What lies beneath the sk.., p.1
What Lies Beneath the Skin, page 1
What Lies Beneath the Skin
Angelina Bruno
Phoenix Voices Publishing
Copyright © 2025 by Angelina Bruno
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Phoenix Voices Publishing, 7901 4th St. N, St. Petersburg, FL, 33702, 727-222-0090.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Angelina Bruno asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Angelina Bruno has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks, and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
Contents
Dedication
Trigger Warnings
Prologue
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
A Warm Thank You:
About the Author
Also by Angelina Bruno
Dedication
I want to dedicate this book to those whose voices are left unheard, to those who are fighting every day for their lives and are reaching for a hand to pull them out of the storm. I am here for you when no one else seems to be. You have been heard.
Trigger Warnings
I always want to protect the mental health of my readers, and thought it important to add a list of trigger warnings. Please, read at your own discretion.
Sexual Scenes
Physical Violence
Physical Abuse
Child Abuse
Mentions of Sexual Assault
Emotional Abuse
Mental Abuse
Profanity
Mentions of drug use
Mentions of alcoholism
Prologue
The Escape
Hayden
His truck engine roared to life, filling the empty silence of morning air with a violent, gear-churning hum. I waited against the basement door with my ear pressed to the wood, sweat slipping down my temple in pools that hit my bare shoulder. “Just a few more seconds… Just a few more seconds…” I whispered to myself, my breath came as hurried pants as they escaped my parted lips. His tires began crunching the old gravel that filled out the driveway, accompanied by the loud beeping that utility trucks made when they backed up. The beeping carried through the wind from the end of the driveway, and as soon as it was nothing but a distant memory, I clawed for a rock I found in the back corner of the basement.
The rock came down on the door handle over and over, crunching the cheap gold doorknob until it cracked off. The handle hit the stair beside me and bounced down the creaking wooden steps until it landed on the concrete floor. I stared at it for a full beat before throwing the rock down after it, and slamming my shoulder into the wooden door. The door heaved before finally opening, allowing my first look at sunlight in a week to pour through the opening. I had to shield my eyes from the intense burn of the rays, but quickly caught my bearings so I could limp from the basement steps.
Mom was nowhere to be found at first. I checked every room I could, but eventually found her passed out on her bed. She had a half-drunk cup of coffee on the bedside table and a bottle of sleeping pills beside it, with her fine ginger hair cascading over her face to hide it from me. I was glad I couldn’t see her face. It probably would have broken my confidence, and now was not the time to second-guess myself. I knew she would be out for a while, so I closed the door, bit my lip against the urge to wake her, and darted into my bedroom.
I danced in circles on the stained carpet as I forced a sweatshirt and jeans on, lacing my sneakers as fast as possible. I chose a pair I wore often and prayed they would hold up to the long walk ahead of me. My backpack was quickly filled with whatever I could think of, whatever I thought would be important enough to bring with me: my ID, birth certificate, social security card, two outfits, and a few personal belongings I truly couldn’t leave behind. I stuffed the bag until the zipper screamed when I closed it, then rushed into the bathroom in search of something to wrap my bleeding hand with. The bleeding had started again from my rapid movements, and I knew it wouldn’t stop unless I found some peroxide and a wrap to keep it together.
The peroxide burned like a mother as I doused my open wounds with it. I bit down on my sweatshirt collar as I drenched the wounds, heaving hard cries of agony into the cotton in case Mom didn’t take as many pills as I thought today. The last thing I wanted was for her to wake up right now. I wound my fingers in place with tape, enough to keep them out of the way, and stuck the remainder of the roll far back in the closet so he wouldn’t know I had found it. My tape job was half-assed but did the trick for the time being.
Back in my room, I found the printout of instructions I made at the local library a few months ago, as if I had known I would need them today. The stapled instructions were stained pink with the residue of my bloodied hands, but I could still make out the Google Maps bullet points I tried to memorize. The route was straightforward; take the local bus as far as I could, then walk ten miles to the main station in Pittsburgh. Maybe I could hitchhike to the bus stop, but at that moment, I didn’t care whatsoever about the walk. All I wanted was to escape, to get as far from this hellhole as I could, and I would deal with the rest once I was on the bus.
The bathroom window had been nailed shut years ago, much like the rest of the windows in the house, to prevent Mom or I from escaping. Luckily, I had spent a few weeks chipping away at the nails, loosening them bit by bit whenever I showered so he wouldn’t notice the difference. I was able to wrench the nails out with a butter knife fairly quickly, and once I shoved the window upright, I gave the house one last look over my shoulder. I mouthed a soft, “I love you, Mom…” to the open door opposite the window, prayed she would forgive me, then hurled myself out of the window with all my might.
Once I jumped out the window, there would be no turning back. With him and his friends at work until five, no one would be around to follow me down the dirt roads, to drag me back home when I was inevitably seen walking down the uneven sidewalks. If I could just make it to that second bus stop, I could finally get out of Dubois once and for all.
The fall was shorter than I thought, and luckily, I landed on a bushel of wildflowers growing alongside the house. My ankle screamed when I hit the ground, but otherwise, it cooperated enough for me to catch my bearings. I threw my bag over my shoulder, slammed the window shut, then took off through the line of trees behind our house in an attempt to conceal myself from any prying eyes I hadn’t considered earlier.
As I raced through the trees, tears swept down my cheeks for so many reasons I could barely wrap my head around them. This was only the beginning of a long journey, and if I kept my head up, hopefully it would be the one that would save my life.
Chapter one
I Walk on Roads Paved with Broken Glass
Hayden
In the distance, lights from a blinking bus station beckoned me forward, their stagnant buzz filling the silence of the near-abandoned road I limped down. The dust-coated sidewalks were a mix of sand and flash-flooding, making a cement-like mixture clog the sewer grates every few feet or so. I found myself kicking the thick substance off my abused sneakers more often than planned or scraping it away on the edge of lawns I passed. I forced myself forward until my legs could no longer move, and then some, desperate for a chance of escaping that God forsaken town once and for all. I took the local bus as far as it would go, then trekked the remainder of the trip on a busted ankle, so desperate to see the lights of that rundown bus terminal that I would have crawled.
The bus itself was as decrepit as the stop it idly waited at. Though the stop was in Pittsburgh, it was on the outskirts of the city and was less frequented by regular travelers. It was so neglected that only one of the five overhead lights weakly buzzed, and the vending machine hadn’t been restocked in God knows how long. The benches were plastered with wet newspapers from the steady drizzle that had consumed the city over the last few days. I was careful not to slip in the numerous puddles as I rushed to catch a place in line.
The driver was no more than fifty, with a bristle-broom-like mustache that covered most of his upper lip. He kept his head low so he could monitor each ticket that was punched into the reader, to ensure he didn’t miss a single beat or penny. When it came my time to board, I stiffly pulled a fifty from my coat pocket and held it forward. He looked at the bill with wide eyes of disapproval, then scoffed and brushed his finger over the mustache rapidly. “You get tickets from the station, and the station just ran last call.”
“I need to leave tonight. I don’t care where we’re going, I just need to leave.”
He looked at me over the bridge of his glasses and huffed loudly, “So do these people, hence why they got here earli-…” I brought my gaze up so that our eyes were interlocked. The expression I held clearly said what I could not physically convey; I was in trouble, and whether he liked it or not, I was not getting off that bus. The driver swallowed harshly and begrudgingly took the fifty to slide into his coat pocket. “You sit behind my seat, and if you cause trouble, you’re off. I’m not in the mood for any nonsense tonight, kid.”
“Understood. Thank you, sir.” I pulled the transfer he procured out of his hand, nodded once, then slid into the seat directly behind his. He could see me fully in the large mirror this way and grumbled to himself a few times before pulling the doors closed. The bus squealed heavily as the driver pumped the brakes three times, and after he made a few bland announcements through the overhead speakers, we finally were on our way.
The bus had five passengers, not surprising with how small the station it left from was, but nonetheless an agreeable crowd. One set was a woman and her daughter, who were excitedly discussing their upcoming check-in to a local resort with a stunning in-ground pool. They were a bit noisy, but easy to drown out. An elderly man, maybe sixty-five or so, had his legs crossed as he read the local paper. He kept sandwiching chewing tobacco in between already yellowed teeth, and made a few glances at the other passengers, but mostly kept to himself.
The final passenger was another woman who was dead asleep in the back, curled up on the seat that she had obviously made herself at home in. Her belongings were stacked on the two seats in front of hers, and she was tucked under a throw blanket with a popular horror movie stitched into it. She looked to be a college student who’d taken this trip quite a few times.
The bus lights dimmed now that we were moving to try and convince passengers to rest for most of this long night drive. I didn’t exactly know where we were going, but I knew that the digital clock above me said we had sixteen hours to go. It acted as a steady countdown for passengers who intended to sleep, as they knew when to set their alarm depending on how far into the trip they were. I grimaced at the countdown. Sixteen hours was definitely not far enough for me, but for now, it would have to do the job.
My phone wheezed its last breath hours ago, so seeing a grey wire sticking out of the compartment against my knees was a welcome surprise. I carefully, to not piss off the driver, plugged the component into my dusty and cracked phone, then set it on the opposite seat to continue charging. When it was done, I would finally be able to listen to music again and hopefully drown out some obsessive thoughts that were beginning to be too much.
The glass of the window my temple fell onto was bitterly cold from the air conditioning, but it cooled the sweat pouring down my cheeks. I didn’t realize how strenuous my walk to the station had been until I was actually seated. My legs held an agonizing ache that made me want to rip the bones out, and my feet throbbed from the hot asphalt that worn the bottom of my sneakers beyond repair. I desperately needed something to eat, drink, anything, but all other thoughts beyond sleep were drowned out the moment the driver turned the air up.
A crinkling wrapper and a soft hit to my right knee jolted me awake. My eyes abruptly snapped open as if I’d never slept at all, and when I looked up to see who had kicked me, a bag of fast food was being held in my direction. The driver was the culprit and leaned against his seat with a somewhat friendly smile compared to our earlier interaction. “We’ve stopped three times, and you haven’t hopped off once. You should probably eat something. I’m not gonna kick you off after we’ve gone this far.”
My vision was slightly blurry from being so tired, so it took me a second to fully recognize the logo on the bag he offered, “I… really, it’s…?”
“Just take it, kid. The ticket was only thirty-seven bucks, so I owe you some change.”
“T-Thank you…” I stiffly accepted the bag, and once the hot food hit my lap, my stomach growled loud enough for him to hear. He lifted a bushy eyebrow at that and set a soda into the cup holder beside me before sitting down with his own bag. I pulled a chicken sandwich loose and slid the wrapping back carefully, and when my teeth sank into the bun, a tear physically slid down my cheek. The driver saw this but decided not to comment for both our sake.
We ate in silence for a few minutes before he cleared his throat and took a swig of soda. “So, you got a name, kid?” he attempted casually as he plucked pickles off his burger.
I shrugged delicately, “No, not really,” I lied, as I didn’t want anyone associated with Pennsylvania to know who I was. I realized this was a pretty odd response. I should have faked a name, something to keep him off my back, but I didn’t think of that until after I answered.
“No? Who doesn’t have a name?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow. My grimace made him shrink back a little, and he cleared his throat again, “Alright, not my place to judge. I’m sure you have your reasons for being reserved. You know where you’re headed at least?”
I bent a fry carefully and watched the oil ooze from the mush as I pressed it between my fingertips. “Away, far away. That’s the best I got.”
“I see. I’ve met quite a few of your type, but usually, they’re strung out on coke or covered in bruises. Which one are you?” A small scoff slid through my lips as I pulled the collar of my sweatshirt back. The driver exhaled deeply and shook his head as I tucked my hood back into place. “Hmm, I figured. So, you got some dark stuff you’re running from. Shouldn’t you have an idea what your next step is? You ain’t gonna get far without a plan, or a name, for that matter. Gotta be something we can do for you.”
“I appreciate your offer, but you’ve done enough. I’ll sort myself out when we get there.”
The driver ran his fingertips through his beard, obviously frustrated with my blunt responses, before crumpling his sandwich wrapper up. He tossed it perfectly into the trash can, then lay back in the seat to fold his hands over his stomach. He waited for me to finish eating before speaking again, though his eyes constantly hovered over the hunched ball I was in. “Connecticut. That’s where you’re going. New Haven, to be exact. Figured you’d wanna know.”
“It helps...” I offered awkwardly.
He laughed hardily and kicked his legs up on the opposite seat, “I think I like you. My name’s Jack, by the way. Some of us call ourselves something on this bus.”
A slight smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, “Jack, ok. It’s nice to meet you.”
“We’ve got a long trip, and I tend to check in with my passengers when we’re together this long. Harold in the back is a regular, as is Jen. Harold goes to get treatments once a month, and Jen is moving into her own place up there, finally. She goes to Yale, and her parents are damn proud of her for it. The mom and daughter are just breezing through. Then there’s you, little blackbird. What am I to do with you?” He waited for a reaction from me, but I had none to provide, so he continued. “You know your age at least?”
“Eighteen...” I offered while fidgeting with my shirt, biting the hard end of my sweatshirt string to keep my mouth occupied. I didn’t need it running away without me.
