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Blood stained the 1990s-style carpet in this room, tarnishing the floral print as he slammed his foot down twice more.
I heard the sound of tiny bones popping in my ears as I gripped his leg with two hands, franticly trying to pull him away.
“Wanted a closer look, huh, Aribella?” Blood dripped from his steel toe to the floor as he shoved it in my face.
Silence was around me, but the echo of bones breaking still echoed in my ears.
The mess on the carpet pulled tears from my eyes, and I sobbed, like all the other girls, over the fractured skull and broken body of a child who never got to live.
My child.
Tears rolled fast and heavy, all of the sadness coming from deep within my heavy heart. I doubled over on myself, taking my face closer to the scent of blood and away from his shoe.
“Clean my boot.”
I ignored Rothbart’s demand, turning my head away to see the other girls, all sniffling or trembling and trying to avoid Candee and the broom.
“Quiet!” she shrieked.
“I told you to clean my boot, Aribella.”
“Fuck you!” I screamed, loud enough to overpower Candee, banging wood against metal.
Rothbart’s boot assaulted my ribs, knocking me over.
The carpet burned my knees as I struggled to get to my feet from all fours.
A bruising kick brutalized my stitched-up stomach, and one of those already inflamed stitches popped as I collapsed to the carpet, adding more blood to it.
I groaned in pain, trying to get up.
The heavy boot hit me again.
“Last chance, Aribella. Or, I do something off-script, and I send you to that junked-up cunt in pieces.”
The hate on his face was too overpowering for me to argue. His words were too cold to be lies.
“Clean.My.Boot.”
I hesitated, my eyes moving to the girls again. Candee wasn’t there.
“Don’t fight him,” Darla mouthed, helping me, for once.
A noise came from behind me, and Candee’s brittle fingers weaved through my hair, pulling so much of it out as she dragged me from the floor and redirected my face to Rothbart’s boot.
Scrunching my eyes shut, I stretched my hand out to wipe the black leather. My fingers shook as they lingered in the air. Opening my eyes, I saw Rothbart had snatched back his foot. His boot was back in the blood.
“No. Clean my shoe with your tongue.”
Desperately trying to shake my head, more hair was pulled out. Candee’s grip was viciously tight, and she thrived on causing me extra pain.
Another of Rothbart’s kicks landed on my stomach, popping another stitch.
Blood poured from my wound, making a mess as it ran between my slightly parted legs.
Clutching my stomach, struggling with the pain, blood stained my hands, too.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, my eyes on the boot, where memories of the last few months taunted me.
