I Have Lived and I Have Loved - Willow Winters Page 0,217

tells me.

Some days I swear I don’t feel anything anymore. Even the fear. It’s as if it doesn’t matter, like I don’t matter anymore. How can I? How could I even be sane staring at the same walls each and every day? I barely move anymore. It must be days since I’ve decided not to eat. And since that day I’ve been in this room. Unmoving, unchanging other than the pain.

It’s only a matter of time before he’ll let me out of this room. It’s just for punishments, or at least that’s what it used to be. I don’t know how many consecutive days I’ve been in here. Maybe it’s my new home.

I scratch my fingernail against the cement, creating a mark. There are dozens of lines just like it. I think I started them to count the days, but it’s turned into something else. Each one is the same as the last. Maybe I’m waiting for something to change them. Something inside of me or inside of this room to break up the monotony. Maybe I’ve just stopped caring.

I think Father’s easier on me when I’m pathetic like this. It makes me feel even worse knowing he’s the reason, he’s the motivating factor behind it all.

I blink slowly and my thick lashes blur the faint light from the small window as the door opens with a protesting groan.

I expect the door to close just as fast as it opens, but when I chance a glance, he’s left it open. His large body stands in the doorway, and his dingy off-white shirt and faded jeans are dirty from working outside on the farm and in the dirt.

His boots sound as if they’re crunching against the ground as he walks. Each step getting louder and my heart racing faster. I stay perfectly still, resisting every instinct to run or to fight. Both are useless.

“Get up,” he says and his voice is deep and rough. No room for negotiation.

My body flinches out of instinct, and I prepare for him to kick me when I don’t react quickly enough. He always kicks me in the stomach and as I close my eyes tightly, disobeying him, I pray he does it hard enough to end this.

But nothing comes.

With the thin coat of sweat over every inch of my body, a chill goes through me, making my body stiffen. I nearly vomit from the intensity of the change, but I hold back.

“I’ve had enough of this, boy!” my father screams at me and I curl into myself. Embarrassment and shame flow through me from how weak I am, but I don’t give it much thought. I already knew I was pitiful.

“I won’t fucking tell you again!” he yells and leans down to haul me up by my shirt, but I scoot back and resist. If there’s one thing I’ve learned never to do, it’s to resist.

But I’ve wanted this. I have to remind myself of my death wish as the fear cripples me and the years of conditioning settle in and make my body tremble.

The back of his large, dirty hand whirls in front of my face, blurring from the speed as he snarls at me. The scowl on his face is only made more terrifying from his exposed yellowed teeth and the coldness in his dark gaze.

The last thing I see are his knuckles.

The last thing I hear is the crunch of my nose.

The last thing I taste is the metallic blood in my mouth.

The last thing I feel is nothing. So long I’ve waited for it. And it’s finally here.

Chapter 2

Fuck.

My neck is stiff, my jaw hurts and I know it’s bruised. But what really fucking hurts is my throat. It’s worse than a sore throat, raw and like it’s on fire.

A groan slips out and I instantly regret it, my body squirming on a hard sheet of metal. I blink slowly, barely opening them and letting my eyes adjust to the dim light.

I know in an instant where I am. The kitchen.

The dusty plaid curtain on the window above the sink is the first thing I see, and that’s all I need to know.

The kitchen, the table. Mother.

This is where she was a few times, I remember it well but I don’t know what brought her here. Maybe it was him. I never thought about it back then, but as my eyes open wider, anger seeps in. Did he hurt her like he hurt me?

My muscles coil, and I try to sit