My father looked at me over his shoulder with a sad look in his eyes. “I do love her. That’s why I have to do it.”
Panic seized me, stopping my bones from moving. I was frozen as I watched my mother’s frowning face, not even aware of what was happening. I had no idea what to do. I didn’t stand a chance of winning a fight with him. He was at least twice as big as me. I looked around the room, hoping to find a weapon against him, but I knew there was no point. We kept this room clear for a reason.
I tried to move, but my legs wouldn’t obey my mind’s orders. My hands were shaking, a knot beginning in my throat. A prickling sensation crawled up my spine, an icy whisper against my skin that promised something unseen. The air thickened, heavy with an unspoken dread that settled in my chest, making each breath a shallow, desperate gasp.
There was only furniture, and their edges were rounded so my mom wouldn’t hurt herself. There’s nothing I could use to stop him.
I couldn’t stay here and do nothing. I had to do something.Anything. I needed to calm down and think.
I closed my eyes for a moment, counting to three before I spoke and tried again.
One.
Two.
Three.
“Please, Dad,” I asked of him, dropping on my knees and tugging at the material of his worn jeans. When he ignored it, still vibrating with fury, I crawled to his hand, gripping his biceps with my palms.
There was nothing in this world I hated more than these encounters with my father. I doubted my pleading was going to work, but I had to try. I was going to do anything to set my mother free.
“Let go of me,” he warned, reaching forward and fighting to escape my grasp.
“They are coming. They are coming. They are coming.” My mother’s voice got louder.
“Shut up,” Dad screamed at her, squeezing his eyes shut as he continued to try to escape my grip.
“They are coming!” This time, my mother shouted from the top of her lungs. I’d never heard her scream before.
My dad’s hands slipped through my fingers, and I knew if I did nothing, he was going to kill her. I jumped on his back, scratching his face with my nails.
He groaned, falling back a few steps. “You stupid whore!” he spat, trying to lash at me with his knife. I managed to escape the first time, dodging it by an inch, but then he stuck the knife into my arm, and I let out a scream of agony, dropping from his back onto the floor.
My eyes squeezed shut as a searing pain shot through me, the coppery tang of blood filling my nostrils as I pressed my hand against the gushing wound. The pain was like nothing I’ve felt before, clouding my thoughts and vision. Dad took one last look at me, not bothering to take the knife out before turning around to finish what he started.
My muscles tightened instinctively around the knife, a deep burning ache pulsing with each heartbeat thumping inside my chest. Time slowed for a fleeting moment, my blood dropping on the ground like a siren song—drip, drip, drip—and I dared to look just under my shoulder where the pointed end of the knife threatened to slice through that last layer of skin. On the other end, I could only see the handle glued to my skin.
There was blood everywhere. On the floor, on my shoes, on my shirt and?—
With a held breath, I took the knife out, its clinking sound fading between my shuddered breaths as it landed on the floor. A sharp, guttural scream tore through my throat. It was almost animalistic. Even my eyes widened, my body trembling and convulsing under the raw and ragged scream. More of the crimson liquid splashed on the floor—on my face—and I gulped as my father barely threw me a glance, placing both of his arms on my mother’s neck.
I acted on instinct, the pain suddenly gone, with only one thought in mind—stop him, kill him if that saves her. I placed my foot in front of him, causing him to stumble and fall. In a rush of adrenaline, I got up and reached for the knife, but I made an error. Something I didn’t calculate. I gripped the knife with my right hand—the arm he stabbed.
He must’ve hit a nerve because as soon as I laid my hand on it, the knife clinked on the floor once again.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I dropped on my knees, plunging down to grab it, but before I could, my father placed a foot on my wrist, stepping on it with all of his weight. A scream erupted from my throat as tears prickled in my eyes, a loud crack filling the room. My vision got blurry as his cold hands took hold of my body, flipping me on my back. The last thing I saw before he drove the knife right through my heart was his unblinking eyes with no ounce of remorse in them.
Surprisingly, nothing hurt. I was just . . .numb.
Along with his heavy steps, I heard my own breathing, just before coughing on blood and spitting it on the floor. My head spun, but I forced it to turn in slow arcs, my eyes scanning for a point of focus.
What am I searching for? Where am I?
The world grew silent, and all I could see was vast, unending black. Was this how it felt to die? They said there was a light at the end of all of this darkness, but no matter how hard I squinted my eyes, there was no sign of it.
Was my mother alive?
