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GRAY
I look forward to nighttime. That’s when I get to see her.
No matter what has happened that day, and no matter what injuries I carry, I drag myself to the bathroom to see my little doe.
I hate her tears.
She cries every night. I don’t know why, and I’m too scared to ask, because what if it’s something I can’t fix? What if I’m too late? What if the reason she is crying is the same reason I’m hunched tonight with my arm hanging strangely.
I should go to the doctor, as ordered, but I can’t miss this and let her think I’m not coming. I know she’s been let down a lot, and I won’t be another person who disappoints her, so even though I’m in pain and exhausted, I stumble into the bathroom.
But tonight is different.
She’s not curled in her usual spot with tears flowing from her bright green eyes. No, tonight she’s whimpering and scampering back on the tiled floor to get away fromhim—the man standing before her with his back to me.
I freeze in place. I know him. I know every man who enters this place, and this one is a cruel bastard. He doesn’t hear me, too focused on his fresh meat. He chuckles and grabs his belt, starting to unfasten it. “Oh, you will be so sweet,” he croons, his voice thick with sickening desire.
Something inside of me cracks like a fissure splitting open, and darkness spills out.
When Zoey whimpers again, her big green eyes flash up to me, begging me to save her.
That fissure splits open further, exploding inside of me.
The darkness spreads through me, filled with fury I hold back. I always have, because the depth of it scares me, but now as all the pain, hopelessness, and bitterness builds within me, I fling myself at his back with a roar.
He won’t get her. He won’t hurt her and steal her innocence the way he has others.
Not my Zoey.
I will always protect her.
He turns at the noise and stumbles back a step. His brown eyes widen when he spots me, but the shock soon fades to a familiar anger as he bats me away like a fly. I hate how skinny I am, how weak. I’m unable to fight back or defend. I hit the sink with a sickening thud and slide down to the floor, and I feel blood flowing down my head and back, but I’m used to pain.
He turns back to Zoey. “Now, where were we?”
No.Not her.
Lifting up onto shaking hands, I look around for something, anything, and my eyes land on a bit of broken porcelain from the sink from where I must have hit it. Clutching it in a shaky, weak grip, I stumble to my feet, breathing heavily.
“No.” I don’t know if I say it out loud as I move forward. “You will not touch her!” I realize I’m screaming when he turns, and without thinking about my next action, I give into the darkness inside me.
One they created.
Leaping like a madman, I slash at him with the shard, cutting into my own hand. He tries to block me, but I’m quick, and he howls as he falls back, a huge gash splitting open the right side of his face. Roaring again, I slice at him, but he blocks me with his arm and kicks out.
“Stop it, you brat!” he yells.
The noise draws them—the guards, as we call them—but I don’t stop, not even as they try to grab me. I’m determined to protect her, to stop him. Their arms drag me back as I kick and scream, still slashing the piece of sink.
When they wrangle it from my hand and slam me to the floor, pressing my face to the bloodied tile, I turn to meet her eyes again. They are wide but unafraid as she watches me. My name is on her lips as she reaches for me.
She’s safe. I’ll make sure of it.
As I’m dragged away, I watch the man stumble out of the bathroom, almost running from me.
My arms are held above and behind me, but I kick my legs in frustration, wanting to get back to her as they pull me away. I know whatever will happen next will be bad, but I’d do it again.
