AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’d been hard-pressed not to laugh.
I doubted my father would have done that, was pretty sure his father wouldn’t have done either. So why had he?
Once we made it back to the house, I dismissed the guard with a tight smile and retreated to my room quickly because I needed to get ready for dinner at seven. We dressed formally in this household, so I’d need to shower, do my hair and put on a full face of make-up before I’d be considered presentable.
As I stuck my phone onto charge, I eyed the device, wondering if Father was monitoring me, and if so, would he ask me why I went to the clerk’s office today?
Could I trust the guard to be appeased by the bribe he’d been given?
I wasn’t sure. Had no way of knowing for certain. I just had to pray that tonight’s meal would go without a hitch. Had to pray that he wouldn’t spring Abramovicz on us as a guest again—he’d done it twice this past week already.
Shuddering at the memories from last night of that lech’s gaze on me, undressing me as he gorged on thepelmeni, traditional dumplings, I readied myself for battle.
My make-up was on point—looking better than a professional’s by the time I was done. There were no signs of the fatigue under my eyes nor of the stress lines at my temples. I wore a slim-fitting Chanel dress and Prada heels, and made sure every single scab on my palms were covered with Band-Aids.
No one had ever cared enough to ask why my hands were always covered in Band-Aids, and I used that to my advantage.
Slice marks on my arms and legs would be noticed. My trunk too—with the skimpy outfits we sometimes wore to parties, of which there were many, from weddings to baptisms to celebratory occasions around a business deal—so cutting my hands had always been my thing.
And the best part?
It hurt.
All day.
Every day.
Whenever it got to be too much, I just had to squeeze my fingers. So hard that it would pop a scab, break already torn flesh and make them hurt all over again.
It was perfect. So beautifully ugly that it was my personal salvation.
A salvation I hadn’t needed while I was away from this toxic household.
I thought about what he’d said in the car:
“Cutting isn’t an escape. I see you slicing your palms, see the aftermath of it, I’ll tie you to the fucking bed, spank you, and make you come so fucking hard you won’t remember why you were cutting yourself in the first place.”
Did he mean that?
God, I hoped he did.
I squeezed my fingers, feeling the ragged tissue protest the move.
Coping mechanisms... mine were so bad in the eyes of the world. Brennan dropped F-bombs like a priest prayed, but he didn’t get side-eyed like he was a freak.
Me, I took a blade to my palm and I was the weirdo?
Still, orgasms.
I wondered what they were like. I knew that I’d been so close to experiencing one today. Would he make me feel that again? Or was it a one-time thing? I hoped not.
Once dressed, I eyed the time, and seeing that I had a few minutes to spare, I stared at myself in the mirror.
I’d pass.
My collarbone was a little too prominent which told me I needed to focus on eating over the next few days, and my wrists looked so delicate they could snap, but aside from that, I could have graced a catwalk. The heels were high, elegant and sleek, cupping my feet like slippers. The dress was tight, a rich navy that emphasized the gold in my blonde hair.
Biting my lip as I twisted around on my heel, I moved out onto the landing.
