Rebekah
* * *
“Why the fuck isn’t my dinner ready?”
I jump up from my mattress and rush into the living room. I must have fallen asleep. I didn’t even hear my father’s truck engine or the front door.
The sun is fading in the sky. I must have been asleep for hours.
Dizzy and lightheaded from the sudden movement, I grab the back of the couch to steady myself. I don’t have any idea how to respond to his rant. When did he become so irrational?
His descent was gradual. He was always surly, but he went on a downward spiral after Mom died. Now, he’s usually gone most of the day and comes home drunk on moonshine.
I stiffen as he stomps toward me. “Answer me. What the hell were you doing all day that I can’t even come home to a meal?”
I take a step back, knowing this isn’t going to go well. I’ve been here before. I won’t be able to escape his wrath.
As I expected, I’m not fast enough. He lifts a hand and slaps me so hard across the face that I stumble and fall onto my butt. I’m stunned, even though this isn’t the first time. Cupping my face, I try not to cry as he hovers over me.
“Answer my damn question,” he shouts.
“There isn’t anything in the house to cook,” I finally say, though this will infuriate him more and somehow be my fault.
“Why not? Did you waste it? Do you gorge on the food I provide while I’m out working? Do you have people over and feed them, too? We don’t have enough provisions to feed everyone on the mountain. And if I find out you’re whoring yourself out to some boy, I’ll shoot him between the eyes.”
I cringe back. There’s no sense in defending myself. None of what he says is true. If he really believes any of that, he’s deranged. And maybe he is. I’m growing increasingly scared of him. His rants are happening more and more often. I’m always on alert, scared. For so long, I’ve thought living with him as his slave was better than being married off to some guy he probably owes money to. But I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe I’d be better off taking my chances.
The only thing I’ve had to eat today was some wild berries I found in the forest. The bushes are mostly picked clean since the season is almost over. I don’t know how I can go much longer without food.
He’s delusional if he thinks anyone ever comes to this house, and the only men who’ve been here in two years are my father’s gross friends when they come by.
He steps closer, leaning over farther, his spittle hitting me in the face as he continues his rant. “I should marry you off to Bernard. He’s been eyeing you up for years. Let him put up with your useless housekeeping skills.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I won’t react. Bernard is about fifty. He’s disgusting. I’m not sure he’s had a bath in a decade. I think being sent to live with him would be worse than enduring my dad. I’d run away from home like Hannah did if I thought my father was serious. Sometimes, I wonder if he threatened to marry her off, too, and that’s why she ran away.
Dad suddenly reaches down, grabs the strap of my overalls, and hauls me to my feet. “You need to be taught a lesson.” He drags me toward the back door.
“No. Please, Dad. I’ll do better. Please,” My words fall on deaf ears. I can’t win an argument with him, and my pleas mean nothing. I think he enjoys hearing me beg.
With a firm grip on my overalls, he yanks me out the back door, bends over, and pulls open the cellar. “Maybe a bit more time in the dark will teach you a lesson, and I’d better not hear a peep out of you while you’re in there. If you disturb my sleep by crying or yelling, I’ll leave you in there longer.” He shoves me toward the rugged stairs that lead into the cold, damp hole in the ground.
“Please, Dad. Don’t put me down there,” I plead. One of these days, he’s going to forget I’m in there, and I’ll die.
I’m too small and too weak to stop him. Plus, if I don’t climb down on my own, he will push me. He’s done it before. I’m lucky I didn’t break an arm or a leg. If I ever break a bone while living under this godforsaken roof, I’ll end up dying from internal bleeding.
I scramble down the steps to avoid being pushed, but I make one last attempt to change his mind. “Dad, please. Don’t do this.”
The door closes over me, leaving me in the nearly pitch dark. For some reason, the bang of the wood against the frame makes me scream.
* * *
“Rebekah… Sweetheart… Wake up.”
I startle, my eyes bolting open. For a moment, I’m confused by the light around me. I’m not in the cellar.
It was a dream.
Adam is next to me. We’re in his bed. Our bed. He pulls me into his arms and cradles me against his chest, running a hand through my messy hair. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe.”
