“I spilled chocolate milk, Momma, and I broke the glass.” Nessie ran up to my mother, her sticky fingers pulling at my mother's blouse. Something that would usually annoy her. But it didn't today, because she didn't give my sister a second of her time. Her eyes, wide and furious, never left me and the girl I kept protected behind me.
“What have you done?” I shouldn't have fucking asked, because she'd never deem me worthy of an answer. “Why was she down in that basement?”
“Ville!” she screamed. “Ville!” Louder and louder, she got, repeating my father's name.
Jolie's nails dug into my flesh, her fear spewing through her mouth, so fast, I couldn't understand it.
The back door swung wide, the glass cracking as the door bounced off the wall. My father stood in the entranceway, the heavy blade of the axe over his shoulder. His expression was hard like stone. He had no compassion or worry for my mother’s tone, and I couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.
I swallowed hard, ignoring the sneer my mother delivered in return.
Jolie nuzzled in close, her fingers wandering to my neck, her touch featherlight and comforting to me.
My body sandwiched Jolie's to the doorframe, the roundness of her stomach keeping us from being flush.
“Why the fuck were you brats in the basement?” my father demanded.
“I heard a noise. I found her down there.” I lied, not wanting my parents—who had been, by the looks of things, holding Jolie captive and torturing her for months—to know she’d found the strength to climb the stairs.
Because if they knew that, they'd find a way to take it away. The broken leg wasn’t a strong enough method of keeping her bound. . . but it was too much for me to handle. I shuddered, thinking ofwhat else they’d do.
“Please, don't send her away again, Momma!” Nessie yipped. “I missed her a whole lot.”
“Shut. Up. And. Stop. Nagging. Me.” My mother assisted Nessie to another part of the kitchen with a brutal shove. She fell back and hit the floor, her palms crunching down on the broken shards of glass. She let out a squeal that echoed through the house.
“Get up to your room,” my mother said coldly.
Nessie didn't move; she just continued to sit amongst the mess and cry. Her pretty pink dress was ruined by the milk on the floor and the blood on her hands, as she tried to clean herself up.
“Up to your room!” I'd never seen my mother this way with Nessie. So angry and closed off from their emotional bond.
Momma stepped from the doorway, giving Nessie the chance to run before my father dragged her from the room by her limbs.
But she wasn’t quick enough.
He clutched her tiny bicep and delivered a threat that she would have been all too happy to run from. “Get out of here, you little brat. You'll be punished later.”
He dropped her in the hallway and she bolted up the stairs, her feet pounding in sync with my heart.
There were no knives close enough to reach, and no weapon in sight that could compete with an axe.
I wanted to rush for the door, but how could I leave Nessie behind?
I couldn't.
And how would Jolie keep up?
She wouldn’t.
We were trapped here. Cornered.
“Dad. . .” I tried to reason as he stepped towards us.
He threw the axe out the door, and I felt a minor relief.
I shuffled us away from the broken door, to the herb closet and the protection it offered against us falling down the stairs to the basement.
“Let me take Jolie to get cleaned up. She needs to wash. I can take care of Nessie, too. You don’t have to do anything.”
