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The laughter booms from cabinet to cabinet. Bouncing around and off my body like I’m the punching bag and the punchline.
I’m defeated.
“Have you forgotten? Stupid girl.” Another full glass of whiskey swims down his throat. “Evander has been a part of every plot Alistair has put into place. If Alistair falls, Evander will go down with him, unless they have you. You’re their insurance policy. If I don’t hand you over, then it’s lights out for me.”
“We can figure out another way—Ah!” Richard grabs my wrist, and I pull. I pull and pull and pull. “Let me go!” My choppy breathing turns frantic, my eyes going wide as he winds his arm up behind his head.
Heat. A wetness.
“You'd better get those stupid thoughts out of your stupid little head!”
“Ahh!” I cry out, his fist coming down on my face a second time.
“Grraw!” He roars, throwing me to the floor. I throw my hands out in front of me, trying to block my face as he jumps down on top of me, one thigh on either side of my middle. I can barely make him out through the slits of my lids. “There’s no other way for you! You hear me?!” He grabs my shoulders, lifts me, then slams my body and head against the floor.
“Y-y-yes! P-please stop!”
“GRAHH!”
His fist comes down on my mouth.
“Stop!”
His fist blows against my chest.
“Haahh haahhh,” I suck, grasping at whatever oxygen my lungs can get hold of.
“GAAHH!” His rawer runs through me with another blow from his fist.
“Haahh haaahhh,” I suck again.
“You aren’t going anywhere!”
“Richard…”
Richard was in the sitting room, sipping on a third glass of whiskey when I woke up, probably about five minutes later. I don’t remember the last blow, but I felt it then. And I’m still feeling it now. The worst headache I’ve felt in my life is still drilling through my head like it’s searching for the world's most precious resources. Acetaminophen helps, but barely.
I’ve kept the curtains drawn shut to snuff out whatever light I can. The light makes all the pain worse. My neck, my shoulders, my face, all of it feels like I’ve been thrown into a dumpster and had a barrow of rocks tossed on top. Or like I’ve been tied up in the town square and stoned for my crimes.
What crimes? I don’t know. He’s my appointed guardian. He doesn’t need a reason to beat me.
Or kill me…
Rising on my wobbly legs, I hunch over from the nausea that’s twisting my stomach and make my way to the kitchen. I can’t take myself away from here tonight; there’s no way my brain and body could handle walking into town. I won’t risk another beating.
He will have his dinner.
I manage to grab carrots, potatoes, and onions from the crisper. The cold air a welcome pain and relief to my bruised, swollen face. I wash, then begin peeling the roots, struggling to focus through my swollen lids and foggy brain.
Creeaak. Click.
Through hindered hearing, that dreaded creak of the door still reaches me. I’ve never oiled the hinges, as it’s my only warning. But his footsteps… They’re not making it through.
“Zvyozdochka?”
No…
“Dean… I’m sorry I didn’t show up last night. I-I won’t be around for a couple of weeks. You need to leave.” Despite projecting my voice, the words come out muffled through my swollen lips and cheeks. I close my eyes, fighting back the tears that will inevitably stoke the burning on my skin. The invisible flames lingering from Richard’s fist.
