Page 9 of My Demon Mate

“Do not worry, baby. I am coming.”

CHAPTER 4

EVEREST

It takes me about thirty minutes to drag myself to the bathroom. I look in the mirror, then immediately drop my eyes, tears welling and spilling over again. My lips are swollen up like balloons. I can feel my heartbeat in them, a hard throb that hurts with each pulse. My nose doesn’t look broken, but there is a cut over it from where my father’s foot connected. The right side of my face is swelling, my eye already turning purple and nearly swollen shut. I drag up my shirt and hiss when I see the deep red bruise on my side. Gingerly, I run my fingers over it and inhale sharply at the pain, a strangled sob cropping up my throat. There’s no way I can go to work like this the day after tomorrow. I definitely can’t meet Danae for lunch with my face looking as if I went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. I don’t want to be seen in public like this.

I think about calling Mitch now to tell him I won’t be able to make my next shift, but I don’t have the energy. Pain radiates from every cell of my body, burrowing deep in me. Besides that, I don’t think I’m up for any of his abuse, even if it’s just verbal. I just got it from my father—any more will break me.

Not just my body hurts. It’s everything—my heart, my pride, my soul. My will to keep going is being tested, and I’m afraid I’m close to failing. It took me years to save that money and my dad came in with his fists and his feet and his words and took it away from me. Not only did he strip my emergency funds, but he also stripped away my ability to put one foot in front of the other. I hate to say it, much less think it, but I think this might be my last straw. Any more weight on me and I just might break.

I grab my wash cloth from the shower, and when I’m brave enough, I look at my reflection in the mirror again. Wetting the cloth, I gently wipe at my face, getting rid of the dried blood, tears, and snot that mar my face. In some places, the blood continues to trickle, so I ignore that and move on to where I can clean myself. When I’m done, I gaze at my reflection, swallowing past the lump in my throat. I look fucking awful, but at least I’m no longer leaking.

Dragging my feet since it hurts to lift my legs too high, I go to my room and slowly sit down on my bed. A pained moan eases from my fat lips as I bend down to strip off my shoes and socks. A bed spring is irritating the back of my leg, but it’s like background noise with how the rest of me feels.

Once I’m stripped down to just my undershirt and briefs, I gingerly tuck myself into bed, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before I have to get dinner started. Holding my breath, listening close to the noise drifting down the hallway. I hear my father’s snores, so I know I have a bit of time before he comes busting in my room to drag me out. That lifts a weight from my shoulders, but only a small one.

A soft sob escapes my mouth as I think about my life. Why do I let people do this to me? Am I so weak that I can’t even stand up for myself?

No, I did. I finally did. After taking so much shit, I finally exploded, making my feelings known to the biggest bully in my life.

And for my trouble, I got tossed around like I was nothing. My father has never been that violent with me. A punch or two here and there, but never beating me so badly I have trouble moving. Was it even worth it to stand up for myself? Sure, my father finally saw I’m not a pushover, but he kicked my ass so thoroughly I was unable to move for half an hour. I should have just kept my fucking mouth shut.

For some reason, I pause, waiting for the voice in my head to say something, anything, to make me feel better … but there’s nothing forthcoming. It’s silent in my head. Regardless of how much I wanted to be alone in my own skull, I’ve grown used to hearing that comforting voice. Even if it’s just telling me to kill people.

But it did more than that. It also gave me words of encouragement. The voice told me I’m strong and I’m worthy. Even if those sentences were in conjunction with telling me to commit literal murder, they made me feel better. I didn’t know how much until now that it’s seems to be gone.

Is it gone? Will it just be me in my head from now on? After years of hearing the mystery voice, I don’t want to be alone.

Growling, I flip over onto my back, then howl in pain when my sudden movement causes my ribs to scream in abject pain. It takes a few minutes for the fire in my side to abate, and I’m left short of breath and in need of some ice. I don’t dare get up and go for any though. I’ll just wait for the pain to stop on its own. Tears of pain and weariness leak from the corners of my eyes and I let them flow, too defeated to wipe them away. For once, I allow myself to feel my feelings, to get the tears out before I have to go back to pretending his words and fists don’t hurt.

It takes a while to cry myself out, but I’m finally drained dry. No more tears escape my eyes. Since I know I won’t be able to get to sleep if I move again, I close my eyes and pray that sleep overtakes me. Thankfully, it does.

Banging in the hallway has me sitting bolt upright, then regretting that as soon as I do. My ribs protest the sudden movement, and I roll to my uninjured side, holding myself and breathing through the pain. I’m not sure if my ribs are broken but I can’t check for sure. I have no medical insurance, and I doubt the nurses at our clinic will even get out of their chairs to take an x-ray for me. I could go to the ER the next town over, but I don’t have money for bus fare and I can’t walk the whole way there in the state I’m in. I wouldn’t make it. I tell myself to call Danae now that Dad’s gone to sleep to see if she can give me a ride or even have her boyfriend take a look. She said he’s a doctor. That’s what friends do for each other, right?

Although maybe I shouldn’t. If dad wakes up and sees her trying to help me, he’ll try to attack her. Danae is smaller than me. No, I have to handle this on my own. As her friend, I can protect her from my shitty life and my abusive father.

When my pain goes from a ten to a five, I slide out of bed and put my clothes back on. I check my phone and see that it’s close to six. Fuck, I need to go get dinner on before I have more than bruised or broken ribs.

Moving as quickly as I can—which isn’t very fast since every part of me hurts—I head to the kitchen to make the chicken I set out for dinner. The tenderness all over my body makes it hard to pull down all the seasonings I need, but I grit my teeth and get it done. If I don’t, I’ll get hit again. Who knows if he’ll stop the next time?

“Serves you right,” my father slurs his words heavily, looking at me with red and glassy eyes. “Hiding money from me like that. After all I’ve done for you. Fucking pissant. I should have given you up as soon as your momma spit you out. Ungrateful fucking bitch.”

I grind my teeth to keep from shouting back at him. Nothing good will come of me trying to stand up for myself again. My face and broken body are proof of that.

Almost on instinct, I stop, waiting for the voice to say something to me.

Nothing.

Biting back a helpless cry, since I’m now truly alone, I busy myself getting the food ready.

Just as the oven dings to let me know it’s preheated, there’s a loud knock at the door. My father and I jump, causing my ribs to smart and throb. I have to lean against the counter to keep myself upright as I wait for the pain to fade.

We never have visitors. I don’t have any friends, and my father never leaves the house. It can’t be the landlord or sheriff with an eviction notice, since I paid the rent. Danae doesn’t know where I live, so she’s out too.

Before I can make my way to the door, my father ambles over to it, nearly falling over the coffee table he staggered into. He rights himself, grumbling about how I keep moving shit in his way and stumbles to the door.

“Who the hell are you?” Dad grumbles drunkenly when he opens the door.

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