Page 4 of Citrine

"Don't you dare try your fancy talk on me, you ungrateful fuck," he hisses out at me.

I wasn't planning on it. It's not like he's ever listened anyway.

His fists clench and my mother keens out a low cry. "Of course I wouldn't! I was just trying to get some money. For that new bike part you want."

I whip my head over to her, my heart clenching. Is that where all my money has gone? To him?

Damn. That feels even worse than thinking she spent it on drugs.

"Don't you fucking lie to me, whore!"

He takes three long strides over to her and punches her hard on her left cheek, driving her to the ground.

I'm instantly shaking, no longer able to keep my cool as memories flood back. I've never seen him hit her there. He always chooses somewhere that's easy to hide. Just like he did for me.

He kicks her while bellowing out and I rush forward to pull him off.

At just over six feet, he is a good six inches taller than me and much broader. It takes him little effort to shrug me off, ensuring there is plenty of force behind it to send me reeling back.

The back of my head clips the edge of the counter as I fall.

In the few moments I take to shake it off, he's busy kicking her. She's curled up with her knees up and her arms over her head to protect her most vital areas.

He's going to kill her. It's never been this bad.

I'm scrambling up and headed back to their bedroom without conscious thought. The gun is where he always keeps it and Isnatch it out, pull the slide to load it, and rush back to the kitchen.

I raise it just like mypadretaught me and bark out a warning. "I'll shoot. Back off."

He spares me a quick look. "You don't have the balls, girl."

He finds out just how wrong he is after he makes contact with her hip, and she screams out.

The retort of the Glock is almost deafening in the small kitchen as I squeeze off a couple of shots. Two answering wounds bloom on his chest as he staggers back toward the mudroom, a look of disbelief on his face.

Then my mom is screaming, but for another reason altogether.

"No, no, no! Don't die, baby!"

She has her right arm pulled tight to her. It's visibly broken. Her face is streaming blood, and yet she's applying pressure to one of his wounds with her good arm.

Desperate to save the life of a man who was trying his hardest to end her own.

I'm still standing in shock, my arms at my side, the gun still in it, when I hear the sirens. My heart jumps, urging me to flee, but that would be the worst thing to do right now. He was going to kill her.

Surely that will be obvious?

I put the gun on the ground near the hallway and move to the other side of the kitchen. As far away from my sobbing mother as possible while also moving away from the weapon so they don't shoot me on sight.

From there, it's a blur of movement. Cops come in and secure the weapon. Paramedics work on my stepfather. They move my mother and me outside.

She resists them, screaming the whole time, but once we get out, she whips around to me, pointing.

"She was the one who beat me. Arrest her!"

The words feel like a knife in my back as I stare at my mother, disbelief etched into my face.

"I was saving your life," I spit out. "Why would you say that?"