Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“That day hasn’t yet come and won’t come until my body is cold in a grave,” Fox says, and snatches whatever Ethan has away. He tosses his son onto the bed, and I realize what it was Ethan was looking at. That stupid ring. The fox head with its sharp, pointy ears and red ruby eyes. Fox wears it on his little finger, looking like a fucking pimp if you ask me. But I know how he is about that thing. Even I know not to fucking touch it. How could Ethan think he should try it on? He deserves what he has coming just for being an idiot, I tell myself, but I don’t believe that. No one deserves what I know Sullivan Fox will do.
Once Fox has his ring back on his finger, I see him tilt his head and study Ethan. My body senses danger. I should run. I should run while I can. He has his back to me, but I can see Ethan’s face, and from the slightly green shade it takes, I can imagine what’s coming.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Ethan asks. “I was just trying it on. I swear.”
But Fox doesn’t let any opportunity to teach a lesson, as he likes to say, pass him by and with me and Ethan, he’s pretty hands on. Mom hates it, and she can stop him sometimes—at least when it comes to me—but not every time. I’m not sure if he’s ever hit Mira, but I do know he doesn’t touch my mom, and that’s all I care about. I’d kill him if he did.
“Dad no!” Ethan screams.
I feel myself tense when I hear the whoosh of Fox pulling his belt from its loops. A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead and under my arms.
“Dad please!”
“You will learn not to touch what is mine,” Fox says calmly as he raises his arm. Ethan is at least smart enough to turn his back because Fox doesn’t care where the lash lands. I jump when I hear the unmistakable sound of leather colliding with skin. I don’t see it because I’ve closed my eyes. I stand still, unable to move, and I listen to him beat his son, a skinny, little ten-year-old boy who is cowering before his six-foot-three father. I hate Ethan Fox. But I hate Sullivan Fox more. And I hate myself when all I can do is stand there, unable to move, to help, or even to run, almost feeling every lick of that belt myself. I hate this for Ethan.
When the beating is winding down, when Sullivan’s arm has tired, and Ethan isn’t screaming anymore—when those screams have turned to whimpers—I open my eyes because I need to go. I need to get out of here. But just before I do, I make the mistake of looking into that room and catching Ethan’s eye and freeze. And he freezes too, tears streaming down his face as he lays on his stomach on the bed. His backside, from his shoulders to his ankles, will be black and blue if it’s anything like what Fox did to me.
But he’s ten. I was older when he started beating me. I watch his body jump as the final lashes fall and it takes me a full minute to move. To run out of the penthouse and out of the building, onto the street. To run until I can’t run anymore.
29
SILAS
Idrive for a while. Something isn’t right, but I can’t put my finger on it. Ethan not seeming upset about Sly’s death, I can understand. It’s shitty, but I get it. Sly was not a warm, loving father. For outward appearances, he was exactly as he should be, of course, but behind closed doors, he was a fucking monster.
If it was just towards me, maybe that would have made sense in some bizarre universe, in some backwards logic, but he also beat his acknowledged son. I saw that firsthand, and he was merciless when he did it, as merciless as when he beat me.
Mira spoiled Ethan and she loves him.
Did Sly love anyone?
Ethan never said a word about the abuse. He never showed any signs of having been beaten. If you paid close attention, you might notice him wincing with fresh welts and bruises. I paid attention because I knew. He put on a good show, Ethan. And I guess what Sly was doing worked. He was hardening his boy, readying him for the ‘real’ world. It was how he justified his cruelty.
Did he realize it would make Ethan hate him?
I remember Ophelia telling me that Ethan admitted he hated his father. Did Sullivan Fox know? Did he care?
No. He wouldn’t care. He’d just expect Ethan to fall in line. To look the part of Sullivan Fox’s son.
After the whipping I witnessed, I tried to talk to Ethan. Took him a cup of hot chocolate Mom had made late that night. I didn’t tell her what I’d seen, and I remember her finding it strange that I’d ask for that for the boy who was my nemesis. When I’d gone into Ethan’s room, I’d expected to find him lying in his bed licking his wounds but what I’d found had been Ethan, headphones on, obliterating his opponent in some war game on his very own giant screen TV.