Jeremy raises the box cutter again, and my body tenses, bracing for more agony.
There’s a crash outside the room as someone explodes, “Milton!”
Jeremy turns as someone enters the space. “John?”
John stands just inside the threshold, wearing what appears to be a guard uniform, with a tense glare. The gun in his hand is directed at Jeremy, and his finger rests on the trigger, ready to fire. “Get away from my daughter!”
Jeremy lurches for his discarded gun as John pulls the trigger, but his bullet misses. Jeremy gets a hold of his weapon, aiming it at John, but John gets off another shot before Jeremy can return fire. Jeremy’s body moves with the impact and slumps to the floor.
My eyes pinball between Jeremy’s dead body and John. My shoulders relax a fraction, but my breaths are rapid as I realize I’ve only traded one maniac for another.
John strolls forward, his gun still trained on Jeremy’s prone form. “I should’ve chosen my apprentice more carefully.”
“I doubt you had much of a pool to pick from,” I respond absentmindedly.
John gets defensive. “You need to learn some respect. In my absence, you’ve become insubordinate.”
Indignantly, I respond, “What’re you doing out of prison, John?”
More fibers cut. More cuts in my hand.
“Enough with that ‘John’ nonsense,” he snarls. “I’m your father.” John moves about wildly, his distress climbing.
Shaking my head at him, I grate, “Sharing DNA doesn’t give you the right to be my father.”
“I raised you!” he cries.
“You robbed me!” I thunder back. “You took my mother from me!”
Spittle flies from John’s mouth. “She was a whore!”
“She was my mother!” I scream, and a sob jumps out of my throat. Tears stream from my eyes.
“Angela was leaving me,” John confesses. “She kicked me out. We just hadn’t told you yet.”
Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for him? It doesn’t. People get divorced all the time.
“I would come by for dinner and leave after you went to bed,” he explains.
Understanding floods my mind. “That’s when she started?—”
“Whoring herself? Yes.” John’s eyes take on a crazed glimmer.
Some more fibers gone. Some more blood drips from my skin.
Exhaling sharply, derisive humor fills my smile. “She was a grown woman, John. No one gets to tell a woman what to do with her body, especially when she’s not hurting anyone.”
John’s lip curls. “The world has corrupted you.”
More fibers broken.
Leaning forward, I make sure my words hit the mark. “Theworldhas allowed me to see the truth. Women don’t have to live a submissive life, I don’t have to marry a man who scares me, and I don’t have to pray ten times a day to be considered a good person.”
John’s shoulders rise and fall with his rapid breathing. “You are past feeling.”
My eyes turn cold as heat builds behind my ribs. “Ifeelplenty. You don’t like that I’m not the same fearful girl I was when you went to prison.”
John’s mouth crimps. “There’s no saving you.”
