I hated that she was being hurt.
My father stood above a water-filled barrel, his arms wet to the elbows, where his sleeves were rolled up.
And my Bonny was clutched between all his fingers. Her brown tail was darker, heavier, like her wet body, pulling her down into the barrel, even as my father let her go.
Her little claws scratched at the wooden rim. My father watched with amusement on his face, a smile on his thin lips, and hate clouding his cold eyes. A storm was brewing inside him.
I stepped forward, meeting him with pleading eyes. A desperate squeak guided my glare back to the barrel, and black beady eyes called out to me, begging for my help as Bonny scurried to the surface before sinking again.
I pushed around him—the monster in my way. My arms out, ready to clutch her small body from the water. Clutch her from the cause of her distress.
But I never got to her.
An arm locked around my throat and squeezed, paralyzing me and cementing me to the ground.
My heart told me to proceed, to fight, risk my life for hers.
But it was like my father read my mind—monsters had that ability.
His arm locked tighter.
I saw fucking stars, millions of them, as a cloud of black descended over my fogging vision.
I had to step back into the death grip preventing me from breaking free. But the grip didn’t ease, like a noose, it became tighter. And my pet’s squeals of dread grew louder and louder, until they blurred with the sound of my pounding heart asevery dying pulse echoed in my ears.
“No! Don’t do this!” I tried to scream, but it came out with little sound. “I’m begging you, please.” I panted, trying to pull his arm from around my throat. Kicking and thrashing as I tried to free myself from his suffocating grip to get to Bonny.
A heavy thump blew into the side of my head. Then another. Then another. Then another. And I went down, my body falling to the ground that was all too eager to catch me.
I couldn’t see, my face swelling around my eyes. A migraine came to life instantly. I was sick and crouched over myself, but I still tried to get up.
Another blow from a heavy boot hit my ribs, steel toes bruising me.
“Every time I think we are moving in the right direction, you let me down again. We don't have pets in the house, Woodrow.”
“Daddy, stop!” Nessie screamed, standing frozen in a puddle of urine. Her fear reminded me of Jolie. . . another of my girls I'd fucking failed. Another who my father enjoyed watching suffer.
My fingers pressed into the mud, trying to lift myself up for the second time, but with little vision, it was fucking hard. I didn’t anticipate the second kick to my already bruised ribs from my father’s giant foot.
“Daddy, no! Stop hurting him. Stop hurting them both!” Nessie couldn't move. Fear's grip was too strong.
My father’s arms wrapped around my throat, positioning my head in line with the barrel. Everything around me—Nessie, the tools lining the wooden walls—all became a blur.
I choked on air, inhaling and suffocating on what I’d been denied as my Bonny—the small creature that I loved so much—choked on water, unable to continue her struggle to get out of the big wooden barrel.
Bubbles rose to the surface. I listened to the gentle pop until my father's ominous laugh blasted through the air. He let go of me, his feet stomping proudly to the barrel, mud from his shoes kicking back at my face. His hands dipped into the water, squeezing something behind the wooden panels, and as I struggled to get to my feet, my little pet ceased making anysound.
“Daddy, please! Stop, please!”
“One more word, Ness, and you’ll be staying with me tonight!” his cruel inflection threatened, making me fear what the fuck was meant to happen here tonight.
A crack sounded, and I couldn't tell if it was Bonny's neck, my heart, or both.
And, with that, I was back on my knees, bones clicking and my jeans—that I’d been ordered to put on because my pants looked unpresentable for guests—dirtying on impact. Completely beaten down, tears rushed down my face. My little sister slumped to her knees, too, her defeat dirtying her pretty floral dress.
“Get up off the fucking ground, you little brat. You get that dress dirty, and I’ll have to take it off. Trust me, you won’t want that if you have to stay here,” my father chirped around the cigar in his mouth.
Nessie had no idea what he meant.
