Ville noticed the switch, as I did. But he wanted someone else. I couldn’t understand why, as things hadn’t gone so well last time. “Not the one I wanted, but this could work.”
“Daddy,” Woody said again.
“Hey, little buddy. Your throat a little tight?”
His sad eyes blinked twice, his hand reaching for his father's.
“No, don't you touch him!” I fumed over Ville’s manipulation. Woody—being a neglected child—craved love, and that was the only reason Ville gave it.
A toxic love that wasn't fucking real.
“Hush, Jolie!” Ville's sterner voice tried to set me in my place, but as he'd already shown me, my place wasn't here. “Do me a favor, go check on my wife.”
I looked over to Wynter, wanting to give her none of my help as she stirred on the ground. My hand was again on my stomach, comforting my unborn through the pangs Ville caused.
“I can't walk.” I turned my head away, ignoring her. Ignoring them both.
“Let me take a look, buddy.” Ville ignored me, too. He adjusted Woody's position so he could check over his throat. He smiled at the bruises he caused while he falsified a comfort for the boy who couldn’t face how little his father cared.
It made me sick.
I tasted the vomit on my tongue, and I had to swallow it before speaking.
“Is Momma okay?” Woody asked, getting his quiet words out first.
“It looks like one of your inside friends acted up again. She'll be fine.” Ville rubbed his son's dark hair with cigar-stained fingertips.
Woody stretched his fingers, his eyes drifting to his knuckles and the red marks settled on each joint.
“He didn't mean it, I don't think.”
“No. . . he didn't. But sometimes people must be punished. Do you understand?”
Woody blinked twice.
“I don't want to hurt you, buddy, but Woodrow was out of line, and Jolie hasbeen out of line.”
My eyes became slits, narrowing on Ville and whatever bullshit he'd sprout next. A stronger twinge kicked me in the stomach, and my hand circled the area as I altered my breathing to brave the pain.
“I can't hurt my favorite little guy, can I? So, today, it'll just be Jolie.”
“What did she do?” Woody choked out the words.
But Ville didn't answer.
“Why does she never have clothes on?” This question was silent, the sound trapped below the swelling in Woody’s throat.
Ville didn't answer, having already left his side, his attention was elsewhere.
On me.
“I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“Then close your eyes.”
My back straightened, and I shifted around the bags of trash. The badly-plastered wall prevented my escape as I tried to push myself farther away.
Ville and his hateful expression pinned me in place before his hands. He didn't even give a second glance to the wife he cared so much about.
