Page 30 of Accepting Fate

I quickly snap out of that morbid idea. I have to stay alive so I can get myself and Mom out of this hell hole one day. She may not be strong enough to do it, but I will be strong for both of us.

A smile spreads across his face and he leans down, his nose touching mine. My spine goes rigid. “I caught you, Princess,” he says, raising his grimy hands.

I flinch, thinking a slap is coming. Instead, he runs his hand up my arms, goosebumps instantly covering them. His hand continues up its path until he gets to my face. He brushes a finger under my nose and smears the remnants of my bloody nose down to my neck where he wraps a hand around it, gently pushing on my windpipe. I attempt to take a breath, but it’s restricted by the increased pressure he’s applying. Very quickly, his grip is so hard that I can’t breathe at all. My vision grows fuzzy, and I feel myself starting to pass out.

Suddenly, he loosens his grip and I gasp, desperately seeking air before he takes it away again.

His mouth grows close to mine, his breath smelling of cheap alcohol and cigarettes. Bile rises in my throat as he whispers, “Your mom fucked up Princess and she isn’t fighting back anymore so now it’s your turn. Are you ready to play?”

This is what he does. He beats the fuck out of Mom and when she drinks herself into oblivion, it’s my turn. He likes us this way. He purposely pisses Mom off, so she gets angry with him and that’s what his excuse is for the first punch. His game is the same every time. Mom ends up disappearing into herself for a week straight and I’m stuck cleaning up the mess while my body tries to heal in time for the next round.

I want to give up and just let him get it over with, but I have more self-respect than that. I know I’m giving him what he wants but I step back, and he lets me. I raise my shaky hand to slap him.

As my hand connects with his face, pain spreads throughout my palm. I hit the same side the snow globe did, but the fucker doesn’t even wince. He tilts his head back and laughs, his beer belly bouncing as his laugh echoes throughout the quiet house. I don’t know how a man his size is as powerful as he is, but my tiny body is no match for him.

I take advantage of the moment and start backing away. I don’t want to give him my back because my head hurts so fucking bad and I can’t take another blow right now. He uses my hair as a handle to push or smash my body into things. I’m tempted to shave my head, so it's no longer a weapon used against me. But if I did, I wouldn’t be able to use my long hair to hide the bruises.

I don’t get very far when his hand wraps around my upper arm. He squeezes it so hard that I know I will have to wear long sleeves to school on Monday to hide the handprint. At this rate, I will be having to miss a few days to allow my body to heal before braving school. Luckily, I will wake up tomorrow with a fresh turtleneck courtesy of the devil himself.

He jerks my body towards his and yells directly in my face, my head screaming in protest to the loud noise, “Not so fast, Princess. It’s time you women know who the boss in this house is.”

His other hand balls into a fist and he delivers the first blow to my stomach. I curl into myself, and he pushes me, and my body falls to the floor. I try and protect my head, but it’s no use. As soon as my body hits the ground, he's next to me, knocking my head back against the floor with the shove of his foot against my head.

My glasses, which I’m surprised are still on, fly off my face and skitter across the hardwood floor. I roll over and try to crawl away, but he pulls my legs back. As he rolls me to my back, he smiles down at me. I raise my head and spit in his face, “Fuck you, Mike.”

The smug bastard shakes his head and grips the side of my face with both of his giant sweaty hands. “No thank you, Princess. I may be evil or whatever the fuck your mother calls me, but I will never be labeled as a kid toucher.” He raises my head in his hands and pauses. I know what’s coming. I know darkness will soon encompass my body, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “Well, that’s until you turn eighteen, then we will have all kinds of fun.”

A shiver runs down my spine and a single tear escapes my eye. My vision is blurry, but I make out that creepy as fuck smile on Mike’s face as he delivers his signature wink and slams my head against the hardwood floor.

I steal one last look at Mom on the couch. She’s staring at us; I can’t make out her features, but I swear I hear a small whimper come from her direction as the darkness consumes me.

I jolt awake. My entire shirt is soaked in sweat and my heart is pounding so hard, I think it’s going to beat out of my chest. I quickly turn the bedside lamp on and look around my bedroom.

My hands go to the back of my head to check for an open wound and then to my nose. I pull my hands away from my face and let out a sigh of relief when my hands come back free of blood.

I blink a few times and realization hits me.

“It’s not real,” I say out loud to my empty room. “You are not that girl anymore. You're safe.”

I haven’t had a nightmare or memory like that in months. Why did I have a dream about Mike when the last thing I did before I went to sleep was look at Grayson’s text?

My mind starts racing at the reasons why my nightmares have returned. Has he somehow found out how to hack my phone and see that I met someone? Is he finally coming for me? Have I been too relaxed and he’s about to pounce?

My throat constricts and I can feel the panic starting to take over. I blindly reach for my nightstand drawer and grab my medicine. As I try to open the bottle, my hands are shaking so bad I’m having a hard time getting the lid off.

As the lid finally breaks free, tears fill my eyes as sadness and fear begin to dig their claws into me. Failing to get one pill out of the bottle, the frustration makes my hands shake even harder and causes pills to tumble to the floor.

“What the hell?” I cry to my empty and lonely room.

Why does this have to be my life? Why do I have to live in a constant state of loneliness and fear for my life?

I don’t want to do it anymore. I can’t fucking do this anymore. I hate feeling helpless. I hate feeling like at any moment I will turn a corner and the last thing I ever see is his ugly face.

Maybe it’s the bitter loneliness or the feeling of needing human contact or maybe just pure insanity but I pick up my phone and dial the one person that has the possibility of taking it all away.

The phone rings and I glance at the clock on the side table but it’s blurry since I don’t have my contacts in. I’m guessing it’s around midnight, which means he’s probably asleep, but I don’t care.

Grayson picks up after the third ring, his voice full of concern, “Logan, you okay?”