Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“I bet you have so many things you’d like to talk to me about.” I kept my tone conversational as he shifted on the bed. I had no doubts vile things about me ran through his head. He just couldn’t voice them anymore. The stroke had taken care of that.
But he was too weak, too frail, to do much more than turn his head and adjust his arms.
“I bet you wish you could grab your belt right now, don’t you?” I ground my molars, phantom pains slicing across my body.
Michael had been such a corrupt man his entire life that this was the result of all that poison he surrounded himself with.
It ate away at him from the inside out.
“Do you know who’s come to live with me?” I looked down at my hand and ran my fingers over the edge of the armrest.
There were nail marks within the wood, ones that had such significant memories tied to them.
He brought the belt down across my shoulders, and I dug my nails into the chair, holding in my cry. The splinters pierced my fingers, my blood a polish for the wood. The buckle tore into the center of my back, the sharp edge scraping into my skin, tearing it open. Michael sharpened the edge specifically for that reason. “Marks give character,” he said repeatedly—a mantra, a slogan that I was sure he’d have tattooed on himself if he wasn’t so vain.
I’d learned long ago to keep my mouth shut. That begging, pleading for mercy, for the pain and abuse to stop, only gave me more.
“Sweet, little Persephone.” I ran my thumb over my bottom lip, the thought of her causing my pulse to rise. I’d told him about Zachariah’s death, getting immense pleasure in giving him the “bad news.” I’d seen a single tear slide down Michael’s cheek after telling him.
“I know you don’t care about Persephone. You only loved Zachariah. He was your carbon copy, isn’t that right? A soldier you could shape and mold.” He grunted out incoherently. “But I’m going to have fun breaking her in. It’ll be my gift to Zachariah. I just wish he was here to see it.” Michael made a louder grunt, and I slowly grinned, but something twisted inside of me as I thought about hurting Persephone.
I leaned forward and rested my forearms on my thighs, staring into his cloudy blue eyes. “Will it hurt you to know I’m hurting something of Zachariah’s?” Michael’s arm twitched, and he slid it across the bed, closer to me. I reached out and held my hand out, palm up. “Go on. Take it, old man. I know you want to have a go at me like the good ole times.” He wheezed and dropped his arm several inches from where I held my palm out, and I chuckled and leaned back in the chair.
“Go on and rest, Michael. I’ll just sit here and enjoy watching you struggle to breathe.”
And I did that, but I couldn’t focus, not when I kept thinking about Persephone looking all soft and… mine in that enormous bed.
So I traced those crescent-shaped marks on the wood, feeling a semblance of calm settle over me.
“I remember the first time I dug my nails into the arm of this chair,” I said in a low voice, staring into my father’s eyes as I spoke. “You gagged me with a dirty rag, called Zachariah in the room, and watched him beat me with that willow switch you’re so fond of.”
I glanced down at the scarred wood.
“You especially liked that night.” I slowly looked at my father. “You couldn’t take your eyes off Zachariah as he beat the fucking shit out of me. In fact…” I leaned forward again. “I’m pretty sure you got off on it. Isn’t that right, old man?” I shook my head. “Sick bastard.”
Michael made more rough noises. I was familiar with them enough to know if he could speak, he would say the nastiest things to me right now.
Worthless.
Piece of shit.
Waste of space.
Only good as a backup son.
If I didn’t need more children, I would have left you to rot in that gutter you came from.
For a long time, I’d never understood why he wanted me if he hated me so much. But it had been the “backup son” comment that finally clicked into place.
Michael was a planner. He had to have things just so, right in their place, and the amount of planning he did bordered on obsessive and anal.
God forbid anything happened to his precious Zachariah, but just in case… he’d have me. A good little trained soldier to carry on his life’s work.
“It was a shame you could only father one child, isn’t that right?” I said the words mainly to myself. “That’s the only reason you pulled me into your man-made hell.”