“So you admit it? Your mother abuses you?”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not a victim of child abuse.”

He glared at me and cocked his head, lifting one eyebrow in silent question.

With a long exhale, I answered his unasked words. “She’s mean, sure. She says hurtful things to me and has these unrealistic expectations that I can never meet. And there are times that her anger gets the best of her. But is she abusive? No.”

“You have documented injuries. I beg to differ.”

“Those are rare. Few and far between. Most of the time, she just lashes out at me with her words, not her fists. And she’s never hit me. All my injuries are due to falling down, or running into things. Honestly, I ran into the door.”

He shook his head, seemingly exasperated. “You didn’t run into a door. I would appreciate it if you stopped lying to me. Tell the truth. You already told me there’s nothing I can do about it, so why keep up with the lies?”

“I don’t trust you, Mr. Taylor. How do I know you won’t keep trying?”

“Let’s get one thing straight first. Verbal and mental abuse is no different than physical, except it’s much harder to prove. If that’s what she’s doing to you, then rest assured, there’s not much I can do. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to drop it. It doesn’t mean I’m going to ignore the fact that one of my students is hurting and then walk away, knowing you need someone on your side. I only want to help you, Bree. If that means being here to listen to you, then fine. If it means stepping in if I can, then I will. Trust me on that. The moment I have an opportunity to protect you, I won’t let it pass me by. But you also need to understand that I will do that whether you open up to me or not. It doesn’t matter if you tell me what really happened, or stick to your lie, because if I have a chance to prove abuse, I will, regardless of what you do or don’t confide in me.”

“Why?” It was a simple question, yet meant so much.

Why do you care?

Why me?

Why does what happens to me, matter to you?

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

“The same as everyone else,” I muttered under my breath.

He leaned even closer to me, practically sprawling on his desk. “I’m not like everyone else. I know I may be young. This is my first time teaching on my own. But do not mistake me as being like everyone else.” He sat back, giving me the space I so desperately needed. “I had a friend growing up that had it bad at home. From what it sounds like, your mom is just like his dad used to be. He used to terrorize Danny. Yell, scream, curse, say the nastiest things to him. Call him a retard, a faggot, every derogatory and disgusting word you can think of, his dad called him. Things no one should ever be called. Words no one should ever say. And it wasn’t just sometimes…it was all the time. He never laid a hand on him, so there was nothing my parents could do once they found out, other than give him a safe place at our home. This isn’t new to me, Bree. You’re not the first person I’ve ever met that has to deal with someone beating you down. Do you have friends or an adult in your life that you can go to? Even if it’s just someone to talk to?”

I shook my head, unable to answer his question without my voice breaking.

“I know it’s been a few years since I’ve been in high school, but even then, everyone had at least one friend. Didn’t matter if you were considered a nerd, a freak, a jock, or a loner…everyone had at least one friend.”

My eyes locked with his, and I had to swallow down the need to cry. “I get along with plenty of people, and can hold a decent conversation with most of my classmates. But when it comes to friends? How am I supposed to have one when they’re not allowed in my home, I can’t go to their houses, I can’t talk to them on the phone…and going out to the movies or the mall on weekends? Forget about it. So please, explain to me how I could possibly have a friendship with anyone.”

“So you really have no one?”

I shook my head, letting the words sink in.

I have no one.

“What about your dad? Where is he?”

“About four hours away with his new wife and my two stepsisters I’ve never met. I’m sure he even has a dog, maybe a cat. A big back yard with a fence and a pool. I have no idea, Mr. Taylor. I talk to him about once a month. He can’t help me.”

“Does he know how you’re being treated at home?”

I couldn’t hold back the pathetic laugh that bubbled up. “Considering my mom pretty much treated him the same way for almost twelve years, yes. I’m rather certain he knows what’s going on, and just doesn’t care.”

“I don’t understand why he wouldn’t care.”

I clasped my hands together on the desk in front of me. My mind became so muddled that I couldn’t hold back the pathetic tale of my existence. I had no intentions of telling him about my life, but something in me snapped, wanting to give him a piece of my mind, even if that meant exposing my past to a nearly complete stranger. “My parents met at a party in college—she was a year away from her law degree, and he had just become legal to buy beer. My dad had a hard time with women—he was shy, awkward, and reserved. My mom had a hard time with men—they didn’t much care for her bitchy and bossy attitude. Man-boy with no self-esteem meets man-eater with no respect for anyone, and you have my parents.

“She got pregnant very soon after they met, and despite his objections of having a child before graduating from college, they got married and had me. Since she was going to school to be a lawyer, and he hadn’t even gotten his bachelor’s degree, he dropped out to raise me. That was his second mistake—his first was not insisting she abort me. My mom has this idea in her head that in order to be successful, she has to have the perfect image. Be the perfect wife to the perfect husband and have the perfect child, all wearing perfect smiles on our fucking faces. So that’s what everyone saw. But at home, I witnessed something completely different. I saw a woman that only cared about her career. A man that grew to hate everyone. And a little girl that would never be loved because her mother could only love herself, and her father couldn’t even stand his own reflection.

“So one day, he up and left, unable to handle my mom anymore. And because of that, he couldn’t deal with me, either. I was the reason his life fell apart, because had my mother never gotten pregnant with me, he would have never been tied down and treated that way, and he would have finished his degree on time. After he left, my mom resented me because she could no longer convey the perfect image. She became a single mother. And to her, that is worse than just being single.” I pulled in a shaky gulp of air, feeling the weight of my life pressing down on my chest with the increasing pressure of my own insecurities. “It’s not that my dad is a bad person, it’s just that he reached his breaking point and shattered to pieces. His new wife helped pick him up and put him back together again—Humpty Dumpty’s fairy tale. And then she put all the parts back in place, yet she left out one critical piece. So while his heart mended and his life was rebuilt, it happened without me in it.”

“How do you know all that?” he asked, his words soft and full of so much emotion that each syllable felt like a stabbing pain behind my breastbone.

“Things my mom has told me during her fits of anger, things my father has told me, and things I put together myself while eavesdropping on their fights. Things I’ve figured out on my own from growing up and watching them.”

“Well, I have a few things I want to say. And I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?” He waited for my hesitant nod before continuing. “Your dad’s first mistake wasn’t that he didn’t insist on an abortion. That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re worth more than that, Aubrey. You hear me? You are an incredibly smart person, with a very bright future ahead of you, but only if you stop listening to the trash you’ve been fed. His first mistake was not getting out of that situation sooner, and more importantly, not getting you out of it, as well. And you really have to stop listening to your mother. Do what you have to until you graduate, and then get the hell out. And never look back. If she ever touches you again, and I don’t care if it’s by her hand or a door, you let me know. You let someone know. Anyone. You’re better than this, Aubrey. You deserve so much more. You are not unlovable. I’ve seen you for all of four hours total since I first met you, and a quarter of that time was spent with you yelling at half your class”—a smile spread across his face in jest—“yet I’ve seen enough to know this about you.”