Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
With me.
“You didn’t kill your parents, Briggs. He did,” I reminded, fueling her battle of good versus evil.
“LIAR!” he yelled out, and I resisted the urge to knock him the fuck out again. He was scaring her. I craved to place my hands over her ears, her eyes.
To hide.
From him.
From me.
From herself.
Evil always won. I made goddamn sure of it.
“YOU’RE A FUCKING LIAR!” he screamed bloody murder, whipping around even harder, faster, almost making the chair fall over. Used to the theatrics.
No one paid him any mind as she visibly struggled with her conflicting emotions. One right after the other.
“It’s midnight,” I stated, ready to get this fucking show over with. I raised my gun, pointing it directly at the back of his head. He suddenly stopped moving, seizing all movement, even his breathing. He knew.
They always knew.
She screamed, shaking. “No! No! No! You don’t have to do this!”
“Happy fifteenth birthday, Daisy.”
And with that…
I pulled the trigger, blowing his fucking head off.
Tonight was my ballet recital. I was thirteen and one of the top girls in my ballet class. The velvet curtain opened and the spotlight beamed on me, ready to follow my every move around the stage. It was a full house that night, but I wasn’t nervous. I was performing a solo to George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.” A very intense, bluesy piece I’d worked months on perfecting. The music came through the speakers, and I was immediately transported to my happy place.
The instrumental jazzy rhythm assaulted my senses, taking over my body, manipulating it like a master puppeteer. Carrying me from step to step. The tempo went from fast to slow and vice versa. Sauté arabesque stage right, Piqué attitude, ballet run to center stage. Taking a deep breath for the hardest part of the performance, rond de jambe to fourth position, plié preparing for ten Fouetté turns which I was yet to nail without a stumble.
Turning and turning, the lights blurring in the distance as my leg whipped me around. Landing the combination of turns without faltering even a little bit. I smiled big as I leaped through the air, finishing my routine with a pirouette and a bow. The spotlight faded and the stage turned dark. The audience exploded in applause. This was my second favorite part of dancing, the admiration and the love, even if only for a few seconds I mattered to someone.
When I took my bow at the end of my performance, my eyes wandered over the crowd, trying to find him. The blinding lights obscured my vision though and a sense of relief washed over me. Not seeing his smug face among the patrons was a blessing. He never missed a performance, no matter what, he was always sitting somewhere usually lurking in the shadows, hiding in plain sight.
I hated him.
The mere thought of him made me sick to my stomach, and my skin crawl. I immediately hoped something bad happened to him, causing him not to be here tonight. Then I loathed him even more for making me wish bad things. I never wanted him to know he changed me in any shape or form. Thinking that he’d won, or that I was broken.
He may have owned my body, but I preserved my soul. The second I turned eighteen I would be gone and out of his grasp. He would never be able to crawl in my bed and touch me with his filthy hands. He’d never see me again. He would be dead in my eyes, along with my past, and all the shit I’ve been through.
I would win.
My life would be mine.
Only mine.
I stayed behind after the recital to help Susan clean up. It was late by the time we left the auditorium. I silently hoped he was passed out drunk when I walked inside. But I knew I wasn’t that lucky. Even hammered as shit, he’d manage to find me.
I said goodnight to Susan, waving to her before I stepped foot inside. The entire house was pitch black, a rare occurrence. He always kept a light on, making sure he could see through the haze of his drunken stupor. I shook off the eerie feeling, going straight for the shower. Dreading the rest of the night that hadn’t even started yet.
Most kids loved going to bed, ending their day. Hating that tomorrow was another school day. Me, I looked forward to it. I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, like I always did. Rubbing all of my sore muscles, washing my hair a few times, letting my conditioner stay on longer than needed.
Prolonging the inevitable any way I could.
I threw on a hoodie and some pajama pants, even though it was hotter than Hell outside. I was still always cold, at least that’s what I told myself. Sometimes if I layered my clothes, he would be too drunk to find his way in. Not being able to get under all the armor I shielded my body with. I’d thought that through the years he would start doing more than just molesting me, expecting me to do things back to him. Or worse, rape me.