A billowing laugh set my hackles on edge.
“The last time you washed her didn't turn out so well. Look at that pretty face now.”
“Not how I'd describe it. Not that she was ever a thing of beauty.” My mother's sniggers and her heavily-lined eyes moved to Jolie.
The comment had Jolie's head dipping, her insecurities encouraging her to hide away.
“Don't do that.” My falsified bargaining stopped instantly. “Don't you dare try to break her down that way. A few scars don't change the fact that she's beautiful.”
A high-pitched laugh derided me. My mother's ugly bare feet brought her closer, just like my father's big boots.
They were zoning in on us, like wolves, packing together.
“She was never beautiful, Woodrow.”
“Don't make this worse for yourself, kid,” my father warned me.
But what choice did I really have?
I whirled around, Jolie's hands staying on me the whole time, until her fingers locked around the back of my neck.
The look in her sad eyes as they cried silent tears, told me she trusted me.
My fingers pressed into her hips, holding her against me, taking the weight off her leg while trying not to hurt her growing stomach.
There was a baby in there. Was it mine? Was it from the assault?
I couldn't think about any of that right now.
Keeping Jolie in my grip, I barreled backwards into my mother's skinny frame, knocking her into the wooden table and then to the floor. She soon felt Nessie's pain when the glass embedded her skin. Hopefully, she'd feel guilt for ignoring Nessie’s cries, too. I pushed Jolie to the door, encouraging the hop, skip, and jump she did, as she tried to get away.
I got in my father's way, taking a swing at him as he ran for my girl.
A darker shade of red stained his already crimson cheeks, and the alcohol in his system allowed my effort to sway him.
“You'll be sorry, kid. I guarantee it,” he slurred.
I pushed him back, needing to create a distance between him and Jolie. My useless mother encouraged his actions from the floor, like some kind of twistedcheerleader.
My efforts didn’t deter my father for long. He was too big, too strong, and the lack of muscle I had barely subdued him for a second.
“Let her go. Please, just let her go.”
The sound of Jolie picking my father's truck keys from the hook echoed louder than it should have.
“You can punish me, in any way. Just let her go. I'll do whatever you want.”
“What we want, you ungrateful little brat, is for her to have been an opening for you. A way into this industry. And a way to control your fucked-up moods. So, you would be able to step into your father's shoes and walk beside him.” My mother rolled her eyes, always knowing their failed plans wouldn’t work, but confirming that she was as awful as I always thought she was.
“Industry? Abusing women? I don't want that. I don't want to be a monster!”
“You were born a fucking monster, Woodrow. Embrace it!” My mother was fuming. The steam from her anger created a toxic smog in the room. “You already agreed to this.”
“No, I didn’t. I would never.”
“Your angry little friend seemed quite excited by the idea!”
Hell, they’d asked Hell. Asked Hell to use her in the worst possible ways. And he’d fucking agreed.
