With one arm holding the block, I make my way to the door that connects our apartments.
Anger boils in my stomach. Ryan should never have laid a hand on her. My mind holds me back for a minute, knowing that this needs to be where the buck stops. He’s fucked around enough and now he’ll have to find out. Unlocking the doors, I creep down the steps.
“You fucking cunt, untie me. The fuck you think you’re gonna do?”
“Ryan, you’ve hurt me for long enough. I might be the dumb bitch who stayed, but you won’t run my life anymore.” Her voice is strong, and I inhale before getting to the bottom of the steps.
“Dumb bitch is right. You think you can run your own life? You can’t even take a shit without medication. What’re you gonna do out there in the big, scary world by yourself?” His words drip with venom, and I hate how he pulls at something that sounds out of her control.
The door creaks as I open it, and Ryan strains against the belts as Clara whirls around.
“Burke!”
“Dad, she’s fucking crazy. You need to get her out of here and untie me.” Ryan’s face is red as he struggles under the restraints. Spittle flies out of his mouth. His eyes are bloodshot and glassy.
“Clara, I brought you these. Thought you’d have better luck with something sharper.” I leave the block on the counter. I step forward, dropping a kiss on her head and squeezing her shoulder. “You’ve got this,” I whisper.
“Some father you are,” Ryan growls at me. “Don’t fucking touch her.”
“You ain’t no son of mine, laying your hands on a woman. How many times have I warned you? Tried to help you? This is the find-out of your fuck-around.”
I tear my gaze away from him and look at Clara.
“Burke, are you okay? What happened to you?” The fire in her expression turns to compassion, and I don’t want that for her.
Holding the towel to my head, I shrug my shoulders. “I’m fine, Clara,” I say before turning away and heading back upstairs.
Four
Clara
Burke's face—handsome, with that salt-and-pepper beard—is seared into my mind.
I’m concerned about the bloody towel he was holding to his head. Burke was paler than normal, and for a moment I struggle with wanting to check on him, but the rage that burns in my belly fuels me to stay within the walls of this kitchen where I finally have control.
The rare reassurance Burke gave me, along with the help, tells me I need to take care of Ryan so he can never fucking hurt another woman again.
“Clara, baby, you don’t really want to do this.” Ryan’s voice is coated in fake sugar. He always gives me emotional whiplash, and I’m tired of wearing a neck brace to appease him.
As my fingers brush the utensils, I pause at the pizza cutter. It’s not sharp enough to cause deep damage, but it’s adequate for what I need.
“Baby, you know my dad’s gonna come back. He’s trying to teach me a lesson.”
I ignore him as I step closer and tighten my grip on his hand, pressing it against the hard armrest until his fingers splay open. Letting out a determined breath, I run the blade under his fingernails.
“Fucking cunt. You wanna go there with me? Untie me and fight like a real person. You think you’re so fucking tough, but you’re a little wimp.” Ryan knows the right words to wound me, to make my nervous system snap to survival mode, but I’ve been here so fucking long that there’s nowhere else for me to go.
“Save your breath, my darling,” I whisper to him. "We have a lot of kitchen tools to go through.”
He struggles against the belts but can’t break free. I pull away from his right hand, slits of blood dripping from his fingers.
I recall the night he bit every single fake nail off my hands because he didn’t want me to be pretty for everyone else, even though he was the one to pay for the mani-pedi.
Ryan has been the central part of my life for way too fucking long, and I’ve had enough. Each step has always been calculated, and even when playing his game correctly, I’m always fucking wrong.
“Clara, you don’t have the stomach for this. You can’t handle what you’re gonna do. You’re just a weak little girl.”
I grit my jaw, his words echoing my stepfather’s for years.
