Losing Me, Finding You by C.M. Stunich

it, he's going to strike back at me. I don't know when or how. It could be public – like when I was sixteen and he spoke about my period to the whole church – or it could be private, such as the day he burned my entire book collection in the backyard.
    I let myself slide down to the floor, keeping my eyes squeezed tight and trying to think. Think. Think.
    I can't just hop onto the back of a motorcycle and take off (though I have to admit, there is quite the appeal there). I have Christy to think about, and money, and a future. Plus, if I just disappear, my family will never speak to me again. Never. Despite their shortcomings, I do love them. Could I live with not seeing my mother again? I think about that, really think about that for a moment, and am surprised to find that my mind drifts right back to Austin Sparks and his hot hands on my hips, his body thrusting inside of mine
    I shiver and stand up quickly, moving into the bathroom and stepping into the shower without even bothering to take off my clothes. I turn the water on cold and bite my lip to hold back a scream when it hits me hard and sends goose bumps springing up all across my body.
    I don't have time to fantasize about Austin right now.
    But all I want to do is fantasize about him. About sex.
    I touch the sweet soreness between my legs and try not to groan at the flicker of pleasure that ricochets through my blood. Wow. Let's just say that I had high expectations and Austin Sparks did not disappoint. I keep my eyes closed and start to explore myself, feeling with my hands what Austin felt with his cock, brushing the hairs gently with the tips of my fingers and then sliding easily into that hot heat. I imagine that my hand is Austin's dick, falling to the floor of the shower and spreading my legs wide. I think of his lips moving, groaning my name, and then my vision goes white and my back arches, sending another spiral of la petite mort up my spine and into my brain, knocking me silly. Oh yes, orgasms certainly are the shit.
    I move my hand away, up to my mouth, and slide my fingers inside.
    I hope Austin Sparks says yes, that he hasn't had enough of me, because I certainly haven't had enough of him. I taste myself, letting the icy water soak my hair and clothes and knowing that what they say is wrong – even a cold shower can't make you forget if the memory is hot enough. And Austin Sparks is hot enough to melt.
    I just hope that he doesn't melt me.

I wake the following morning to my mother's gentle raps on the bedroom door.
    “Amy?” she calls, voice neutral with no sign of the anger that was boiling beneath the surface last night. “Time to get up.” She pauses. “And unlock this door. It makes me feel like a common criminal.” I listen to her footsteps as she moves away from the door and wish fervently for a cell phone. But I don't have one of those either. Papa says that the only people who need cell phones are people who have secrets to hide. The rest of us, he preaches, can use the phone in the hallway like good, honest, normal folk. I sigh and swing my feet out of bed, remembering as the warm air kisses my skin that I slept naked for the first time in my life. I slept naked and dreamt of men with tattoos on their arms and secrets in their eyes.
    I rub my hand across my face and stand up, moving over to my window and peeking out at the quiet street. Last night, each time a motorcycle went by, I woke with a start, heart pounding, and entertained fantasies of Austin climbing the trellis and ravaging me in my bed. I smile and drop the curtain, stepping over to my dresser and dreading what I'm going to see inside each drawer. There will be neatly folded cardigans, camisoles in pastel colors, and skirts with floral prints. The outfit I wore last night had been made up of old Halloween costumes and honestly, was the sexiest thing I owned. I sigh and dress myself in a beige skirt, yellow top, and white sweater. I wear the same shoes, though.
    “Did