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My dad simply won’t listen and by now, Reign’s on the ground and my dad’s kicking him in the stomach. And there’s so much blood.
There are bruises blooming and coming alive on his bare torso.
And so I turn to Reign. I direct my pleas to him.
“Reign, fight back,” I scream, still struggling, still trying to push Mom away. “Fight back, please. Just please don’t…” I turn to my mother now who’s crying. “Mom, please. Stop Dad.Please. He’s going to kill Reign. Please, Mom, stop him.”
Something about what I said gets through to her and she loosens her hold on me.
Probably to go to Dad.
And I’m ready.
I’m ready to go as well, but then someone else grabs a hold of me.
And it’s Lucas.
Lucas.
What isLucasdoing here?
At which point I realize thathewas the one in my room.
Hewas the one who took Reign away.
I want to ask him what he’s doing here. But I decide that I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time for questions. So instead I say, “Let me go.”
Seeing my mother intervene, some people have come forward too. They’re trying to make my dad stop. And I’m so relieved, if anyone could call it that, that at least Reign isn’t getting beaten up on. Yet again, I try to go to him but Lucas won’t let me go.
In fact, he drags me away.
He drags me inside the house and he’s so much stronger than me or even my mom that I can barely resist it. I can barely get him to stop. Not to mention, I can’t do much even if I wanted to because of the stupid blanket. Because if I struggle too much, I’ll lose the tiny bit of dignity that I have left.
After what just happened.
What even happened though? Who came into my bedroom?
What isLucasdoing here?
But again, I don’t have time for stupid questions.
So as soon as Lucas gets me in through the door, I go, “What are you doing? Why’d you pull me away? Why’d you…” I try to side step him. “I need to go back out there. I need to go to him.”
He grabs my arms and makes me stay put. “You don’t need to see that.”
“But I —”
“Did he hurt you?”
“What?”
“Your dress. Your…” He frowns. “Your hands. They were tied up.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” I try to twist away from him again. “That’s… That’s none of your business.”
“It is,” he says, tightening his grip. “If he was hurting you. If he was ra —”
“No,” I scream, horrified. “He wasn’t. That wasn’t…”
