“Yes,” I choked out, pressing a hand to my stinging cheek. But the tears that spilled over had less to do with the pain spreading across my face, and more to do with the wave of icy hair and luminous amber eyes drifting away from me.
I had once dreamt up a tiny cabin in the mountains, filled with just enough books and the right amount of coffee as it snowed in, and we were wrapped in each other’s embrace. Butnow, that would never happen. Because he was gone, just like the rest that ever gave me a glimpse of hope.
“Did you sleep with him?” She breathed down on me, her voice seething. “You slept with him, didn’t you? I know you did. That’s what you are good at. I just hope he isn’t a married man. Because you just like taking things that shouldn’t be yours.”
“I didn’t,” I sobbed, my voice breaking. Callan was gone. My Snow White wasn’t mine anymore. I just wanted to be alone.
“You didn’t what?” she demanded. “You dirty whore, you didn’t what? Sleep with him? And you think your mother is a fool she will buy that cheap lie?”
“I said I didn’t sleep with him,” I snapped. “What part of ‘I didn’t’ do you not understand, Mother?!”
The flicker of reignited rage in her eyes told me I needed to expect the next hit.
“You disrespectful wrench!”
The slap sent me crashing to the floor. Pain exploded to my temple, my body absorbing the impact. But there was hardly any time to process it all as her fist tangled in my hair next, yanking me upright.
A sharp gasp ripped from my throat. A second slap, then a third, a fourth, and a fifth, until it all just became a blend of numbers floating around the dizzying room.
The next one was the most violent. It sent me stumbling toward the left, my hip colliding hard with the sharp metal handle of the pasta cabinet.
I hissed loudly in pain, hands flying to cradle the fiery scorch on my hip bone. My body shook, agony growing into a pair of bony hands, squeezing me, crushing me from the inside.
Another gasp broke past my lips as her hand fisted my hair again, dragging me backwards, my heels scraping the floor.
“Were you actually raising your voice at me just now?” she snarled, grip tightening around the hair, loosening the banduntil strands fell over my face, soaking in the hot ears streaming down my cheeks.
“No.” My voice quavered, my head shaking desperately and rapidly.
“The next time you raise your voice at me again.” Each word was uttered through clenched teeth, her gaze dark and vindictive as her nails dug into my jaw. “I swear, I’ll pluck that tongue right out of your mouth!”
Then, without warning, she released her hold violently. I stumbled forward with such speed, and before I could catch myself, my lips were planting on the sharp edge of the marble counter, pain, hot and sharp, spreading across my mouth.
I feared I may have knocked off a tooth as the metallic taste of blood settled in my mouth.
Slowly, I lifted my hand, touching my lips. It was wet and sticky with blood. My blood.
“Finish up the chicken,” she ordered, her footsteps receding, echoing down the hall a few seconds later. Then her door slammed shut.
A few minutes passed before I managed to drag myself to my room, closing the door behind me.
I slid to the floor, a sob bursting from my chest before I could swallow it down. I cried, hard and loud. Because that was all I could do.
Cry.
Callan was just a dream.
A really short, but beautiful dream.
18
THE MIRROR
A madman he had become for Beth Fraser.
“You look like shit,” Zaghan mused, flicking open his zippo and igniting the cigarette fixed between his lips. The chains around his legs rattled with every movement.
The flame from the cigarette cast a flickering shadow against his face, carving out the edges of his malicious grin.
