My lips pouted, as if I was going to “shh”her, but I didn't. Just in case the monster upstairs had super hearing.
“It's just me,” I spoke loudly but didn't shout. I couldn't. My throat was still in agony. Even talking hurt. “I'm getting a snack. I’ll be right up.”
“Dinner time was hours ago. Your food went to waste. You should have thought about your hunger then.”
“I didn't think I'd be welcome.” More pain came, and Jolie’s fingers beat mine in the race to deliver the massage I needed.
My father laughed, like what I said wasn't completely true. “Be quick. I have something to show you, but I'm getting tired.”
“I'll be up in a few minutes.”
It was a few long seconds where I didn't breathe. And then my father's feet shifted back through the noisy upstairs hallway.
I slowly blinked in relief, slumping back against the refrigerator.
Jolie's broken nails scratched at my skin as her grip on my shoulder became a vice. “Woodrow. . .” for a second, I thought she was in pain, and then she said, “Stay with me. Don’t leave me again.”
I understood now, she mistook the slow blinking for a switch.
“I'm here.” I keptmy voice low, as had she.
I held her closer for a second before I continued darting around the kitchen. I told her to hold on while I washed my hands, and she did, remaining wrapped to me as I dried them and moved back to the refrigerator, quickly whipping up something for her to eat.
I put a plated-up sandwich on the table, a glass of chocolate milk at the side.
I lowered Jolie to her feet, testing if she could hold her weight. It was a painful struggle. I clamped my hand over her mouth, silencing her when her agony threatened to launch a scream into the air.
Her toes spread on the cold floor. Her unpainted nails looked nothing like I was used to seeing.
“Sit here.” I helped her into a chair, careful with her strained body.
She settled on the wood, with a look of pain twisting her pretty features.
“What if he comes down? What if—?” Her jaw lowered as I cut her off.
“He won't. I won't let him.” I lifted her chin with two fingers. “Trust me, he’ll never touch you again.”
She nodded, her eyes staying on mine for a second less than I wanted.
“I'll get you some clothes.”
“Can I just wear this?” Her hand closed, tugging the hem of my baggy t-shirt.
“I can get you a clean shirt. Some sweats.”
I wanted her to wear something clean, but she didn't want to be naked for a second longer. Her lip trembled, and I wasn't sure if it was from the cold she felt or some deep embedded fear.
With her hand still scrunching up the material, she said, “It smells like you. Like freedom. Can I please wear this?”
She didn't need to ask me again, stretching the neck, I pulled the tee over my head, and for the second time today, I gave what I was wearing to one of my girls.
“Arms up.”
Jolie did as I asked, revealing a trail of fading bruises beneath both arms, where she'd no doubt been dragged around by my father. My nostrils flared, the hate I felt traveling down them fast and furious.
I lifted her hair, enjoying the second I felt it between my fingertips because it reminded me of a simpler time. Of us, and the late nights in each other’s arms, protecting each other from nightmares that chased us.
But they'd finally caught up, and our strength was depleted.
