Page 7

Six

HOPE

I s this love? Is this what I’m made for and is it wrong?

My breath is sharp. My heart pounds against my ribs as my eyes flick to the door and to Knox.

“Open your legs,” he whispers as his thumb grazes my bottom lip.

I shake my head and try to back away, but Jaxon holds onto my arms and keeps me pressed against his chest.

Dimitri doesn’t wait as he tugs at my pants, ignoring my kicks and whimpers as it only seems to spur him on.

“Don’t do this, please,” I plead to all three, but their touch burns into my skin, marking me.

A mark I can never scrub off my body.

There’s no disgust as I think back to that night, not anymore. There’s some lingering anger, but… a strange part of me is starting to get grateful for it. It’s probably not the right thought, but that day I ran. I got out, I was free.

Was.

I hated the trickle of tension down my spine that day, I hated how my hips bucked when Dimitri plunged his tongue inside me. I hated how they made me come.

And then it changed—I lured Knox into taking me, fucking me against my door and it felt… so… freeing.

Again, free.

I sigh, my stomach rumbling. The only thing that keeps me sane are my thoughts about them. They are real, raw, and dirty.

They are fucked up, just like I am.

“I’m messed up,” I whisper as my hand presses on the scars on my chest. “So messed up.” A soft laugh bubbles from me and I wonder how long it’ll take before my sanity slips through my fingers.

Will it be before my dad breaks me or after?

Every time I had some hope to hold onto, it shattered. It was always too weak to truly grasp. I could never change the outcome, the way my father used me for his pleasure, his pain.

It all changed when my mother left without a word. She never said goodbye, never gave me one last hug or kiss. How could she leave me with this monster? Or was she afraid too? Did he use her, hurt her like he does with me?

I close my eyes and focus on her black hair, the soft smile she always gave me.

“It will all be okay, sweetie,” she whispers as she pats my scratched knee with a wet cloth. “You should be more careful.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” I say and my leg twitches as she wipes away the last bit of blood before putting a band-aid on.

“There you go, good as new.” She pushes herself off the ground and tucks my hair behind my ears. “Go get your daddy, dinner is almost ready.”

I blink away the tears as my life seemed so different, so much calmer.

The lock turning stops my trail of thoughts and I crawl back against the wall as I hold my breath.

Sunlight filters through the door and my eyes squint from the brightness.

“Come, eat,” my dad calls out, his voice strangely calm, and yet, I don’t dare to move.

He sighs sharply, annoyance lacing his breath as he walks inside. I crawl back as if I can move up the cold wall.

“No, no, I’m not hungry,” I whisper and clench my thighs shut.

“Don’t be like that, I know you need to eat something.” His voice almost sounds normal and he stands still a few feet away from me. His silhouette blocks the light from outside. He reaches out with his hand and I shake my head.

“Don’t touch me,” I sneer.

“Hope, get up,” he grits, the slight kindness from before disappearing.

“I’m not hungry, I can stay here,” I say, my voice wavering.

Another sharp exhale and he bends down, his fingers raking though my dirty hair, and he yanks me closer. “Don’t make me mad—be good now.”

I whimper as my scalp pricks. I claw at his hand, my feet digging into the ground, but I’m not strong enough as he pulls me higher.

“You always do this, making it harder than it needs to be.” He clicks his tongue as he hauls me with him.

My knees drag over the floor. “Please, let me go!” I wail.

I’m pulled out of my dark room and tossed into the light. His grip disappears, my eyes squint, and I blink away the blur.

“Now eat. We have a busy day,” my dad says and I whip my head towards him.

My sight is still blurred, my brows crease together, and the first things that catch my eyes are the cuffs and chains on the table in the center of the room.

I know they’re not for him. He would never subject himself to any kind of restraint.

If he was capable of that, he never would have touched me.

They’re waiting, empty and open like a threat for me .

“Busy day?” I dare to ask.

He chuckles without meeting my stare and glides a plate with food towards me.

“I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

My chest constricts and as my breathing shallows, my sight restores. In panic, I look around and take in the wooden walls, the big windows and the—wait… I know where we are…

JAXON

I’ve never seen a girl eat so fast before and it draws a smile on my face. I give her a gentle nudge before I whisper. “You can have some of mine if you want.”

She blinks at me, her lips part, but it’s as if she’s lost for words. I chuckle and glide some of my mashed potatoes to her plate without a word.

“What are you doing?” Coach bellows and slaps my plate away. “She has had enough, boy!”

I linger in my own confusion. “I’m full. She can have some of mine, Coach, it’s no big deal.”

Knox and Dimitri keep their mouth shuts, both probably as confused as I am. The tension is sharp. Coach’s jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth, a stern glare to his daughter before he sighs and laughs. His laughter creeps up my spine but as Knox joins, the strain in my shoulders fades and I lean back.

“She’s not yours to take care of, Jaxon. She’s mine,” Coach warns, and I nod.

She’s his. Not mine to take care of.

She’s his. Not mine to take care of.

I push back the chair and rise, drawing their attention back at me. “Need to take a piss,” I mumble and walk from the table.

My hands tremble, my throat dries, and I can’t explain this twist in the pit of my stomach.

“Are you okay?” Her soft voice forces me to turn. I face her as we stand in the hallway. Coach’s voice carries through the entire house.

“Why do you care?” I ask as that’s all that comes up in my thoughts.

Care.

I don’t care.

I never cared.

I don’t need it. Don’t want it. She’s not her .

She’s not her. She’s not mine.

“I don’t—I’m sorry…” She trails off, and steps closer. “I’m sorry what happened with your… I shouldn’t be here.” She draws back and I catch her hand. Her skin is soft and warm against mine, even as she flinches and tries to pull away.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” she whispers.

“I thought you liked to be touched,” I say to create some distance between us.

She’s not her.

I don’t need her sorry, I don’t need her smiles or words. I need nothing.

She’s not mine.

“I don’t,” she snaps and rips her hand free. The kindness in her eyes is fading, anger taking its place.

Good. She should hate me.

I deserve it.

“I heard you liked it rough, sweetheart,” I whisper and take a strand of her raven-black hair between my fingertips.

“Why are you doing this? I thought—”

“You thought because I smiled at you, I liked you?” A laugh breaks free and I shake my head.

“You’re just like him, aren’t you?” she sneers and slaps my hand away.

“And what is he like?” I tilt my head as tears fill her eyes.

“He’s a monster. He hurts me.” Her voice cracks and with it the wall I used to push her away.

“He doesn’t,” I say sharply, as I don’t believe it. I can’t. Yes, I’ve seen how he was just now, but… he helped me, fixed me, put me back on the right track after I lost her , after I failed to protect her . And now he’s helping Knox, he can’t be…

She chuckles. “Don’t believe me. Why should you?”

I was stupid, young, and hurt by my own loss. I pushed her away when she reached out for me, when she needed help because I couldn’t help her, not when I was barely keeping myself from drowning.

Coach gave me purpose, gave me a way to cope with everything in a healthier way. So I thought. A healthier way shouldn’t have meant letting him do what he was doing to his own daughter.

“Jaxon?!” Dimitri calls out and I toss my phone aside to head into the living room.

“Yeah,” I answer and don’t dare to let my eyes drift to the laptop screen.

“Got a hold of Knox?” he asks as he rubs his neck.

I nod. “He didn’t find them; the house is abandoned. He’s trying to look for clues there.” I take a sharp breath and continue. “Perhaps you should call your dad, maybe he knows something.”

I wait for it: the sneer, the angry look, anything.

“You’re probably right.” He sighs and my brows pinch together.

“I’m right?” That never happens.

He groans and leans back on the couch. “I’m not sure he would help though.”

“You never know.”

“He didn’t help her when she asked for help,” he whispers.