She was barely five feet tall, but always wore heels to class to elevate her height by a good three to four inches depending on the day. She still dwa...fed me by a foot. Her hair was dark red and always pulled up, twisted in either a bun, held by a clip or in a French twist. Her eyes were pale blue green and could stare into your soul; glasses frequently framed these dangerous pools, though recently she’d been wearing contacts. I needed to discuss my recent paper with her. We’d finished a book. “Give up, sweetie, there’s no fucker out here that’s gonna help you get back to your sweet old mom.”I ignored the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, as well as the quiet voice telling me that I should really believe daddy’s words. There had to be a way out of this mess. I would come out of this safe and sane and still a good girl. I had to cling onto that ideal.“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked, swallowing my tears and fear.“Why am I doing this to you?!”The jostling of keys. More

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