Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
His hand goes to his belt and my jaw clenches. Sienna pushes herself away from the shelves and her fingers brush against my father’s shoulder. “Do you have to do this tonight? We can finish talking about this tomorrow,” she says, her voice a soft rumble. “The boys must be tired tonight.”
My father’s eyes flash darkly. “No, he needs to learn. They both do. He keeps disappointing me, over and over again. It’s always the same fucking shit with this boy.”
He aggressively pulls his belt from the loops of his pants and folds it in half. “Take your shirt off, Colton,” he spits out.
I’m well-acquainted with pain and what’s going to happen next. I take my shirt off and kneel in the middle of his office. The floors are new and shiny, completely spotless, not even a speck of dust. Everything has to be perfect in Henry Bennett’s home — in his life. Nothing is out of place; nothing is unruly, and no one disobeys him.
Cole inhales a sharp breath and I hate the way he’s being forced to watch this. Knowing that I was in his place before. When he used to cover up for me and take the beating to pacify our father.
The first lash of the belt has me flinching, as pain ripples through me. My back strains when the second lash falls, hitting in the same exact spot as before.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
My jaw tightens, and I hold my breath, waiting for the next one. Somehow, I’ve grown accustomed to physical pain, but it’s the humiliation that follows that has me defeated.
“You ruined your brother’s chance at a football career,” my father roars, his voice shaking with fury. “Look at him. Look at what you’ve done. He’s a cripple! But that wasn’t enough. You have to continue fucking up our name and prestige. My dignity!”
The sharp blow of the belt keeps raining down my back without mercy, and my muscles twitch with each hit. My gaze drops low, and I start counting the lines in the hardwood flooring. One. Two. Three. Four.
The belt strikes my back again. “You are so worthless, even I am embarrassed to call you my son.”
Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
My back burns, and the pain is so intense, I can barely breathe at one point, but I keep counting. Some lines are straight, but there are a few that are curved. I recognize each line; I have them memorized. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.
“You have everything, but you’re still an ungrateful piece of shit!”
I have nothing.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
“You would have been a nobody if my name was not attached to you!”
I am a nobody.
Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.
I bite my tongue until the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. My fingers clench into fists as I force myself to stay in place, holding myself off the floor. The leather belt continues striking my back, until my agony morphs into resentment.
I don’t know how long he keeps going for, but eventually, the beating stops. Two hundred and fifty-two. That’s how many lines I was able to count.
My father’s breathing is ragged and I hear him buckle his belt again. My body is tense, but my insides are shaking so much, I feel like I’m going to retch all over his polished floors.
“Get him out of my sight,” my father sneers, his voice filled with unadulterated hate.
Cole rushes to stand up, and I see him reaching for me, but I shake my head sharply. No.
I force myself to my feet and straighten my back. Pain digs under my flesh, but it’s a companion that I welcome with open arms. The pain reminds me that I’m at least still alive. Still breathing.
Sienna is standing by the shelves again; her face is expressionless. Sometimes she reminds me of an unfeeling mannequin.
I pull my shirt back over my head before walking out of my father’s office. The door closes behind me with a soft click and I inhale a shuddering breath.
The flesh on my back feels like it has been torn and shred open with a decaying knife. By the time I make it to my room, my feet are dragging behind me before I fall into my bed.
Burying my face into my pillow, I let out a silent, hollow scream. Hate and misery claw under my skin and dig into the marrow of me.
I haven’t moved yet when my door opens and then closes again. My bed dips under a heavy weight. “I’m going to tell him the truth,” Cole finally speaks, after a long minute of silence.
“No,” I deadpan.
“He thinks the accident is your fault. But it’s all lies!”
Lifting my head from the pillow, I look at my twin. He has his face in his hands, and I hear a muffled cry. “It’s not fair that you have to take all the blame. I hate that you won’t let me tell him the truth.”