Page 19 of Hope and Country

How many times did I go to sleep, hoping she’d be stronger and run away, taking Robbie and me with her?

And now, years later, I was reliving her nightmare. At the hands of the son of the man who tortured her days and nights for as long as I could remember. The man who stained my childhood memories with blood and broken bones.

His son, the overprotective brother I grew up with, had turned into the same kind of monster. Perhaps their demons were contagious. Or hereditary. Could they be? Or did the beating Robbie suffered as a child mess up with a part of his brain and destroy his emotion center? Was it even a thing?

In the last three years, I saw many sides of him that I’d never witnessed before. And each gave me the creeps worse than the others.

I had tried to walk away. I did. On many occasions. But my stepbrother found me and brought me back. Every time. Pretending it was for my own good. So he could watch over me. Like he promised all those years ago. If I had known…

My phone pinged with a text message.

I miss ya. Call me if you wanna chat.

The two sentences brought a smile to my lips.

My fingers itched to dial my best friend, Nicole, to hear her voice, but these days, I tended to stay away from any of the people I cared about. It was my way to protect them from Robbie if he ever landed on their doorstep. If they knew nothing, they were safe—or so I convinced myself.

Nicole and I had been friends since we were teens.

She even used to have a crush on Robbie when we were fifteen.

Last year, she invited me to that country music party, and neither of us thought it would end with her nursing a broken wrist after Robbie pushed her into a wall when she didn’t tell him where I was.

He threatened my friend so bad that she worried for her own life and gave him the address.

Never again. I would never put my friends at risk for my own safety.

I blew out a long breath and typed,

Not now. Maybe later, okay. Don’t worry. I’m fine. I swear. Love ya xx

I attached a picture of myself with a thumbs-up just to give her peace of mind.

Nicole: Oh, you look good, girl. Don’t be a stranger, okay? None of this is your fault, D.

Me: I know.

Nicole: One day, we’ll find a way to get you out of this, I promise. I’m sorry it didn’t work so far.

Me: I know. Don’t blame yourself.

Nicole didn’t know the extent of the damages my stepbrother had been inflicting on me over the years. I never told her, not wanting her to worry about me and step in, knowing Robbie would break more than her wrist if she did. Or punish me with his kicks and fists if he knew I had confided in someone.

She thought he slapped me a few times and prevented me from going out and meeting people. That was true. But she had no idea about all the concussions, broken bones, and hits I suffered in the name of what Robbie called family.

He was my emergency call. I switched it to Nicole once, but somehow, he got it changed back again. Didn’t know how. Every time I sought medical help, it ended up with him being called. I tried telling the ER staff about my wounds. Robbie even had friends there. And they reported on me. What he had on them must have been pretty damn incriminating if they agreed to be his snitches. Or they respected him and saw no harm in their behavior. Whatever be the reason, being a respected cop, Robbie played the worried brother card with the doctors. Thrice I was critically beaten up and he changed ERs, different hospitals, to avoid suspicion, managing to convince everyone that I had gotten into a car accident. Slipped because I was so damn clumsy. Banged my head after I was mugged in an alley. He was a terrific actor. Won everyone over with his ability to make the injuries believable. Each time, I nodded in agreement and played whatever role my brother pinned on me.

That uniform got him out of situations he shouldn’t too many times.

A lopsided smile appeared as I stared at the screen, wishing my friend could be here with me, and we’d make plans about meeting guys or going on a vacation, instead of an escape. A tightness grew in my chest. Twenty-something girls should dream about the future. Not how to go out without being seen.

With glossy eyes, I re-read Nicole and my text exchange once more before erasing the conversation.

If Robbie ever showed up, I didn’t need him going through my phone and finding another reason to punch me or tug my hair and drag me on the floor.

He had a tendency to do that when I disobeyed his pseudo-rules. Rules he fabricated and believed I should follow.

Since the day the beating had started, I only wore my hair tied in a braid, then wound as a knot behind my head. This way, it hurt less when he pulled at it.