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My eyes squeeze shut, trying to drown out the cruel truth of her words. But they’re etched on my heart, a scar forever reminding me I let her down, yet again.
How many times is too many times? How much more can she really take?
The chair scrapes along the old wood floor and I sink into it, my back still to Isaac. It creaks under my weight as I shift uncomfortably. His footsteps are steady as he stalks toward me, his growing annoyance palpable in the too-small kitchen.
I feel him lower himself, putting his mouth too fucking close to my ear, and my hackles rise. “How much longer will you be here?” he sneers, his voice low enough for only us to hear.
The reason the son of God appeared was to destroy the works of the Devil.
I want to say it. Want to spit the words burning a hole through my brain, but I can’t.
I can’t.
His question lingers, but I’m frozen, completely unable to speak. My nails dig into my palms, my hand itching to grab the lighter from my pocket and let the flame come to life. I need the searing heat to remind me who I am, where I am, what year it is.
Not the basement.
Kitchen.
I’m twenty-two, not an eight-year-old kid.
He can’t hurt me.
Not anymore.
“I’m talking to you, son.” His hand lands on my shoulder, his punishing grip tightening until I have to bite my tongue, using the pain to ground myself.
He can’t hurt me.
He can’t hurt me.
He can’t hurt me.
But my body betrays me, tensing under his touch, and he huffs out a humorless, dark laugh. Goosebumps ripple over my skin at the sound, and I close my eyes. Tremors course through my body without my permission, and he leans closer. My breath catches in my throat, my eyes burning as his fingers sink further into my flesh.
“Look at you,” he whispers mockingly, his breath hot against my skin. “Still the same scared little boy you’ve always been.”
His words send me spiraling right into a memory that’s so visceral, so real, it feels like it’s happening right now, and try as I might, I can’t stop it.
“You’re an embarrassment!” he hisses, reprimanding me for ditching church this morning.
I didn’t tell him where I was going, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t sit there and watch him smile at his sheep. To listen to his lies. To see people fawn over the man who doesn’t exist. I couldn’t do it anymore.
And now…now I’m paying the price.
“I thought we were past this shit, Roman, but apparently, you haven't learned your lesson.” He clicks his tongue and brings down the cat-o-nine-tails again. I groan quietly, biting my cheek against the pain. “We’ll keep going until you’ve repented. Again, boy!”
Another hit, another gasp, another slap to the back of my head when I don’t immediately speak up.
“No punishment seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”
“Again!”
I start to speak but I hear a sound, silencing me. My eyes snap up from the floor and up the old stairs. My heart thunders in my chest at the idea of Jane or Eve finding us when he’s like this. What would he do? What would they do?
A part of me wishes Jane would find out and take me, take Eve, and run far away. That someone, anyone, would choose me, protect me, love me. But a bigger part of me, the part that’s a realist, knows that won’t happen and even worse, knows that if Eve or Jane found out about this side of my father, they’d be just as unsafe as I am.
No.
