Page 26 of Red Flag Bull

I look at her again. Peaceful. Grateful to sleep on the floor at the foot of my bed like a fucking dog, because she’s desperate, and even though she knows this monster could turn on her at any second, she trusts me more than anyone else.

It’s a cruel fucking world, sometimes.

I want her to know how much she hurt me, but I can’t fucking sleep if I’m adding to her suffering.

I climb out of bed and carefully scoop her up. She murmurs some sort of protest, and I rock her gently, shushing her as I lower her into my bed and pull the covers up around her. She settles and remains asleep, and if I keep standing where I am, I’m going to jack my cock over her until there’s cum in her hair.

Unwilling to risk climbing in next to her, I take her place on the blanket, instead. I deserve to sleep on the floor. Treating her badly, just because she’ll let me.

Why can’t she stand up for herself? I thought she’d found her dignity and her spine when she left me behind, but clearly something out in the world broke her. She’s as fucked up as I remember, accepting my mistreatment so easily. And she came to me knowing that things would be this way. What did she do, to convince herself she’s earned all this punishment? It’s more than just her leaving me. Why can’t she tell me? How fucking bad is it?

I’m going to need a good look at her in the light of day, if I’m going to have a chance of figuring her out. Until then, I’ll rest easier, knowing she’s safe in my bed.

* * *

I wake with my heart pounding and sit up to find my bed empty and Amanda gone. I jump to my feet and race downstairs, to the kitchen. The whole fridge shudders when I wrench open the door, but the case of beer is still there, and it looks untouched.

My breath leaves me in a rush, and I tilt my good ear toward the rest of the house.

She couldn’t have left without the sensors going off from any doors or windows she may have thought to escape through. I set the alarms so I’d know if she ran. It was either that or chain her to my bed… which I may resort to when I find her.

I hear scuffling sounds in the bathroom and breathe a sigh of relief. My gaze returns to the beer, and I yank it out of the fridge. I’ll dump it into the trashcan out back so hard, I’ll break every bottle, to keep the liquid inside from ever hurting her.

But I don’t get further than setting the case on the counter, because there are baby bottles in my fridge, and I didn’t fucking put them there.

Baby bottles? With milk inside. One full. One closer to half.

My hand is shaking when I reach for the smaller one.

My heart skips a beat. Maybe more. The muscle may have given up working entirely. Fucking feels like it. I grip my chest, as it fills with an ache so bad, it brings me to my knees.

Oh, my fucking girl.

I shake a few drops of the milk onto the back of my hand and lick it.

Thanks to my friends, I know the real thing when I taste it. It’s breastmilk.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

Where’s the fucking baby?

There’s no baby in sight. And she came to find me, to make sense of her pain. What the fuck happened? Who did this to my princess?

I push to my feet, shove the bottle back on the shelf, slam the fridge shut, and march to the bathroom.

The door is locked when I test it, so I hold the handle and shoulder-barge my way inside, tearing the lock from the frame.

Mandi looks up from her cross-legged position on the floor with terror in her eyes.

I stare at the pump she’s holding to her breast with a nearly full bottle attached. There’s another, already full bottle, on the floor next to her.

She swivels and hurries to hide herself from me while she pulls my black T-shirt back down, but it’s too late. I’ve seen.

“You have a baby?” My question comes out in a strained whisper, but it’s as if I yelled it, by the way she hunches in a cringe.

When she lifts her head, though, she’s eerily calm. “Lucinda has a baby,” she says, ending her milking session. She seals the bottle and sets it next to the other one, before getting to her feet and moving to the sink, to wash her breast pump.

She doesn’t say anything more, and I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

---