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Before I even realize what’s happening, Brad backhands me across the face. Staggering, I manage to stay on my feet. I should’ve known how this would go, but like an idiot, I thought I could reason with him.
“I talked to my mother,” he sneers. “You ran out of the last appointment!”
“Brad, please. I needed some air to think,” I push out, holding my hands up in surrender. “I was getting very overwhelmed.”
“You made me look like an idiot!”
“I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose,” I cry. “It won’t happen again.”
Brad’s scowl turns into a sinister grin, and his eyes flash with glee as he takes a step toward me. “No, it won’t.”
That’s the only warning I get before Brad lunges, and I find myself lifted off my feet by the neck. He squeezes tightly, and I claw at his hands as my vision starts to blur. I kick my legs out which only makes him angrier.
“You stupid bitch!”
He throws me against the wall and tightens his grip for a moment before letting me fall limply to the floor.
I rub my neck and gasp for breath as I hurry to get up before he can kick me like he did last time. It doesn’t matter, because as soon as I’m upright, his fist hits me directly in the cheek, knocking me sideways. I trip over my feet and land on top of my glass coffee table, shattering it.
Jagged glass shards dig into my hands and arms as I struggle to right myself. My hair is ripped out of my skull as I’m yanked up from the remnants of the table.
“Help!” I scream, not that I expect anyone to come to my aid. No one has before... “Please stop. I’m sorry!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Brad yells in my face. “No one makes a fool out of me.”
Thankfully, the next punch to my gut sends me spiraling away from the glass. I try to brace myself for the fall, but my wrist snaps, sending agony buzzing over my nerve endings. Kick after kick to my already bruised ribs has me screaming in pain, but he doesn’t stop. It’s like he’s possessed by an evil deep down to his core.
Brad seems to tire of kicking me, and he starts delivering punishing blows to my face. The tangy taste of copper coats my tongue as blood fills my mouth, but I ignore it and, between hits, continue to plead with him to stop.
Finally, the violence ends. I’m curled up in a fetal position, unable to move or open one of my eyes. I want to assess the damage, but I’m afraid to draw attention to myself.
The front door slams, but despite my efforts, I can’t lift my head to verify that Brad’s really gone. My left arm hangs at a weird angle, and my fingers won’t move. I open my mouth to yell for help again, but no sound comes out, only a groan. Slowly, I reach my good arm around my back to snag my cell phone out of my pocket… if it’s still there.
It feels like an eternity passes, but I manage to grab the device, and hope spreads.
Help… if I can just get some help, I might be okay.
Every movement causes new tears to fall, and each breath is an excruciating intake of air. Blood pours from a wound, and a puddle forms under my face. But I can’t dwell on that… I need help.
The screen of my cell is shattered, but it’s still powered on. I open my text messages to the last message I received. I do my best to type a text, but my vision is hazy, and I have no idea what buttons I’m actually hitting. As soon as I think I’m done, I hit send and silently pray that it goes through.
The screen goes black, and all hope dies. Closing my good eye, I welcome death to take me.
CHAPTER10
GRIM
I’ve gotta go.
For most, those three words are simply that… three words. They’re a quick goodbye, a short farewell as two or more people part ways. But for someone like me, someone who can’t hear the tone of a person’s voice or the words themselves, they can be so much more.
Being different isn’t always a bad thing, and I’ve learned to embrace it, especially when my difference allows me to see things others might normally miss. I don’t know if Cece picked up on Violet’s fear when her mom showed up at Naughty/Nice, but I sure did. Between that and the way her entire demeanor shifted, it was easy to tell that she needed our help more than she realized.
I have been able to think of little else since watching her walk out that door. Cece and I didn’t have time to get information out of her, and Laura hasn’t been talking. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve asked Laura to tell me the trouble Violet’s in, but she’s refused, saying that it’s Violet's story, not hers.
While I admire her loyalty, it’s annoying as fuck.
I regret not giving Violet my phone number, but at least she has Cece’s.
