“That,” I say, “is me asking again.”
Her eyes are glassy but she doesn’t cry. She just breathes through the pain, which is unusual for girls like her.
“What do I use,” I ask, “to make your father break?”
She laughs once, but it comes out in an odd way.
“You really think I have all the answers you need to break him?” she rasps. “In a way, you’re not wrong.”
I let go of her chin and lean back on my heels, studying her face like I didn’t just strike her.
“Then enlighten me.”
She swallows and inhales a deep breath.
For a second, I think she might spit in my face.
Instead, her gaze drops to the concrete between us.
“My mom left when I was twelve,” she says. Her voice is quieter now, stripped of any defiance she hadbefore. “She wanted out of the political lifestyle and figured the only way to do that was to leave, marry a somewhat normal person, and never contact us again.”
I stay silent as she whispers, “Her own fucking daughter.”
“At first, he wanted to be around me all the time,” she continues. “I thought maybe it was because he was trying to make me feel better about her leaving, or was just simply trying to be a good dad.”
She shakes her head. “He drinks a lot, so when he’s plastered, he tells me I look a lot like her from when she was younger.” Her mouth twists in disgust.
I feel my jaw tighten, starting to understand what she means, but I don’t interrupt.
I’m a monster, sure. I hit women when I have to. But sexual assault is where I draw the line.
“It all started with him sitting too close and sometimes placing his hand on my lower back. Next, it was my waist.” She shakes slightly, or as much as she can with the restraints holding her in place. “And then one night he didn’t move his hand away.”
She stops there and doesn’t continue onto any specifics.
“It went on for years.” She laughed. “He told me-” She pauses and then continues. “tells meno one will believe me since he is so loved by the community. He reminds me daily that because he holds such an esteemed position in the State, he can clear anything that comes his way.”
She hasn’t cried the entire time she’s been here. Not one fucking time. But as she speaks about her past with him, a small liquid orb drifts down her cheek, leaving a wet streak on her face.
“He’s terrified of it getting out,” she goes on. “That is the way to destroy him or at least get what you want back.”
I lean forward slightly. “You’re telling me if I threaten him with what you just told me, he’ll fold?”
She nods once and says with a hardened tone, “He’ll give you everything.”
I watch her for a long moment.
The bruise already begins to caress her cheek and she shivers from the cold temperature in the warehouse. But the way she holds herself is like she is used to being hurt but refuses to be a child about it.
“You think he’ll giveeverythingback over some verbal threat?”
She nods, “Just tell him you have video proof or something. That’ll shut him up quick.”
I ponder whether this will even work the way she says it will, but I personally have nothing to lose, so might as well try.
“What do you hope to get out of this?” I ask, somewhat amused.
“My only hope is that maybe, once this is all over, he’ll stop. I just want him to feel a fraction of what he makes me feel. That way he never touches me again.” She shoots back.
