gutter. If she could manage her way to the very pinnacle of the house, a pole waited on the other side of the house which led to the ground, and freedom, below.
The door burst open with a crash and Dinessa threw herself to the left and the mercy of the world's higher powers. She slid downward, her fingertips digging into the wooden planks and picking up slivers as she skidded. Her baggy overalls, a failed deterrent from unwanted attention, caught on a nail and slowed her descent enough to grab one of the hooks and brace herself against it. The lower half of her body dangled freely over the roofs edge and the hook creaked dangerously.
"No!" she cried out defiantly as a slow chuckle emanated from the window. Her heart drummed painfully in her chest and her palms began to sweat, jeopardizing her grip. Faintly, she wondered what would happen if she let herself fall. If anyone would miss her. Milos tear streaked face flickered through her thoughts and she dug her fingers in harder. She hoped he would forgive her either way.
"Hunny, did ya forget the bed is in 'ere?" he said softly, his greasy head slowly emerging from the window. In a moment of panic she let go of the hook supporting her and put all weight on her elbows, tearing away from the nail and sidling down the edge of the roof, stopping just out of reach to throw a leg over another hook on the other side of her. It groaned and shrieked in protest. Her arms began to burn from the exertion and her fingers bled from the many slivers and cuts of the wood. She wondered how long it would hold out—how long she would hold out—with her strength beginning to flag.
Her would-be molester tapped the ledge with a finger. "If ya get back in 'ere, right now, I'll go easy on ya. Won be hittin' ya like I do ya mom. Ol' 'eifer just needs guidance once inna while." A shudder trailed over her body and she spat in his direction. It landed squarely on his cheek. The tiny piece of satisfaction felt hollow and frail as her feet dangled over almost certain death.
"You're not laying another finger on me," she said between breaths, trying to gain traction enough to throw herself the rest of the way over the lip. "I'm not your plaything, you bastard."
"Such fire t'night," he said, wiping the spittle from his grimy, weathered cheek with an equally filthy, calloused hand. He gave a quiet laugh and its reserved calm chilled her to the bone. Her heart pounded so fast it left her breathless. He scratched his upper lip and licked his lips and even the small gesture made her feel dirty.
"She din' believe ya when ya told 'er? No surprise. Ya can be such a connivin' lil minx sometimes. But she don' see what I see." He tilted his head back, sneering down his hooked nose at her, his lazy drawl changing from mocking, to accusing and angry. "Temptin' me with yer body and those eyes. I see how ya parade yerself 'round the house, teasin' me w'yer cat-and-mouse games."
Her arms burned and her grip slipped a little more. Her strength would not last. She put more weight on the hook and managed to heave more of herself up onto the roof, panting from the exertion.
"You're a... delusional dickhead... these eyes and body... are telling you... to fuck off," she replied between breaths. In one last attempt to pull her body up—she had no more strength for another—she braced all her weight against the hook. A sickening crack filled the air as it broke away from the brittle cement of the wall underneath, but the extra heave gave her enough leverage to inch enough of herself up and lift the rest of her body up to safety.
"Dinessa," he said, stressing each syllable of her name with a sing-song inflection. A soft click resounded against the stillness of the night. A hard knot formed in her stomach, killing her hope for a clean escape and the deep panting breaths she had been taking slowed. She glanced up, staring past the barrel of the pistol pointed toward her head to the vulgar smile of its handler.
"Come. Back. Inside," he said, emphasizing each word with a jerk of the gun.
She quieted for a moment, her heart beating as though it would burst from her chest. She took a deep breath and carefully rolled over, rising to her knees.
"That-a-girl. It's cold out 'ere. Come on, I'll get ya warm real quick."
Crawling slowly—deliberately—over to where he beckoned, she glanced up. She would never give up that easily. He would warm up her dead body before he ever touched her alive. The thought made her shudder. Considering what she knew of his history, he might prefer it. Approaching the roof as it arched over her window, she tucked a foot underneath her body. A soft breeze picked up against the stillness of the night and the rancid stench of many weeks of unwashed sweat and dirt wafted over to her and she tried not to gag.
"Fuck. You," she said, leaping onto the dormer, and clear air, and scrambling up its steep slope. The strangled words he screamed were unintelligible, but it faded as she shuffled up to the flat apex of the building, stepping delicately to not fall through the ancient wooden material. Pole, north corner, she chanted to herself. Remember the stash in the barrel behind the barn. Reaching her destination, she put a hand against its cold surface and took a breath, bracing herself for the drop. Her arms shook and her legs trembled. She hoped she was strong enough to make it the rest of the way.
An explosion sounded behind her and pain blossomed in her right arm. She screamed and clutched at the wounded area. A low growl behind her made her flinch.
"Yer not goin' anywhere. Ya can come back inside w'me or fall to the ground with a bullet in yer 'ead."
She crouched down, curling around her torso as much from the pain as to formulate a plan and cover her nose against the noxious smell that now wafted over her. She would rather die than let his grotesque, obscene hands roam her body, not that a living or dead was a deterrent to him. She prodded at the wound. It hurt, but the bullet had only grazed her; she would not bleed to death at least. She wondered how far he would follow her, but the thought was fleeting.
It was now or never.
She jumped for the pole. The searing pain in her arm made her gasp and shots behind her made her heart skip a beat, but her rapid descent meant she hit the ground running. Loud, angry screams filled the cold night air, but relief and adrenaline flooded her body as she sprinted down the well-trodden path to the barn. She glanced back, imagining she could see two silhouettes from the window of the room next to hers, and regret threatened to overwhelm her. Her anguish faded as four more random shots echoed into the air and she continued on without hesitation.
The barn, the third and last building standing in the small gully, was not far and she skirted the outside of it. On the other side sat a barrel with a canvas satchel stuffed to the brim with items she had hastily gathered that evening. That man would not lay another fist, or finger, or eye, on her again and she refused to be a scapegoat to her mother's insecurities, just stock for barter, goods to be traded for. Her brothers lingered for a moment in her mind before she grabbed the bags strap and hauled it out of the barrel, resting it over her shoulder. Milo would be fine on his own. Her twin, though far gentler than she, was headstrong and levelheaded. She hoped Dionas, the youngest, would follow his example.
This was a new beginning, the start of her own life. She was sixteen, an adult, and old enough to make her own decisions. Old enough to decide who may touch her and who would not. She was master of her future now. It was as if a weight disappeared from her shoulders, a burden she did not realize weighed so much on her, and she took a deep breath of the crisp night air. Marching quickly up the ridge that lay east of the farm, she felt energized despite flagging limbs and muscles.
Once at the top, the sound of hooves and squeaking wheels made her turn to look back one last time. Although only a sliver of moon hung in the air, silhouettes of the shed, the house, and the barn stood out like giant dark fortresses in the night, imposing and oppressive. The glint of metal on the oxen's harness and the rickets of the worn cart signaled her mother's return home, laden with wood, food supplies, and a paper that would have determined her future for her.
Lamplight flickered through the lower windows of the house and a shadow cast on the curtains paced back and forth. Dinessa straightened, her gaze lingering on the figure atop the cart, and turned her back on the light of home. She put one foot in front of the other and began her trek out into the chilly darkness of the night. Though she did not know her destination, she knew if she kept travelling, she would eventually get there.