She sniffed, haughty priss again. “If that’s what he wishes…” But I could see the doubt. That first glimmer of hope that I might be able to break down her barrier.
“Margaret,” I sighed. She looked at me. “Do me a favor and shut the bloody hell up and sit down.”
I wanted to run, to flee this reality, this conversation. I hadn’t even told Theo everything. But I couldn’t have Margaret thinking there was a single decent bone in Rafe’s body. No. No bloody way.
So, I took a big breath and opened my mouth.
Everything he’d done spilled from me. All of it. From the wedding night, all the way through to the last moments we shared together, when he had me tied up in that cabin hours deep into the most awful abuse. I shared it all, Charlie’s involvement, the way Gabe had betrayed me, manipulated me. Every cut. Every bruise. Tears flowed down my cheeks, dripped onto my shirt and soaked through to my skin, but I didn’t stop talking. Even as it burned, even when my voice wavered and images so horrifying, the memories of pain so deep, ripped through me.
At some point, Amy moved, coming to my side and guiding me to sit back down. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, her bottom lip between her teeth. Red eyed, like me. And she listened, she nodded her head and rubbed my back as I told them everything that went on in that house. Everything Margaret thought wasproper.
When I finished, the tension was heavy, with only the sound of Amy and me sniffing back our tears. For at least a full minute, anyway. Then Margaret opened her mouth.
“And why should we believe all that? You married him, Violet. You had the honor of joining the church right at the top.” Margaret looked at me, and I met her eyes. A flicker of something behind them told me I might be getting to her, that there might be a crack forming in her armor. I clung to it.
“Why would I flee him, Margaret?” I asked, voice breaking. I was so damn tired. “Why would I hide? Escape the second I could?”
“Because you don’t—” Margaret started.
“Because he hurt me so bad I could barelywalk, Margaret.” I stood up, making Amy squeak with how suddenly I moved. Margaret tried to pull away, but I grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes on me. She closed them, squeezed. “I have the scars to prove it. You wanna see them again? You want them on you? Give it a few months and he’ll take you on, mark you up like he did me.”
“Look at them, Margaret,” Amy muttered, but Margaret shook her head, fighting her way out of my hold. I didn’t want to hurt her, so I let her go, even though she was hurting my heart.
I breathed through my nose and took a step away. Theo. I needed Theo.
It always came back to him. To the comfort he gave me. Even now, when the strong emotions I was feeling weren’t fear or grief, but anger, rage bubbling in my gut. He would calm me. Soothe me.
I’d tried hard enough. I’d told them my truth, my reality. It was up to my sisters to choose how to proceed with it.
“I’m going,” I said to them, giving Amy’s hand a comforting squeeze before sliding out of the bedroom. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t understand how deep this ran, how far down the rabbit hole others could fall. To want him, the life he’d forced upon me until I wanted to die instead… madness. Insanity.
That was all this life was.
“No, don’t go!” Margaret jumped up, and for a stupid moment, I thought she was about to bend, to tell me she believed me, that she agreed.
But I wasn’t so lucky.
She walked up to me, stopping close, a look of pain across her pretty face. Then she slapped me.
“You deserved it all,” she growled. “You should have done what he wanted, then none of it would have happened.”
She slapped me again.
Twenty-One
Theo
“Whatdoyouthinkthey’re doing up there?” Connor asked idly, frowning up towards the stairs. This place was larger than Christian’s cabin, but with a similar layout, so sound traveled. We could hear the muffle of voices as we stood in the kitchen, but nothing else. I’d stepped out of the shower and come back down after hovering outside the door for a minute, trying to snoop, but failing. They all needed this. I was their big brother, but I understood the need for sisterhood. This world was worse for them. I hoped Violet could get through. My skin itched to get to her, especially knowing she still needed a proper wash, some real food, a nap in a comfy bed wrapped up in my arms…
My Violet was on her last legs, exhausted both in her mind and body, and I wouldn’t feel settled until I had her sorted. Fed, washed, curled up under a blanket and fast asleep with her head on my chest.
I’d urged Margaret to listen to Violet before they disappeared into the room, to please pay attention and understand the many fucking voices yelling at her. They’d brainwashed her. She needed to sit the fuck down and let us undo it. The look in her eyes told me she never would.
But perhaps Violet would be different to me. More patient. Kinder with it. I could only hope.
Connor pushed a tumbler of vodka across the kitchen counter and nodded for me to take it. I downed it in one, letting the burn slide down my throat to steady my nerves. The things Violet and I had done together, the thing I’d stumbled across in the forest… she was changing, developing into this vengeful spirit, one I didn’t think could be held back.
Maybe she wouldn’t be kinder. Maybe she would pull out a knife and stab out their eyes.
