be having at my expense. Another kick while I’m already down, rolling in the dirt trying to get the fuck up.
I hug my knees to my chest and try to calm down. That nightmare took its toll on me. They’ve never been so dark and vivid. Real. I’ve never reacted this way. Then again life just got worse with each year that passed. For a long time, I only had my mother’s death to contend with. Then Eric’s came almost a decade later.
The reoccurring nightmares I used to have though just featured either my mother’s death or Eric’s. Not a blend of both.
And as for the nightmares of my mother? Well, that one was different.
There was something different about it. After I witnessed what my father did, he told me what I saw didn’t really happen, and tried to get me to believe the same crock of shit he told everyone else. I almost believed him until the day he threatened to kill me if I spoke. I remember I was crying so much, then I just stopped.
Ten years old and being threatened with death? I believed him. I had no reason to doubt he wouldn’t do it. After all I watched him kill Mama. I didn’t want him to stab me too, so I did what he said, and I tried to forget. He had all kinds of doctors come to see me and they told me sometimes children make things up.
I pretended to believe them too, and acted like I did, although I never spoke. But I always had the truth locked away in my nightmares. Locked in my head.
Just now there was a man’s face. He’s never appeared before and I can’t quite remember what he looks like.
My heart races again when the door opens, and Tristan comes in with a tray of breakfast.
I push to my feet wishing I had underwear on, but more so wishing he would just let me go.
He walks in with that air of coolness, assessing me. I can see it in his eyes he thinks I’m lying. He thinks I’m lying to protect my father. He’d never know that’s the very last thing I would do.
My father would never need the likes of me to protect him because he’s given me nothing that would give him away. Nothing at all. Not even a clue.
“I’ll be getting some clothes for you soon,” Tristan says. I don’t answer.
What am I supposed to say? Thanks? I’m not saying thanks, and I’m not going to act like I’m grateful, although I am.
“I brought you breakfast,” he adds.
“I don’t want it,” I answer. I don’t want anything. Eating is the last thing I want to do.
It’s not that I’m not hungry, I am. I just don’t want to eat.
“You will have it.”
“No, I won’t,” I throw back.
This is just the second day and he already looks like he’s had enough of me. He actually looks like he’s ready to kill me.
“Isabella do not push me,” he threatens.
Or what?
That’s what I want to say. I want to ask him what will happen if I do, but I think better of it.
I don’t know why I keep remembering the way he was when we first met because it’s obvious he’s anything but the kind stranger I met in the park. The memory comes to me now and pulls on my heart. I was right to say he wore a mask. He did.
He truly fooled me, and I guess now I’m in the situation I’m in, I’m going to have to disagree with him about death.
“You were wrong…” I whisper.
“About what?”
I shouldn’t get myself so worked up. I guess I’m still pissed he played me for a fool. He’s just like everyone else who thought they could treat me like shit.
“You said death was worse. It’s not. This is. You are. Bastard,” I hiss, and instantly I regret my words when he rushes to me. I should have kept my mouth shut.
I keep talking like I have this bravado and I don’t. Fear is making me lose my mind and I can’t think straight half the time. If I were, I know I’d know better than to piss off the man who kidnapped me. A man who knew exactly what to do to not only find me, but to find out who I really am, then steal me away from my father.
Only someone powerful could do something like that.
He practically throws the tray down on the bed and the