Page 30 of The Unravelings

Since we’ve come to Greenwood, I’ve been a prisoner stuck behind four empty walls with only a bed, a dresser, and a minuscule amount of clothes to keep me going. I’m fed. I have a roof over my head, but sometimes I wish I could convince my uncles to take me away from here. Away from him.

But Sophia.

She’s so little. She doesn’t deserve an ounce of what I get from my father. So, I take it all, sparing her the hurt.

And this is the cost.

Sophia stole a cookie after dinner, after being told no. She didn’t listen and took it when my dad’s back was turned.

I shakily breathe through my nose, trying to get through the pain sizzling away on my flesh.

Fuck.

But it’s okay. It was for Sophia.

“Trouble,” Huxley breathes, crawling toward me frantically. Worry twists his face as he stares down at me, hovering his hands above my back. “You’re bleeding.”

“Please don’t touch them,” I whisper. “I had to. I had to…” I trail off, sucking in several breaths. “I had to save my sister.”

Hux’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. His lips pop open and closed, but he nods like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe Franco has taken a belt to him, or Mack or JJ, for their defiance.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, barely under his breath, looking me up and down. If it weren’t for the moon shining through the tops of the trees, I wouldn’t have been able to see the pity in his expression.

I don’t want his pity. Or anyone else’s.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I whisper pathetically.

How poetic, I’m concealing my father’s crimes for him. Like I do every time. Oh, that bruise? It’s nothing; I fell. Why can’t my mom come to parent-teacher conferences? Oh, she’s sick. And the list goes on. Why do we always cover for our abusers?

I squeeze my eyes shut, the shame slithering through me. That’s why. It’s the shame of it all. I took the punishment for my sister and now…now I’m reduced to bleeding and sobbing.

You’re not supposed to cry. You’re a fucking Viotto. Take this punishment like a fucking man. My father’s words bounce in my skull—a constant reminder of what my last name means. Or is supposed to mean.

But I don’t want this burden. Viotto? No, thanks. If being the heir of his fucked up empire includes this, I decline. I don’t want any of this on my shoulders. I want freedom. My own life. Making my own decisions. Not something my parents do for me. Not something anyone does for me.

I want to live my life. Go to college. Maybe I’ll become a teacher or a social worker so that I can help the kids in situations like mine. Situations where my father can’t keep his fucking fists to himself.

Huxley sniffles slightly, lying beside me on the narrow porch of the treehouse. His moss-green eyes stare into mine as we watch one another below the bright moonlight illuminating the sky.

He holds out his pinky finger for me. “I pinky promise,” he whispers, gently intertwining our pinkies so they form a cross. “This is our secret.”

I sniffle in response, lightly squeezing his pinky with mine. I’ve only known him and his brothers for a short time. So, I have to trust he’ll keep his mouth shut.

“How often?” Huxley whispers, running his fingers through my hair. An intimate gesture I relish. The warmth of his fingers glides down my jawbone over and over again until goosebumps spread across my flesh. A buzz begins underneath my skin. Like a spark of electricity humming through me every time he touches me.

I lick my lips. “Often enough,” I whisper as more tears descend my cheeks. “Since we’ve come here, it’s gotten worse. He drinks so much. And—” I shake my head.

There are certain things I don’t know about my father’s relationship with Franco. My uncles in the Viotto Crime Family sent us here. But what does my father do for him? He’s the leader of the Franco Syndicate—a gang attempting to expand here in Greenwood.

Huxley nods once, biting into his lip. “Can I help in any way?”

My heart nearly swoops, and butterflies collect in my stomach, fluttering their wings. The way his eyes gaze into mine, he’s captured me completely. Like a tether holding us face-to-face, nothing could tear us apart right now.

“This is enough.”

And it was. For that one night, Huxley and I lay under the stars, soaking in each other’s presence. It wasn’t the last time. No. There were many more instances of my father’s fists raining down on me and leaving marks until I pushed my way through a window and escaped his heavy hands.

I watched my father abuse us too many times to count. But nothing ever changed. The more he drank. The more he found violence. Then when I was a little older, he put bars on my windows, thinking it would keep me out of trouble and under his roof. From then on, he rarely cared about us. He had other priorities to handle. Like the boy he chose over his family.