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“I’m not going to stop you from leaving,” he says, his voice raspy as if he doesn’t use it much. “But you should know Huxley is one of the best men I’ve ever met. He must think you're pretty special if he trusted you enough to bring you up here.” I nod, my eyes stinging with tears. “You sure you want to do this?”
“I know Huxley is incredible,” I whisper. “I’m not trying to hurt him. I just need to take–”
“Take care of a few things. Yeah, I got it.”
I know Cassian doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame him. Anyone would think I’m trying to sneak out on Huxley after sharing an incredible night. But I can’t give any more away without risking Cassian coming along or calling Huxley for backup.
It’s a long, silent drive down the mountain. I watch the hills and valleys pass us down below, a thick layer of fog nestled in the treetops, giving the Smokies their name.
I think of a dozen ways to start the conversation with my dad, but none feel right. I hope I’ll be inspired in the moment to make a grand statement and put him in his place. Honestly, though, I’d settle for a civil discussion where I let him know there will be boundaries, and I’ll likely be moving out.
“Where to?” Cassian grunts as he pulls onto the gravel road leading to Rock Bottom.
“The hardware store is fine,” I say quickly, trying not to notice the way Cassian looks at me.
When we get to the parking lot, I unbuckle my seatbelt and slip out of the truck as fast as possible.
“Hey,” Cassian calls out. I turn to look at him. “You sure you’re okay?”
It warms my heart to know even this big, rough mountain of a man is concerned about me. “I will be,” I reply before giving him my back and running around to the back of the building. I hide there, catching my breath, until I hear Cassian pull out of the parking lot and down the road.
Taking a few deep breaths, I wring out my sweaty hands and straighten up, holding my head high. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m an adult, and I’m choosing to live life on my terms.
By the time I reach the back door to our house, I’ve built up enough confidence to tell my father exactly what’s on my mind. I pull the door open, but before I can even take a step inside, my father reaches out and grabs my wrist, dragging me into the house roughly.
“What the fuck, Jordan?!” he screams at me, his face nearly purple with rage.
I’ve never seen him like this. His green eyes are dark, like a shadow of madness has crept into his mind, making everything about him crazed. I press my back against the wall and try making myself as small as possible, unsure what else to do. He’s never been violent with me before, never physically abusive. But the man standing in front of me now? I don’t know what he’s capable of.
“Dad, I was out–”
“I know exactly what you were doing. Slut.”
The word stings more than a slap to the face.
As if tempting fate, the next second, my father’s hand flashes in front of my face, and I hardly register what just happened. I hear the slap before I feel the pain, my mind reeling.
“You even had the nerve to show up in his clothes? Take that off right now,” he demands.
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond; he simply grabs me by the throat and peels me off the wall before tearing at the plaid shirt I’m wearing.
“You’re hurting me,” I cry out as he rips the fabric.
My father chuckles darkly, the sickening sound making my stomach twist into knots. “You’re hurting me,” he spits out, fisting my hair and ripping my head back so I’m looking him in the eye. His pupils are blown out, and I wonder if maybe he’s on drugs. Is that what started the paranoia?
The next thing I know, my head is slammed against the wall, pain and a bright light ricocheting around my skull, making me dizzy. I can hardly stand up, but I manage to stumble after my father, who has my arm in a vice grip. He drags me through the house until he gets to my bedroom and tosses me onto the ground like a sack of flour.
I scramble backward, away from this monster I hardly recognize.
“I can’t even look at you right now. You disgust me,” he growls, his eyes looking me up and down like I’m a piece of trash. “I’m going to leave you here until you realize what a fool you’ve made of yourself. I haven’t decided how I’m going to punish you, but believe me when I say you won’t be leaving this house for a long damn time.”
“But–”
My dad lunges at me, and I shrink back, scared of what he might do. Instead of touching me, he merely laughs, as if torturing me like this is a game. I guess to him, it is.
When the door slams shut, I hear him turn the lock on the outside with a click. He had that installed when I hit puberty “for my protection.” He also has a lock on my window that requires a key to open. Guess who has the only copy? Not me.
A wave of helplessness washes over me as I heave out a sob. How did I get here? How did this happen? I didn’t have a chance to get more than five words in, and now I’m bruised and bleeding, locked in my room with no way to contact Huxley.
