Tristen’s presence seems to grow even more than it already was, his whole body taking up my field of view. The porch suddenly feels too small to fit him.
“I’m talking to a piece of shit, that’s who.”
Oh no.
“Tristen, don’t,” I beg quietly.
Don’t let him touch you.
It’s too small. Too quiet to be heard over the slurs my stepdad starts spitting about me.
It hurts to hear the awful things he says, just as much as it did then. Even worse that he’s saying themin front of Tristen.
“I know,” I murmur when he throws out how gay I am. “I know,” I say when he talks about me being queer. “I know!” I finally yell when he spills how in love with a boy that I’d just met I was.
I was just a kid.
“Don’t you dare yell at me,” Eric snarls, his words floating around Tristen’s vibrating frame.
Hands that have held me gingerly clench and unclench.
Arms that have carried me flex, tightening the already stiff muscles held by Tristen’s sides.
And the man that has cried for me, with me, now trembles with barely restrained rage.
“Emmy, get this pretentious fuck off my porch. What kind of bitch puts rings through his nose?”
Something inside me snaps and I scream.
“I like the rings in his nose!”
Gone is the kid I used to be. The frail boy. The easily manipulated simpleton.
“Andfuck you for dragging him into this.”
I fly around Tristen on a full sprint that slams to a halt but that doesn’t stop me from flailing. Clawing at air in Eric’s direction who’s conveniently stepped back off the porch.
“Get the fuck off my property,” he snarls.
“Fuck. You.”
Swinging does me no good when he steps back more, the arm around my aching ribs too tight to wriggle loose from.
“Fuck me?” Eric sneers and reaches for his belt buckle. I freeze all over again, the scars on my back sting like they’re freshly broken open reminders. Like even my skin holds the memories of Eric’s wrath and knows better. “I’ll show—”
“Take one more fucking step, I dare you. Or do you not remember last time you met me?”
The snarl from Tristen, and the way he angles me behind him, has the hair rising on the back of my neck.
But just as the fear tickles the edge of my subconscious, so does the anger. The rage. The fuckingpain.
He did this.
He did this.
“You killed her,” I growl passed the heart in my throat and dig my nails into the harness of Tristen’s arm. “You killed her.”
Eric steps back slowly. Menacingly. An evil smirk taped to his pockmarked face.
