BREAKAWAY

Chapter One

Sang's POV:

"Are you sure there isn't an all girls team she could join?"

"I'm sorry, Ms Sorenson, but the Blackbourne team is currently the only competition team in Charleston."

I was sat on the bleachers by the ice rink after training, watching my mother argue with Phil, my coach. I'd come back after getting changed to see him trying to convince my mother to let me join a competition team. The challenging bit is the all-boys part.

"Yes, alright then, I suppose."

My mouth fell open, but it snapped shut again as I caught the wink that Coach Roberts sent me over my mother's shoulder.

She turned away, the fake smile dropping from her face to be replaced with a cold, hard glare. I gulped, grabbing my duffel bag at the last minute as my mother dragged me out of the ice rink.

She fumed silently as she pulled me through the car park. Her long fingernails, specifically manicured to inflict the most damage, were digging into my flesh. I tried not to wince in pain as I felt blood ooze out of the new cuts on my forearm, but I must have failed, because a hand entered my vision and smacked my cheek, giving my hair a rough yank as she pushed me into the car.

I nearly cried out as my ribs smacked against the seatbelt buckles, but managed to keep silent as I scrambled upright, pulling the seatbelt around me and clipping it in as my mother drove out of the parking lot.

She didn't even spare a glance at me before she started talking, berating me for things I didn't even realise I'd done.

"You won't be going back." She said. I didn't dare to ask why, but she elaborated anyway. "That man knows too much."

I knew that. He kept pulling me aside in the water breaks to tell me that he knew people if I needed to get out of a situation, and offering to listen.

I never told him anything, because I knew that the punishment would far outweigh the prospect of the relief I'd get for getting it off my chest. Besides, I'd told a teacher in elementary school, and she didn't believe me, but my mother had pulled me out of school and started homeschooling me anyway.

Hockey was my entire life, I couldn't risk losing it.

I suddenly realised she was still talking, and tuned back in to the conversation. I knew that if she asked me later what she'd talked to me about and I didn't know, I'd be in big trouble.

"And I saw you today, by the way. Don't think it escaped my notice, slut."

Saw me doing what? I mentally ran through everything I'd done today, and froze when I remembered.

"I saw you spreading your legs for that boy by the water fountain. You're such a whore."

I was just talking to him. He said 'Hi' first, and introduced himself, so I said 'Hi' back and told him my name. I didn't see what was so wrong with that.

"What were you even doing by the water fountain anyway? Did I tell you that you could take a drink?"

"No ma'am." No she didn't, but I felt like I was going to pass out, so I had to get some water.

Luckily, we pulled up in the driveway before she could decide whether I was in trouble for replying or not, and I hurried to follow my mother inside before she locked the car and trapped me in there.

She'd done it before, I was there for two days before she finally remembered to let me out.

I tried to sneak past her and up to my room, but she pushed me into the kitchen. I felt my heart drop as I realised what she was going to do.

She pulled out a familiar jar of rice from the cupboard, reserved for my punishments, and tipped its contents onto the tiles.

Without having to be prompted I knelt down. It would make it easier on me if I didn't argue or resist.

She placed the now empty jar on the counter, and turned to me.

"You will kneel there for three hours, before picking up every grain of rice and putting it back in the jar, and then go straight to bed. Do not eat or drink anything."

I sighed in relief. That wasn't too bad, I'd had worse.

Much worse.

Even so, I looked at the grains with apprehension, and only noticed that my mother had left the kitchen when her bedroom door slammed, jerking me out of my thoughts.

Now I was alone with nothing to distract me, I could feel every grain of rice pressing into the fragile skin over my knees. I knew it would only get worse over time, until I wouldn't be able to focus on anything but the acute pain in my knees, and watching the blood drip into small pools across the white tiles.

I shifted my weight, hoping to relieve some of the pressure, but it only helped for a minute before the pain set in again.

I distracted myself with offensive strategies, thinking out every arm movement, every stroke of the skate, every flick of my wrist, scoring imaginary goals over and over again, making sure they were perfect in every single way until I knew I'd be able to replicate them perfectly in real life.

I'd forgotten to keep an eye on the clock, so three hours passed relatively quickly, and I realised the time with a jolt of excitement, which I immediately regretted after the jolt jarred my sensitive knees.

I stood up stiffly, feeling the muscles cramp in my back and legs, brushing the loose rice off of my knees, and sitting cross legged on the floor to pick up the pieces, struggling with the fine motor movements required with my tired, calloused fingers.

After every single grain was back in the jar, I put it back in the cupboard and shut the door quietly before bracing myself against the counter.

I pressed a hand over my mouth to muffle any noise, and dug my fingernails into my knees to remove the embedded pieces of rice one by one.

Eventually I managed to coax them all out, and I threw them in the bin. My mother didn't like to keep the bloodstained ones.

I automatically swept my eyes over the kitchen, relieved to see it mostly clean, and picked up my duffel bag which still sat next to the door where I'd dropped it when we came in.

I climbed up the stairs, automatically stepping over the creaky step which my mother wouldn't hear anyway, and tiptoed into my bedroom.

I knew my mother was most likely in a medicated sleep right now, and wouldn't wake until the morning, but I didn't want to risk anything.

I took a quick shower, relaxing as the warm water soothed my aching muscles, and trying not to hiss as the water hit my fresh wounds, but mostly focusing on washing my hair so I didn't go over my four minute allowance.

I dried off, putting plasters over some of the deeper cuts, and then got dressed in an oversized t-shirt and pyjama shorts which wouldn't brush against my tender knees.

I used the toilet and then brushed my teeth, trying hard not to swallow any water accidentally, because I knew my mother would know.

She always knows.

I mentally groaned as I tiptoed back down the stairs to put my hockey kit in the washing machine, putting it on the quickest wash-then-dry cycle I could find, stopping it a couple of seconds before it finished so it wouldn't beep.

I repacked and folded my now-clean kit into my duffel bag before finally falling onto my small mattress, only taking a couple of seconds to pull the sheet tightly around me before falling asleep.

I was so tired that I didn't even dream.