Tongue (Ruthless Kings MC #8) - K.L. Savage Page 0,2
teach me anything? Did he have a beard? I know it’s silly to question, but I’ve always wondered. I don’t have any pictures of them because Uncle Jeremy says I don’t deserve to see them.
My eyes burn as I stare at the floral wallpaper.
“Hey! Eyes on me, you stupid bastard. What about this one? It’s Gucci.” Next in the expensive line of skimpy silk gowns is a purple dress. It seems too small for his body, but at the end of the night, he isn’t looking for class and fine wine.
He’s looking for cash, and the skimpier his clothes, the more money he makes.
“I think it lo-lo-looks ni-nice. I like th-that one. The purple looks goo-good against your ha-hair,” I stutter like the complete fool Uncle Jeremy thinks I am. I only have trouble speaking because of the scars from the cigarette burns. My tongue hasn’t been the same, and I don’t think it ever will be.
“Look at the back,” he says excitedly. He takes another hit off the cigarette, and a grin that reminds me of the Cheshire Cat stretches across his lips. “Sexy, right?”
It has ribbons down the back, crisscrossing so low it becomes inappropriate. I don’t care about what he thinks is sexy. I just want to play outside or make friends. I want to go to school, but that’s something I’ve never been allowed to do.
“I think it’s a winner,” I say, laying the pillow on the bed. I swing my legs over the edge and stand. “I’m … I’m … I’m … going to go get a snack if that’s okay, Just-Justine.” I hate stuttering, but after all the burns on my tongue, I’m not able to say things as quickly as I used to.
“No, it isn’t okay. Did I say you could leave, Wayne? Have you learned nothing? You’re such a disrespectful little shit. I hate that I got stuck with you.”
His words are a kick in the gut, but I’ve heard them so many times, it almost doesn’t cause pain.
Almost.
“I-I-I…”
“I-I-I…” he mocks me, pretending to stutter, and then he spits in my face. He reaches into my mouth with his fingers and pinches my tongue. “Can you ever string together a sentence? Are you dumb?” The growl that leaves his throat sounds like an animal about to attack.
He releases his grip on my tongue and flings me backward, and my tongue throbs as blood rushes through it. “No, Justine. I—”
“No? Are you disagreeing with me, Wayne?” He pushes the cigarette against my shoulder, and I scream when the ashes burn through the material of my shirt, sizzling my skin. “You know that you’re always wrong. Don’t forget the roof you live under, Wayne.”
I hold a hand over my shoulder and whimper, doing my best to hold the tears in. I hate it here. Would I be better off dead? No one would miss me. No one knows of me. If I die, it’s as simple as being put into the ground, but I doubt Uncle Jeremy would do that. He’d probably give my body to science so he wouldn’t have to deal with me.
“Now, lay on the bed, pull down your pants, and bend over. Mama needs a warm-up before she goes to work.”
Immediately, sweat breaks out over my nervous, heated skin. A bead of liquid salt drips down my neck, and I take a step back. “N-no. P-please.”
“You mumbling, stumbling, stupid fucking retard. Do what you’re told, goddamn it!” he shouts, slapping me across the face so hard my ears ring. “Lay on the bed, bend the fuck over, and spread your cheeks!” he roars so loud his voice cracks, his face turns red, and spit flies from his mouth, landing on my lips.
I can’t handle doing that again. No more. Every time it happens, another piece of me dies. I can’t. “I-I-I don’t … wa-wa-want to.”
He grips me by the roots of my hair and yanks me to the front of his body. “You don’t know how to listen, do you?” He stares at me, puffing his cigarette breath onto my face, and a curl of his lips promises something bad.
“Uncle… Un…” I catch myself before I call him Jeremy, but I didn’t catch myself soon enough.
I want to die.
Why couldn’t I have died in the car accident with my parents? Why did I have to live? Why, out of all the people, did I get stuck here?
I’m useless to society. I can barely talk. I haven’t ever gone to school.