I take a deep breath, trying to disassociate as I take off B’s jacket with trembling fingers. I think about his scar, a testament to all he’s lost, and Seb’s grumpy scowl. I think about watching movies, hot tea, Lucky Charms, and lazy mornings. I think about reading Terry Brooks by the fire. I think about Brantley’s strip tease and the way he literally danced like no one was watching. I think about Seb’s piercing blue eyes and the tattoo scrolled across his perfect skin.
No fate but what we make.
I put all those beautiful memories into a little box in the back of my mind and lock it away. This moment will never touch them.
Us.
And when the last of my clothing drops to the floor, the cold air biting my bare skin, I feel nothing. No fear. No anger. No disgust.
Just nothing.
He steps forward, pulling my smaller body against his, his erection bumping my stomach. “Get on your knees,” he growls, and I do. I stare blankly up at him, taking in his wrinkled skin sagging loosely around his muscles and the gray hairs nestled around his dick as he pulls it from his underwear and brings it to my pursed lips. “Open.”
I part my lips reluctantly, and he slides his length inside andtwists my hair around his fist. My eyes water, tears coursing down my cheeks, and I don’t know whether it's from pain, disgust, or a reflex when he violently thrusts it into my mouth. I almost puke, warm bile teasing my throat as he pulls out and pushes in again, moaning with his teeth bared.
It occurs to me that he’s awfully brave or stupid if he thinks I won’t bite him, and when I go to do just that, his hand shoots out, catching my cheeks in a tight grip.
“Play nice, Red,” he warns.
I start giggling like a lunatic, and he gives me a strange look. But how is this happening right now?
Dennis pulls out of my mouth, fisting his cock, and I turn my face to the side when he slaps the head of it against my cheek, leaving a sticky, wet trail.
“If you aren’t going to play nice, neither am I. You’ll learn to respect me as a man and as your husband.” He grabs one of my tits in his large hand and twists it painfully, smiling as I gasp and curl in on myself.
Then, he shoves me down until I’m on my hands and knees. He folds over me, his cock pressing into my ass as he rests his full weight on my body and forces my head onto the floor, pinning it there with a firm grip on the back of my neck.
Shame tickles my chest when I realize I’m wet. As if I want this to happen. As if I deserve it. I feel the scratch of the rough blanket against my skin and his fingers bruising me. I tense my muscles and bite back a sob.
I can’t let him do this to me again.
Iwon’t.
When his other hand crashes against my wrist, my mom’s delicate bracelet bites into my skin and the chain breaks. It slides off, and the world seems to disappear.
Waves crash against the beach,and I giggle as the icy ocean water tickles my toes. The next wave is stronger though, and it throws me off my feet. I land hard on my knees, salt water sharp on my tongue. When I look down, I see a cut on my leg, the blood mixing with the dark, grainy sand.
It hurts, and I turn and look to the shore, searching for her. I spot her almost immediately, standing from her beach towel and dusting off her backside. My lower lip trembles as I try to ignore the way the cut aches.
“Fiona! Baby, are you okay?” Her white sundress flutters around her ankles as she runs to my side, her auburn hair tangled and windswept.
She approaches and pulls me away from the water, crouching down to inspect the cut.
“I didn’t cry, Mom,” I tell her proudly, and she gives me a sad look. She takes my hand without a word, and we walk back to her towel. She rolls it up and leads me toward the little beach house we’ve rented for the week. I watch in fascination as crimson blood continues to ooze from the cut and run in rivulets down my leg.
We climb the steps up to the porch, and Mom nods to one of the chairs. “Wait here, and I’ll get you a Band-Aid.”
I sit, my legs swinging back and forth. Our trip ends in a few days, and the thought makes me sad. This is the longest my mom’s ever gone without drinking. I may only be ten, but I started taking care of her after my dad left.
My mom returns with a little metal first-aid box, and I watch while she bandages me up. Her bracelet catches the sun, and the blue and white stones glitter with each turn of her wrist. I stare at it and smile.
My mom notices. “You like my bracelet?” she asks, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
I nod. “Yes, it’s so pretty.”
She finishes with my leg and fingers the jewelry, sliding it aroundher dainty wrist until I see the wave charm nestled in the middle of the chain.
“I bought it while we were in town yesterday.” She looks up at the ocean and the large rocks looming like sleeping giants just off the shore. “I love this place so much, and someday we’ll buy a house here and live on the beach like mermaids.”
