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Tears filled my eyes, but as soon as I could catch my breath, his hand would come down again.
And again. And again. And again.
Stop. I wanted to cry out. I wanted to scream.
But I clenched my teeth instead.
I hissed at the pain, I winced, and I cowered.
But I didn’t cry. Not anymore.
Not until after he was gone.
He grabbed me by the collar again, fisting it tightly, the fabric chafing my neck. “You’ll go back,” he breathed into my face, “you’ll apologize, and you’ll rejoin the team.”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t.”
He threw me into the counter again and backed away, unfastening his belt.
A lump swelled in my throat. No.
“What was that?” he asked. “What did you say?”
Anger twisted his face, and his skin boiled with rage, but he loved this. He complained about my grandmother and me—spit in my face all the time about what a burden I was—but he didn’t actually want me gone. He needed this.
“I can’t,” I whispered, unable to do more, because my voice shook so badly.
He yanked his belt out of the loops, and I knew what was coming. There was no way to stop it, because he didn’t want to.
“You will.”
I stood there, halfway between wanting to cry and wanting to run. It would only make the punishment sweeter for him if I made him work for it. Screw him.
“I won’t.”
“You will!”
“I can’t wear a swimsuit because of the bruises!” I blurted out.
He paused, the belt dangling from his hand, and I couldn’t even hear him breathe.
Yeah.
That was why I quit swimming. My face wasn’t the only thing we had to worry about people seeing. My back, my arms, my thighs… People weren’t stupid, Martin.
I almost wanted to look up, to see what—if anything—played across his face. Worry, maybe? Guilt?
Whatever he felt, he had to know we weren’t coming back from this. It was real now. No matter the apologies, the presents, the smiles or hugs, I would never forget what he did to me.
So why stop now, right, Martin?
Darting out, he grabbed my wrist, growling as he threw me into the table. I squeezed my eyes shut as I bent in half over the top, my palms and forehead meeting the top.
And when the first strike came down, I fought the tears.
But I couldn’t fight the cries coming up from my throat as the strap landed again and again. He was angry now and going harder than normal. It hurt.
He wouldn’t fight the issue again, though. He knew I was right.
