And I couldn’t even fucking listen to him. I couldn’t fucking look at him, not while his hairy arms still held the body of my lifeless pet, burying her in her watery grave.
I turned my head, slowly, but I fucking did it, and I didn't care about the pain it caused, because I was already fucking numb.
A twisted smile was on his face as he stomped the cigar beneath a big black boot. I didn’t even have to see it with my blurred vision to know it was there. His grin grew, larger and larger, dozens of teeth on display. His morning snacks wedged in the gaps.
“Fucking weak.” He snorted, laughing at the tears that rolled from my eyes as he pulled Bonny by the ears, lifeless and floppy, from the water.
He stepped forward, acting the big man as he kicked more dirt in my face. His foot stopped centimeters from my nose. I didn’t flinch. It wouldn’t have been the first time for him to break it.
Bonny’s eyes, frozen and fixed on me as he moved around me, shifting himself to the doors. He threw her out into the field—a small feast for the vultures.
He turned back, moving quickly to Nessie, still slumped in the mud. The shed had no flooring; it was his fucking fault that she was dirty.
He yanked her up, his giant hand tight around her little throat, squeezing until she wheezed. The panic in her voice as she begged him to stop had me up from the ground. Her little legs kicked, trying to gainfreedom. Her hands held onto him as she stared at his angry face with fear and confusion.
I rallied at him and hit him in the side of the head. I hit him again and again and again with a tight fist before he even let her drop. She landed awkwardly on her ankle, letting out a shriek. Landing in more mud.
I kicked him and kicked him, each one, harder than the last.
Nessie didn’t scream for me to stop, she stayed frozen on the floor, eyes wide.
He rolled over, his eyes on her, “Stop, Woodrow. Or it’ll be her who suffers when you finally do. I’m happy to keep her here tonight.” He laughed, his words bringing my actions to a halt.
I drifted back, plucking Nessie from the ground. She clung to me, holding on tightly with her tiny hands. Her fingers knocked my throat on accident, but I was too swollen there to even feel it. She apologized instantly. My hands rubbed over her back as she quivered in my arms, telling her she was safe. . . that her apology was unneeded.
My father got up, that smirk still on his face. He took a single step towards us.
“Stay the fuck away from us.” I stepped back, Nessie’s grip tightened on me.
He raised his hands in surrender. “You make sure you keep all this quiet, Ness. Momma doesn’t need to know our secrets; I wouldn’t want her mad at me for making you girls late.” He winked at my sister, who refused to look at him. “Right, I have a body to attend to.”
I knew he meant Bonny. He strode out the door, wiping the blood from his face. I’d burst his skin in a single gash.
I followed him to the door. “Where are you taking her?” I choked out the words, rushing into his shadow.
“None of your fucking business!” He slammed the door in my face.
I heard him lock it from the outside.
I could feel coldness creeping over me. I could feel the loss. . . of Bonny, and of myself, as I became distant within my own body.
I banged the door, keeping Nessie close.BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. Not stopping.
Alters clutched at my conscious, offering me an escape. But I held on to my mobility, trying desperately to remain myself. My original self. The host.
“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, please,” Nessie pleaded. “Woodrow, I need you to stay.”
I didn't want to scare Nessie more than she already was. I didn't want her looking for her own mental escape when this building offered her nothing more while she was trapped inside with me.
I fought with everything I had to stay present, hearing nothing but noise in my head, swirling with her words. Her little hands grasped my swollen face, careful not to hurt me, and held me in my place. Held me in the moment, pushing my alters deeper inside me as we stared at each other’s pained expressions.
Chapter 16
Jolie—aged eighteen
Wynter left around an hour ago—an hour later than planned. Nessie was late getting home, and when she did, she was covered in mud and tears that her brother was apparently liable for. Her little red face was shaking back and forth, eyes blinking once, and her mouth was telling her mother that it wasn’t Woodrow’s fault. But Wynter didn’t believe her, instantly pinning blame.
Pissed off at Nessie, who’d needed a second bath and change of clothes, she’d dragged her up the stairs. I heard Nessie trying to explain something about her father, but she didn’t say much, just that his shed was dirty. He, conveniently, wasn’t gifted any harsh words by his wife before she left the grounds, small daughter dragged behind, tears still coating her pink-rimmed eyes.
