Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Almost. But the curiosity is too strong.
I flip it over, prepared for the worst, but my forehead scrunches when I realize what it is.
It’s just a girl. Huddled into a small ball, her t-shirt and jeans are dirty like she’s been dragged through the mud. Her sneakers are still on her as well. It takes a moment for me to understand what I’m seeing, but when I do, my heart stops beating right. She’s in my room. That cement floor is the same floor I was just sleeping on.
She’s in the punishment room.
“Get her out,” I say and the words are pushed through my lips the second they reach me as a thought. I will my tired body to move, but my father’s quicker than I am. So fast that the back-hand smacks against my cheek and mouth, splitting my lip open and flinging my head backward. My body flails as I attempt to stay on the raised metal table, but my fingers slip along the smooth metal and I fall. I stumble down on the ground, my side hitting the knob of a cupboard on the way down and my elbow landing hard on the linoleum floor.
I suck in a breath between clenched teeth, but remain still on the floor. Not daring to move from my awkward position. Another lesson my father has taught me well.
My heart races in my chest, feeling as though it’s trying to get away. Trying to go to her. But I stay still.
I need to listen. “Don’t hurt her,” I say the words in a hoarse voice but it’s nothing but a plea. A pathetic plea that will fall on deaf ears. “Please,” I add weakly and hang my head.
I don’t want her hurt. No one should ever go into that room. It’s a place for nightmares and monsters. Maybe my father should be locked away in that cell. But not her.
I chance a peek up at my father, watching as he nods slightly and then runs his fingers over his jawline. His knuckles are split from striking me and the knowledge makes me smile slightly. But I hide it. The tip of my tongue runs along the cut on my lip as I look down and away, trying to remember every detail of the girl on the floor.
“Is she okay?” I dare to ask him.
“Fine,” he says gruffly, stopping in his tracks and walking toward me. He has to shove the table to the side in the narrow kitchen to bend down close to me. Again his scent drifts toward me, and this time it’s stronger. So strong I nearly vomit, but I hold it back.
“She’s going to be good. I already know that,” he says and I can feel his eyes on me. Waiting for a reaction and my response.
Whatever I do, I need to save her from this fate. I take a steadying breath, making sure I don’t react in the least. I just need to get to her.
“Do you want to see her?” my father asks. “I got her for you.”
Finally, my eyes reach his and my chest rises with a disbelieving breath.
“All you have to do is listen. And she’s yours.” I watch as the smile slowly stretches across his face as he adds, “Listen to me and she stays safe.”
Chapter 3
I want to get closer to her, but I stay right where I am.
I can see she’s breathing, and that’s what matters right now.
Listen to me and she stays safe. My father’s words echo in my head repeatedly as I wait for her to awaken. I was desperate to get in here. I needed to see her to protect her, but with every second that passes… I start to hate her.
I was so ready to give in. So ready to end all this shit. And now, because of her, my fate is worse than it’s ever been.
Yet, so much better.
My fingers itch to push her hair away from her face. She’s young; younger than me, I’m sure. She’s pretty in a traditional sense. Her hair is ruffled though, and she needs to be taken care of.
There’s a scratch on her cheek, like a scrape more than a scratch I guess.
My back leans against the cinder block wall, and it’s cold and hard, but it’s giving me stability. The thing I hate most about this situation, is that I’m still helpless.
There used to be ointment in the medicine cabinet. The mirror has a patina from where you have to grip the edge to open it. But in the old mirror cabinet, there was an ointment for scratches. I don’t know if there is now.
A weak humorless smile makes the corner of my lip twitch as I pick at the frayed end of my jeans. I can’t even get her something for the scrape.