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He finally lets go and steps away. He runs a hand across his face, and our eyes meet as I try to take a deep breath. I don’t touch where he did; he’ll want to see the bruise forming. I know the rules and I’m not about to break them.
That’s what Sam advised. Respect the rules when I’m with Mateo, and run to him right after so he can take care of me.
But fear courses through my body when my foster dad’s eyes light up. He’s a drug addict who just had a taste of his favorite hit. He wants more. I can see it shining brightly: the ultimate need to hurt me.
“No,” I whisper. “I’ve got homework. And-and I wanted to read in Italian. I thought you’d like that. We can read together.” Anything. Please, anything but the pain.
“Bend over the desk.”
“Please,” I plead. “I’m exhausted.” Yesterday, he spent an hour pinching every inch of skin on my stomach. I’m so bruised, I can’t take a breath without the reminder of his hands all over me. It took Sam forever to rub soothing cream all over.
“On the desk,mia rosa,” he sing-songs. He grabs the wooden ruler he keeps on there and settles himself with a hip against the desk as he waits for me to take my top off. I don’t need to wear bras, but I started wearing thick sport bralettes to make sure he doesn’t ever see under them. He’s never asked me to take them off, and I can only pray he never will.
Mateo focuses on the pain; he doesn’t care about me as a woman.
I bend over the desk, squeezing my eyes shut and wincing at the hard wood against the bruises on my stomach.
“I want you to cry and scream, okay?” he tells me. “Can you do this for me?”
“Yes, Sir,” I gulp. There’s anger boiling inside me, but I can’t let any of it show. Mateo would kill me. A slow, painful death.
“One day, you’ll like it, princess. I promise.”
The ruler lands between my shoulders. Once, twice… After six, I stop counting in my head. I scream and cry, just like I said I would, and he enjoys every second of it. I list things in my head to escape. Things I’ve read in books or watched on TV, and learned with my teacher. Like the states.
Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut…
It goes on forever. Enough time to do every state and their capitals. And when he’s done, he steps away, turns the light off and locks me in here. He always says the same thing, ‘Think about what you did.’Then he leaves me all alone in the dark while I attempt to calm the sobs. I try to imagine Sam’s voice reassuring me. That’s what he always does. But he’s not here right now.
No, I’m all alone.
13 years old
I hold my hand to my cheekbone, pain making its way through my entire face. I don’t think anything is broken. My brother Nate just wanted to bruise me.
I’m starting to notice when he does it. When he and Jake are forced to leave me alone at the house with Mateo. When Jake has to go fight in Mateo’s underground rings. Nate knows our foster dad hates seeing even a scratch on my face. It puts a dent in my beauty, and I’m not worth hurting if I’m already damaged. When that happens, he leaves me alone.
My brothers are already out the door by the time I manage to see straight again.
Mateo wants me to see him in his office, and I can only hope my face looks terrible enough it’ll disgust him.
I knock on the door, and he beckons me to come in right away.
“You wanted to see me, Sir?”
He nods, looking at some paperwork on his desk. “Lock the door and take a seat.”
I roll my shoulders back, stretch my neck, and run a hand through my ponytail. Then I lock the door with shaky fingers and take a seat before him.
When he looks up, his eyes darken with anger. “What happened to your face?”
My eyes widen with fear. What if this time it makes him angrier and it brings more pain?
“I—”
“Did Nate do this?” When I don’t reply, his fist crashes on his desk. “Answer me, Rose!”
“Y-yeah,” I stutter.
