A shout came from the kitchen.
“Did that brat come home?”
We went silent.
I crossed the room and grabbed a blanket from the basket, draping it over her. She clutched it as footsteps dragged closer.
Justin grabbed my arm and yanked me up, ripping me away from her. He shoved me toward the center of the living room. He could barely stand straight. His white shirt was blotched with alcohol. His jeans were dark, stiff with dried urine. Sweat rolled off him, and the smell was so strong my stomach twisted.
I gagged, bile burning my throat, but fear locked me in place.
“When I call you, you fucking answer,” he shouted, his hand lifting.
“Why is Mom silent?” I asked, trying to look past him.
“Cunt is pregnant,” he yelled. “Who knows whose kid it is, but it ain’t mine.”
My throat tightened. I swallowed and looked at her. She still didn’t move. She never did. No matter how hard he hit her or me, she stayed still.
I will never be like her.Never.
I will fight as hard as I can. I won’t let men like Justin tear me apart, piece by piece, until nothing good is left.
I stood and shoved him, harder than I meant to. He lost his balance and hit the floor.
“You don’t hit pregnant women,2puto.”
He stared up at me, his eyes darker now. “What did you call me?”
“Puto.“ I spat at his feet.
He slowly stood, unbuckling his belt. He slapped it against his palm and calmly said.
“You will fucking pay.”
I ran.
From the living room to the narrow hallway, my feet slipped on the mess. I took the stairs two at a time, my lungs burning, but he was faster. His hand wrapped around my ankle, and we crashed down the steps together. My head struck the edge, my eyes blurring.
He lifted the belt and slammed it against my back.
Again. And again.
Leather cut through my shirt. Fire spread across my skin, burning me with every blow until I finally screamed.
With my free foot, I kicked him in the face and hurried to my bedroom. I slammed the door shut, locked it, and then slid down, pressing my entire body against the door, using my back and legs to brace myself.
He shouted.
I clapped my hands over my ears, my palms burning as my spine dug into the door. I started counting in my head.
One... Two... Three...
The banging didn’t stop.
The door shuddered again and again, until the frame groaned. My feet slipped against the floor as the lock strained. I felt it giving, little by little. When I realized it was about to break, I crawled away, scrambling toward the wall, and squeezed myself behind the closet.
I could already smell him.
