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“I wonder how she’d react to it,” he says thoughtfully. “Would she run? Would she try to hurt herself? Such a tender, young age she’s at, too. Maybe I’ll do it myself. I always did like them young.”
Hot tears spill down my cheeks, and he smirks again.
“There are so many things I can do to punish you. I’m just getting started.”
I can't help myself, and I already know I’m making a mistake.
I spit in his face.
He wipes his cheek calmly.
“You’re either very, very brave, or very, very stupid,” he tells me, wiping his hands with a napkin. “Brazen, get up.”
I’m seething as my brother joins him by the end of the table. His face is cool, impassive as he places his palm on my father’s shoulder.
“We are a family,” my father goes on. “And we solve problems like a family, don’t we?”
Brazen’s jaw tics. He doesn’t say a word.
My father motions to me, muttering, “Show her how we deal with troublemakers.”
“Father, I–” Brazen speaks up.
“Show her. Now!”
Father’s voice is dripping with venom, and Brazen closes his eyes tightly for a second before coming to stand in front of my shivering body. Instead of waiting for Brazen to do as he’s told, my father calmly returns to his meal.
Brazen’s eyes are apologetic. But his fists aren’t.
The first blow hits me out of nowhere. A slap to my already burning cheek makes me dizzy, and I stumble back, tripping over the chair and staring up at my half-brother in shock.
“What the…”
He hits me in the face again. Again and again.
I don't know when it changes from being slapped into being beaten up, but by the time he's done, I'm aching, scared, and bleeding. My brother is careful to only hit me where the bruises won’t show. We all know how important appearances are in this stupid town.
My bottom lip is quivering and I’m crying. Despite promising myself I’d stay strong, I’m fucking sobbing.
I'm sitting on the floor, feeling my bruised and beaten body adapting to the pain. I stare up at my brother feeling angrier and more scared than I've ever felt. Then, I look at my father.
He does this kind of shit to his own flesh and blood? To his daughter?
"Belle will escort you to your room now,” Father says calmly.
Brazen walks away, wiping his shaking hands with a damask napkin. I can see a trace of my own blood on his knuckles, and when I raise a shaky hand to my lips, my fingertips come away wet. He busted my lip.
I pick myself up wordlessly. I feel like he's beaten the fight right out of me, which is exactly what my father wanted. I stare at my remaining family members. Bryony won’t look at me, but Tatianna glares back with a look that says, I tried to warn you.
I spin on my heel and drag myself out of the room, leaving droplets of scarlet blood on the stairs. Belle joins in, silently walking behind me and not addressing what’s happened.
When I come back to my room, the frame I shattered is no longer on the floor. Instead, it’s standing up on my nightstand yet again, as if nothing has ever happened. I narrow my eyes at it, picking it up wordlessly.
The glass is intact.
My mind races. Did I imagine breaking it? Is my mind playing tricks on me? No, I can still hear the crunch of the glass… Surely it was real. But here it is now, in one piece.
I set the frame down with trembling hands. Dexter Booth’s and Lily Anna’s faces laugh at me from the photo.
