Chapter One

If you could be granted any superpower, which would you choose? Would it be more fun to climb buildings like Spiderman, soar through the skies like a peregrine falcon, or run like a cheetah?

The decision wouldn’t be hard for me. For the past three years, I’ve been wishing I could become invisible whenever Mom’s boyfriend decides to use me as his personal punching bag. And tonight, as Dean’s fingers close around my upper arm like a crab, digging into my flesh and making tears spring to my eyes, I make that familiar wish once more.

God, please make this stop. Please make me invisible.

Dean pulls me close and leans in so that his face is level with mine. Red, spidery veins crisscross the yellowy whites of his eyes like a subway map. At thirty-five he looks a good ten years older. His breath is hot on my face. He reeks of booze, cigarette smoke and sour sweat.

“You little bitch,” he says, spittle landing on my cheek. I hold my breath, afraid of vomiting all over myself if I inhale his stench. “Where’s my forty dollars?”

I stare hard at the front of his gray cotton T-shirt. The soft bulge of his stomach hangs ever so slightly over the waist of his jeans. Behind Dean, on the mantel of our fake fireplace, is a black-and-white photo of my grandmother when she was in her early twenties. It was taken at the waterfront. She’s sitting on a rock, the wind blowing her thick, dark hair away from her face. Her full lips are pulled back into a wide smile. I have the same wide mouth and high cheekbones. The photo is one of the only really beautiful things left in this townhouse. After Dad’s death, the beauty in our family home steadily decayed, like a cut flower without water. Then Dean came along and made sure he destroyed any last remaining bit of beauty or sense of security that was left. He moved in three and a half years ago, and I hate him.

“What forty dollars?” I ask, forcing myself to meet his angry stare. “You’re completely pissed. In fact, you probably spent it on booze or some whore and can’t even remember.”

His eyes narrow into snakelike slits. “If you want to be going to school tomorrow and seeing that prick of a boyfriend of yours, you better make them twenty dollar bills appear. Otherwise, you’re going to have the ‘flu’ for the next week.”

My head snaps back up to meet his gaze, and I laugh. “I don’t have your money,” I say. I’m shaking with adrenaline and fear, and I can only hope he doesn’t notice. If there’s anything Dean likes, it’s weakness. I guess that’s why he loves Mom so much. That and the fact that she drinks with him until they both become drooling idiots passed out on our couch.

“Think you’re funny, Lizzie?” he slurs. “How’s this for funny?” Suddenly his free hand is wrapped around my brown curls, and my head snaps backward. My scalp feels like it is on fire. For a brief second I’m scared my bladder is going to give out. If I piss myself, Dean will be in heaven.

But I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah, I do think I’m funny,” I manage through gritted teeth. “I’m funny, and you’re pathetic. A pathetic loser and a waste of space.” Then I purse my lips and spit at him. Most of the saliva misses him, but his chin ends up speckled with bits of foamy spittle.

Dean stares at me. I can almost see the wheels turning in his mind. Our fights have been worsening over the last two years. I’ve become more and more defiant and confrontational with him to ensure that all his anger is directed at me and not Charlie.

Then Dean does something completely unexpected. He smiles. It’s a cold smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. As his grip on my hair tightens, I realize I’m in trouble. Fear rises in my throat like vomit. I should’ve waited to come home. I knew Charlie had physiotherapy, but I was just too hungry to stay at the library any longer. Besides, I had no money to buy something to eat.

In the next instant, my world changes forever as Dean’s thin, chapped lips press against mine. I struggle like a wild animal caught in a trap, but he’s still ten times stronger than me, even in his drunken state. Walking me backward, he presses me up against the wall beside the fireplace. Tears roll down my cheeks as his hand fumbles under the fabric of my jean shirt. He pushes my bra up and begins to knead my right breast.

I know my grandmother sees what’s happening. She’s right there on the mantel, watching Dean do this to me. His free hand is now at the waistband of my black jeans, and he’s undoing my belt. My blood turns cold. This can’t be happening.

I try to move my head. It feels like my hair will rip out of my scalp with even the slightest movement. Dean moves his hips against me.

“I can feel you like it, you little whore,” he hisses into my ear. “I’ve been holding back from doing this for too long. Your days of acting like a wild animal are over. You need some breaking in.” I choke back a sob. I haven’t even let Fahad touch me like this.

Please, Grandma. Please strike him dead. Do something. Don’t let this happen to me. Make me invisible. Please.

“You knew this would happen,” he whispers, his breath hot against my neck. His skin pushes against mine, faster and faster.

Tears roll down my face. I’m on a roller-coaster ride and it will end soon. It has to.

“When I saw you after your shower, wrapped up in your towel last week… I knew you wanted me as much as I wanted you. And I was right.” His voice is breathless, strained.

I hear the click of a key in the front door downstairs, and a few seconds later the familiar sound of Charlie’s heavy footsteps reaches my ears. Relief floods my body.

Dean stops and pushes me away. Then he roughly shoves me into the hallway and in the direction of my bedroom. I can hear the metal clinking of his belt buckle as he does it back up.

“Hey, darlin’,” he calls out to Mom as I race into my room. “You home already?”

Shaking, I close my bedroom door behind me. Then I lean my back against it and press the palm of my hand against my mouth to stifle my screams.