Page 24 of Bought By Three Men

My hand went to my hip. He was clever and cruel. On my hip were his initials, BB. I tried to leave him once. It was the first time he swung at me. I knew I wasn’t one of those battered women, so I told him we were over. He held me down and carved his initials into me. He marked me as his.

I thought when he left, I was free. I would never be free of him. He was back. What would he do to me now? Exactly what the letter said. He would splash the walls with my blood.

Shit. What was I gonna do? Could I run? No, I wouldn’t leave my family behind. Should I hunt him down and kill him? It wouldn’t be the first time I took a life. The letter was probably a trap. If I hunted him down, I would make it easier for him to get me.

Fuck. I clenched the letter. Tears crept down my face. I dropped to the ground and let it out. He would find me and either kill me or worse, make me stay with him.

The lights in my room were too bright. I crawled over to the bed. Instead of climbing in bed I went under it. They said children were afraid of monsters under the bed. My monsters weren’t under the bed, or maybe I was the monster.

The tent was smaller than normal. Everything was black. Dottie was in her sleeping bag. Her snores filled the air.

I clamped my eyes shut. Tonight would be the night. I was ready. The knife was clenched in my fist.

My parents rustled. It was the same thing every night. Tonight would be the last night.

“Please, no,” my mother cried.

“You can’t tell me no,” my father slurred.

The struggle began.

I had to wait until he was occupied, so he didn’t hear me. My stomach twisted. My father’s breath filled the tent. He was panting. The vodka was so strong it stung my nose.

I slithered out of my sleeping bag.

My father was on my mother. Tears poured down her face. Fresh bruises were already forming around her eye. He had her dress up around her waist.

“Please stop. The girls are in here,” my mother begged.

“Keep it up, and they’ll be next.” he pushed down on her.

I plunged the knife into his back. He screamed. I did it again and again. Life was flowing from his body, but not fast enough.

“Daddy!” my sister cried. She was seven. Too young for this.

“Dottie, close your eyes!” I demanded.

My father turned and grabbed my neck, stealing my life. Air! Air! I couldn’t breathe.

Dottie crawled out of the sleeping bag and grabbed the knife. I kicked at my dad. He released my neck only slightly.

Dottie was so close.

The knife was in the air.

“No!” I screamed.

Hands clamped my arms. I fought. Someone was dragging me. I bit down on the hand. Blood. I opened my eyes and looked around.

It was dark. I was still half under the bed. Whoever I bit stopped pulling at me. I was pushed further under the bed. What the heck? They needed to make up their mind. Whoever it was crawled under the bed next to me and remained silent.

We stayed like that for a while. I stared into the darkness. My nightmare was the same every night. Could I call it a nightmare? It was a replay of real events. I killed my father. The only difference was in real life, it didn’t end. The vision continued to play. Everything that happened that night played in my head even when I was awake.

Because of my actions, my mother lost touch with reality. We kept her medicated, so she didn’t hurt herself. I wasn’t sure if she was upset I killed her husband or upset I made her help me bury him. She was too far gone to tell me the actual trigger. No matter what it was, it all led to me.

“Thank you,” I whispered into the darkness.

“Joseph always thought the boogie man was under his bed,” Tristan replied. “Still does sometimes.”

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