As soon as we’re in the house, I run up the stairs to my room and lock the door, leaning back against it. Listening to Moore’s boots creak back and forth in the attic. More than anything, I want to go up there. Feel his hands on me again. Cherishing hands, instead of hateful ones. I ache for that. For him. But an hour later, Moore leaves and that’s when I face the reckoning. My father kicks in my door, splintering the lock, and I know it’s going to be worse than usual. “If I ever see you talking to that boy again, so help me God, I will strangle you unconscious.” His face is mottled red,
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