I snort as I open the door. “There’s absolutely no playing going on.”
I’m dead serious, and that gets her quiet. She winces. I remember her injuries.
“You’ve got pain meds?”
“Some, but you know they make me loopy.”
Is it my imagination, or does her lower lip pout a bit when she says that?
Why does it make me want to hold her to me until she feels a little better? Poor wee lassie.
I can’t let myself grow weak. I can’t let myself forget what she did and why I have to keep her prisoner.
I can’t let myself be tempted by the thought of punishing her.
But I can’t get it out of my mind.
When we enter the house, there’s something going on. Voices are raised in the kitchen, and it takes a few seconds for me to realize there’s smoke billowing into the main living area.
“Bloody hell!” someone yells. Mum’s trotting down the stairs as we come in.
“What’s happening?” she asks.
“No idea, just came in.”
Cairstina comes stumbling out of the kitchen, flapping a dish towel like mad. “So sorry!” she chokes, gasping. “Paisley and I were trying a new recipe?—”
“Flambé?” Fran mutters, and Mum snorts with laughter as the fire alarms blare.
The study door opens, and Dad comes out, stumbling. He’s been fucking drinking again. I can see it in his bleary eyes and smell it from here.
“What the bloody hell’s going on?” he thunders. Mum’s eyes grow wide, and she gets a look of panic on her face. I hate that look. I’ll do bloody anything to keep it off her. She’s a strong woman who’s withstood so many things, I hate to see her quake with the fear of what he might do.
“Nothing, Dad,” I say, stepping in front of Cairstina. “The girls burnt something in the kitchen, we’ve got it under control.” I lower my voice. “Go back to the study.”
“Get out of my way.”
I take him firmly by the arm and guide him back to the study.
He snaps. He turns his fury on me and raises his hand and the instant memory of how he treated us as children rises in my memory.
But I’m not a child, and I haven’t cowered in fucking years.
I don’t flinch. I grab his wrist and pull his arm down. I step in front of him, my back blocking the two of us from view. I don’t want my mother to see.
I step into his space, intimidating him. His eyes widen, and he takes a wobbly step back. He stumbles, but I right him, leading him back into the office. I kick the door closed with a resounding bang.
“You don’t raise your hand to me, old man,” I say in his ear. “You don’t raise your hand to fucking anyone anymore, do you understand me?”
I plunk him in a chair.
“Stay right there, I’ll get this sorted.”
“Think you’ll fill those shoes, do you?”
His angry voice seizes me for a moment, but only a fraction of a second before I keep walking to the exit.
Ignore him, I tell myself. I left Fran on the other side of that door, which was fucking stupid. I can’t let her have the chance to escape.
