“Why you little––”
He made a grab for me, but I darted around to the other side of the table.
“You know what? I did snitch. I’mgladI snitched. I hope you and your team of violent, disgusting bastards are put away for a good long fucking time.”
His face was nearly purple with rage now as he ran around the table to try and grab me, but I darted away out of his reach to the opposite side.
“I’m going to testify against you for that beating you gave me four months ago, as well as all the others. I wonder what they do to men in prison who beat women? You’re the big man out here, beating your wife and daughter who are both half your size, but what happens when you’re up against other hardened criminals who don’t like massive, cowardly bullies much?”
In the back of my mind, I was aware that this wasn’t the best idea. If I pushed Dad hard enough, I had no doubt he would kill me. But years of hatred were spilling out, and weirdly, now that he knew I was a snitch, I felt like I had nothing left to lose. I glanced behind Dad to the back door, then over at Mum who was huddled in the corner with her arms wrapped around her knees, trying to make herself as small as possible.
That’s what we did, Mum and I, we tried to make ourselves small. That’s what this man had done to us, and I’d had enough of it. Dad feinted left and I saw my chance. I sprinted across the space between me and the back door. My hand closed over the handle, but just as I was about to pull it open, searing pain went through my scalp again as I was yanked back practically off my feet by my hair.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Dad shouted, throwing me against the side of the table like a rag doll. I saw stars when my face connected with thewood and I would have fallen to the floor, but Dad grabbed me by my hair again and hauled me upright. “You won’t be testifying about fucking anything,” he growled before his fist connected with the other side of my face.
He was going to kill me.
I’d pushed him over the edge and now he was going to finish the job he’d started countless times before. His other fist connected with my stomach, and I bent over, clutching my sides and trying to breathe through the pain. I could hear Mum sobbing on the floor. I imagined Zach crying at my funeral, all alone, and my vision flooded with red.
How fucking dare he?
How dare he make us live in fear our whole lives? How dare he force us to be complicit in his life of crime? How dare he beat me? He had no bloody right. My body flooded with an unnatural strength as my anger built and my hands balled into tight fists. I managed to straighten despite the pain in my stomach. Surprise crossed my dad’s face for a moment, and I used the opportunity to strike.
One of my fists shot out and punched him square in the throat. His eyes went wide as he started gasping for breath, clutching at his neck. I brought my knee up and connected with his groin in a sharp blow that took him to his knees. I knew it wouldn’t take him long to recover, so I hobbled over to the sink and pulled out a frying pan, lugging it back over to where my father was still wheezing. Holding it with both hands, I lifted it up and brought it down onto the back of his head with a dull thud. Dad slumped forward face-first onto the floor. I watched him for a few seconds. When he didn’t move I dropped the pan which clattered at my feet, and I ran over to Mum.
“Mum,” I croaked, glancing up at the door to thecorridor then back at her crumpled form on the floor. “Can you walk? Get up and come with me.”
Mum’s head emerged from being buried in her legs, and her wide eyes shot to me, then to my father’s prone form on the floor.
“Clara, what have you done?” she whispered.
I shook my head in disbelief. That motherfucker was going to kill me.
I grabbed her shoulder and gave her a small shake. “We’ve got to go now, Mum,” I hissed. “Get up.”
She shook her head, her eyes flying wide. “I c-c-can’t leave,” she said.
“Yes, you can,” I told her, pulling on her arm now in an attempt to get her moving.
“You’ve killed him.” Her voice was horrified. She couldn’t take her eyes off Dad. I glanced over at him, registering that his chest was still moving.
“No such luck, Mum,” I snapped, pulling on her arm again.
“How can you say that? He’s your father.”
That rage flooded through my system again and I dropped her arm to take a step back.
“Look at my face,” I snapped at her. I knew it was bad, as blood was dripping down into one of my eyes, and the other’s vision was restricted now from the swelling. “That man isnotmy father.”
She totally ignored me and started crawling over to the man in question.
“Frank?” she called to him when she made it over to sit next to his body, gently shaking his shoulder. “Oh, Frank, love.”
I blinked down at her. This woman genuinely seemed to want her husband to wake up. She must have known hewas going to kill me, but she still wanted him. Needed him. The choice she was making had never been so stark. Marie Mason chose Frank Mason over everything, even her own daughter’s life.
And to think I’d done the Big Terrible Thing partly for her, so that she could be free of him and his abuse. To get her back to the happy, loving woman she’d been when I was little.
But the mum I knew then was gone. This woman wasn’t my mother, just like the man lying face down on the floor wasn’t my father.
