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“Jonathan!”

Small, cool hands grip my arm. I whip my head around at their touch.

Soft brown eyes stretched wide.

A gasping breath.

It takes me a moment to focus on the face.

A quiver of release shudders throughout my body.

Emma stares at me. When she realizes I’m coming back into myself, her shoulders visibly relax. But she keeps her distance, still staring at me in shock—finally seeing the monster.

As much as I want to look away, I don’t. I can’t hide anymore. And it’s fucking killing me that she’s seen who I really am.

Without disconnecting from Emma, I slowly lower the drug dealer to the floor.

“Emma.” Her name is a plea. An exhale of devastation.

She continues to gape at me like she doesn’t know who I am. I can see the horror replaying in a loop behind her vacant eyes.

Emma’s gaze shifts to the unmoving figure on the floor. I don’t take my eyes off her.

“Emma, look at me,” I call to her calmly. “Don’t look at him, look at me.”

She flicks her unblinking eyes back to me. “Emma, keep looking at me. Are you okay?”

I stand, visually assessing her injuries. Her cheek is beginning to swell, a deep red bruise blossoming. Blood seeps from her split bottom lip. “Your face.” I lift my hand.

She rears back at the sight of the blood dripping from my knuckles. She covers her mouth with a gasp and then winces. The blood on her palm surprises her.

When she tries to speak, her voice sounds as pained as her body. “Is he…” Her focus begins to drift back to the scum sprawled on the floor.

“Don’t look at him.” I step between them, angling myself to block her view, and motion for her to sit on the stairs.

Emma gingerly eases herself onto the top step, a whimper escaping.

“What did you do?” Her voice trembles. “You looked so… angry.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” I never wanted her to know the part of me that is my father. “But he hurt you. And I will never let anyone hurt you.” I keep my voice low, but my words hold conviction. “Sit here, okay.”

I disappear into the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror is not me. The feral eyes, blood-spattered cheeks and wild hair. The man staring back looks crazed. I’ve seen these glazed-over dark eyes before… my father’s, after he beat me.

I’ve become my greatest fear.

I rinse the blood from my face and neck, drying off with a hand towel. I find another and wet it, returning to Emma, who’s barely aware of where she is, still lost to the violence.

I gently blot the blood from her mouth. I try to reach her, searching her eyes in hopes she’ll come back to me. Last night, I questioned whether I could make things worse for her.

The answer is: yes. Insurmountably worse.

Emma inhales sharply when I touch her lip.

“We’ll put some ice on that when we get back.” My voice draws her to me. Slowly, the light returns to her eyes. “Just sit here and look straight ahead, okay?”

She nods.

I pat down the guy’s jeans, without looking at the damage. Still unable to face what I’ve done. I hear his raspy breaths and exhale with the slightest relief. I find his keys and pull them from his front pocket.