Page 31 of Filthy Disciple


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And even though I don’t want to remember, the scent takes me back against my will.

“There you go, my beautiful princess.”

Laughing, my mom places the plastic gold tiara on my head.

She’s wearing one too, and it’s sparkling like the bright sun as the candles on my birthday cake make pretty rainbows from the gems on the table.

“Make a wish and remember to make it a good one—you’re only ten once.” She smiles in encouragement and, feeling safe becauseheis on a business trip, I close my eyes and nod. My tiara immediately starts to slide off my head and we both reach for it, laughing.

Her laughter is so rare that it prompts me to whisper, “This is the best birthday ever, Mom.”

He’snot here. That’s why.

Her blue eyes fill with tears of pained understanding. She sniffles but her voice cracks as she urges, “Make a good wish, my princess.”

The pain in those words makes my stomach hurt.

“It’s okay, Mom,” I try to reassure her, but it’s not. We both try to pretend that it is, but that doesn’t change the fact that we live in constant fear.

“Make a wish,” she orders, leaning forward. I smell the wonderful scent that only she has… and close my eyes.

I wish for Father to die and for me and Mom to run far, far away…

I open my eyes and blow out the candles.

As the room goes black, she claps.“Was it a good wish?”

“It was the best wish ever,” I crow, only to scream as the lights switch on, and suddenly, the perfect day is forever ruined.

The monster has returned.

My father stands in the doorway, staring at both of us, hatred and disgust in his eyes. “What the hell is going on in here?” he demands. “Cake?” he sneers, motioning with his hand at the table as he enters the kitchen.

I shuffle nearer to Mom, knowing I’ll need to protect her.

“And ice cream?” His words are loaded with disbelief. “You want to make my daughter fat. You want her to be as fucking revolting as you are.”

That’s when he backhands my mother, my beautiful mother who is so picture perfect it’s wrong.

With a sharp cry, she shields her head with her arms, protecting herself on the table, knowing that he won’t stop with just the one hit.

“Daddy… please, no!” I scream. “I’ll be good. I won’t eat the cake…”

He ignores me and punches her again.

“How many times? No cake ever!”

“I promise! I-I won’t eat it!”

“Here we are. Anything else?”

The flight attendant’s polite words have me jumping as she hands Cade the champagne, some kind of cloth, and a blanket.

He looks over at me, his blue eyes searching mine. “Isabelle?”

“Sorry, just… planes always make me jumpy.” I smile, but it’s forced, and his frown deepens.

“Here, drink.”

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