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I don’t know why I’ve let him do it to me for so long. At first, it was because I was little, and I couldn’t fight back. I remember trying when I was only five or six, and he beat me so severely he knocked me out. Of course, he couldn’t take me to the local hospital. Our town is tiny, and everyone would know that I was there, which would lead to many questions that my father wouldn't have wanted to answer. Not only that, but I was literally covered in bruises, and there was no logical explanation for how that happened.
It looked like I’d been beaten.
So, instead of taking me to the hospital where he should have taken me, he told everyone that I was sick and it was infectious. He made everyone stay away until the bruises had faded. Those couple of weeks were the worst. I would’ve healed quicker, but he kept getting angry and adding to them. I wasn’t quite so good at hiding when something was wrong back then. The guys put up a bit of resistance when they questioned why I was so quiet, but quickly dropped it when I reassured them that I was fine but Ever, she wouldn’t drop it for ages; in the end, she somehow knew that I wasn’t okay but that I wasn’t going to tell her either so she just hugged me and said, ‘it’s okay Luci, whatever is going on we’ll fix it.’
I knew that she couldn’t, but it made me feel so much better. Of course, it wasn’t long after that she saw exactly how my father treated me; she disappeared before she could do anything about it, though.
Memories of Ever always bring a smile to my face; she is my happy place and, quite often, the person I think of when my father starts on his tirades. She’d be so fucking mad if she knew that I was still letting it happen. She’d raise hell and somehow make me smile while doing it.
My Ever, my Dragonfly.
Chapter Seven
Luc
“What the fuck do you think you’re smiling at, boy,” my father screams at me.
Normally, I’d be more concerned that I managed to piss him off more, but this time, I couldn’t give a shit. I let my other side come out to play, the side that defends the people that are going through the same shit that I am and makes them pay for what they’ve done. The side that has had men trembling in fear.
My smile widens as I reply sarcastically, “I believeI'm smiling at you.”
My father's eyes widen before darkening with anger, “You little shit.”
He flies toward me, his fist already pulling back; as he swings for me, I do something that I’ve never done before: I duck, and I don’t allow the punch to connect.
“You don’t want to do this,” I say, a small part of me hoping that he’s going to stop and walk away.
Of course, he doesn’t; he laughs harshly, “Oh, I think I do; nothing brings me more joy than beating the shit out of my worthless son. I saw your little friend drop you off, god knows why he puts up with garbage like you. It would’ve been better if that abortion took, and you were never here. I can fix that, though; I’ve had enough of you; the world would be a better place without you, and they’re going to thank me.” It is nothing I haven’t heard before.
He stops talking, swinging for me in quick succession. I duck them all.
“Ever’s lucky she escaped you,” he spits. His eyes glitter maliciously, “Pretty thing like that would have made me some decent money in certain markets.”
His words make bile rise in my throat and distract me just enough that he manages to get in a lucky strike; the hit gets my jaw and snaps my head to the side.
I see red. Threatening me is one thing; threatening Ever is something he’s going to wish he had never done.
My expression must change because when I look at my father again, the sneering smile he is wearing drops. He puts up a good fight, but he’s no match for my anger and me. He swings hard, and I duck, launching a volley of hits. Some he manages to dodge, and some he doesn’t. He only manages to get in one hit, and as his attacks become more desperate he begins to realize just how outmatched he is. He swings his fist again, aiming for my head and no doubt trying to knock me out. I dodge the hit and land a punch on his stomach, making him bend forward as he tries to catch his breath. I take a step toward him, but without warning, he runs and tackles me, dropping me to the floor; we wrestle for a moment before I grab his arm, twisting it in just the right way that I hear the satisfying snap of the bone. He howls in pain, becoming even more angry as I jump to my feet.
“I should’ve taken her when I got the chance,” he spits. “With her dark hair and . . .”
Within a split second, my fists are pounding into him. Blood splatters, coating my fists as he tries to block me. I feel his rib give and crack beneath my hit, and yet he still comes at me. He starts to raise his leg to kick me, and my foot strikes out quickly; I feel it give under my foot, and he crumples to the floor.
He’s a bloodied mess, his face swollen and bleeding, and I know he has a few broken bones. Standing over him, I pull him up by the collar of his shirt, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction when his eyes flash with fear.
“Keep Ever’s name out of your mouth, or I’ll make sure that you never speak again,” I threaten, my voice deceptively calm, “is that understood?”
He nods once, and I drop him on the floor, my smile dark as he cries out in pain when he hits the floor. I don’t run away, I don’t rush, I simply walk out. I’m not calling him an ambulance; I didn’t beat him badly enough that he’s going to die, not any time soon anyway. He’ll figure it the fuck out. If I’m being honest, I expect him to call the cops on me.
The only thing that might make him pause is that he knows I have information on him, information that he definitely wouldn’t want the cops to have. On the way out of the house, I stop in the kitchen and grab a bottle of whisky; I’m going to want to forget some shit tonight, especially the words the sick fucker said about Ever.
As I’m heading out the front door, I briefly consider messaging the guys, but I’m honestly feeling too fucking raw right now, and I need some time. If I call them, I’d also have to admit that my dad beats me and has been for as long as I can remember.
I head into the woods near my house and go as deep in as I can until I come across the creek. It’s only a few hours until morning, and I have to be at school, but there’s no way that I’m going back to that house right now. I also doubt that I’m going to be able to sleep.
So, instead, I sit on the bank of the creek, listen to the water, and sip the whisky; when I start to get a buzz, I sigh and put it down. I don't want a hangover. Having to go to school with a hangover is a fucking bitch. As I go to wrap my arms around my legs, I see the dried blood splattered up them for the first time, and instead, I move to the river. Moving methodically, I clean my hands and up my arms, staying longer than necessary to ensure that it's all gone before I sit back down again. I realize that it’s not because I just beat up my father that I’m feeling raw; no, he deserved that and more. It’s because of what he said about Ever. I’m here trying to convince myself not to go back and end him, just to make sure that he doesn’t ever follow through on his threat.
I know I can’t, well I can, I know I shouldn’t.
