Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
I blink, letting the words sink in. How dare he? How the fuck he dare talk about my mother that way. Not the white trash part—she's always been rich—but the fact that he'd never stayed faithful to her. I’m fucked in the head in so many fucking ways, but cheating, that to me is the worst possible thing. It shouldn't really come as a surprise, he's always been a dick to her, and her illness has only intensified that assholeism. Her illness.
"Leave her out of this."
"Your little library girl? Fine, if you do what you're told."
I shake my head. "No. Mom. Leave her out of this shit between us. She shouldn't be punished for my wrongdoings."
He rolls his eyes and clasps his fingers over his knee. "I don't give a shit about your mother. I keep her around as a way to control you. I’m surprised it took you this long to figure out. Word of advice: never show your weaknesses, Son, because they will always be used against you."
Suddenly, the threat of violence, of fucking torture, is no match for the burning inferno of rage inside. I’ve dealt with his shit for so many years. I’ve endured his beatings and beratings. I’ve stayed in line and been his punching bag. I’m done. I launch myself at him, taking him down to the floor. With both hands, I grab him by the head and slam him against the tile floor, then I tighten my fist and punch him in the face.
I only get one good shot in before a set of burly arms wrap around my middle and pull me off him. I don’t need to look to see who is grabbing me. I already know. My father’s goons. There's two of them with him tonight. Roscoe secures me around the chest, his hold tight so I can't move, while Baxter helps my father to his feet.
Once standing, he swipes at his face with the back of his hand and spits a wad of blood onto the floor before looking at me. It's so fucking satisfying to see his teeth stained red and a trickle of blood trailing down over his lip from his nose. Looks like I broke it, and I don't even give a fuck. I’d kill him if I could.
I’m losing my fucking mind. A bubble of manic laughter escapes me, and Baxter steps forward upon a wave of my father’s hand and punches me hard in the gut, forcing me to double over the best I can while still being held in Roscoe's iron grip. Still the best moment I've had in a while. And if he puts me in the hospital, it will mean I have something to enjoy as I dream. At least I know he won’t kill me. He needs me far more than I need him.
My father grabs a towel and some ice from the freezer and then approaches me slowly, his eyes gleaming as he studies me like an animal in a cage.
"I had high hopes for you, Son, but now I see you need a little more preparation. All those beatings you endured over the years didn’t do shit to toughen you up. Looks like we'll be starting over, and this time, I won’t stop. Not until I fucking break you and piece you back together as I see fit."
I recede into the darkest confines of my mind when Baxter steps forward and throws the first punch. Pathetic. He's not even going to hit me this time; he'll just have his goons do it while he watches. Typical lazy asshole. He gets his hands dirty well enough, but sometimes, he likes to let someone else do it since they know how close to take me to the edge.
I keep my eyes trained on him as he leans against the counter and wraps his knuckles in the ice, simply watching as Baxter lands hit after hit against me. I feel each one, but the pain is muted this far back in my mind. No one can reach me here, and it's for the better. Something warm splatters down my chin, and I hear my father’s order from far away.
"Stop."
I fall to my knees, then my stomach. A bright red liquid pours out of me onto the sparkling tile below. Is it blood? My entire body feels numb, a coldness creeping up my limbs and into my core.
"Goddammit, look what you made me do, Drew. If you had just behaved, then I wouldn't have had to resort to these methods. There’s blood everywhere…sit up and look at me. This mess is all yours." I roll to my side, but it takes me several minutes to move into a sitting position so I can meet his gaze. I don’t know why I bother or even try.