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I open my bleary eyes to see my foster dad standing in front of me. His beer gut hangs over his sweatpants as he looks at me with his beady gaze, a vicious hatred in his eyes as he snarls and reaches for my arm.
I gasp as he squeezes my bicep painfully, and his lips curl into a malicious smile at my reaction as his other hand wraps around my throat tightly, cutting off precious oxygen and blood supply.
“You’re useless. Worthless. You’re nothing. You’re lucky we get paid to keep you alive or you’d be dead by now.”
He releases me suddenly and turns away. Walking to the other side of the room, he takes off his belt, gripping it tightly in his hand.He swallows another swig of whiskey, putting the bottle down on the dresser before he sneers at me. “Turn around.”
I hesitate and tears stream from my eyes, “No.” I say with a trembling voice, fear and anxiety gripping my chest.
Anger flashes across his features as he stomps angrily to me. “No?” Spit sprays from his mouth as he shouts, “You think you can defy me? You’re only making this worse for yourself. You know what happens to little girls who disobey.”
Throwing my arms between us, as if they could provide me with any sort of protection from him. “No, please! Please, don’t!” I beg, and he smiles widely before he grips my arm, twisting me around roughly. The sounds of the back of my shirt tearing resonates through the room and a sob escapes my throat.
I hear the air whoosh and the metal buckle clank before I feel the pain. I whimper as the first one connects. There is more coming, so I bite my cheek to stay quiet.
If I make any noise, he gets angrier and the angrier he is, the worse his attacks are. He whips the belt along my back repeatedly, the clasp splitting my soft skin with every harsh strike.
Another lashing comes. I squirm, whimpering as pain lances down my spine.
“Quiet!” He bellows from behind me. I know his next swing will do more damage than the last.
Another strike comes.
And another.
And another.
I endure five more strikes before the agony becomes unbearable.
Inhaling a deep lungful of air, I scream as the final hit connects and pain sears across my spine.
I’m still screaming as I’m shaken awake.
Dana is standing by the door growling as Caspian hovers over me and I gasp desperately for air. He reaches around to my back to try to help me sit up, and I bat his arms away like they’ll burn me, the pain still fresh in my mind.
“Lara, it was just a nightmare. It’s okay. Fuck. You’re okay.”
I look past him to the room around us frantically. My gaze locks with Caspian’s, his face merely inches from mine as I try to collect my bearings. I move to rub my palms to my eyes, inhaling sharply as the movement stretches the wounds on my wrists.
“Who was it?”
I freeze.
His question and the edge to his voice makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment. That’s twice he’s seen me in my most vulnerable states.
Releasing the breath I had been holding, I answer without thinking, “My foster parent. Or, rather, one of them.”
I’m not sure why I decided to respond honestly to his question. Normally I avoid talking about what happened at the foster houses. Nobody wants to listen to someone else’s trauma. We’re all dealing with our own demons.
I glance up at Caspian’s unreadable expression before he leaves the room and I blink.
I suppose that was enough of an explanation for him.
Dana jumps onto the bed, settling against me, and I run a hand over her fur, “Sorry about that, Dana. If you want to sleep in the other room, I wouldn’t take it personally, you know.”
She gives me a side eye and huffs in response before leaning more heavily into me.
Does this make her qualified as an emotional support animal?
