Page 25 of Left in the Dark

“Open it.”

His brusque command leaves no room for arguments or disobedience. My palms sweat, and my hands tremble.

The photos inside the folder are my worst fears come to life.

He knows.

CHAPTER 18

Delaney

Icringe as my eyes zero in on the first photo of me and Zayne kissing. I study our passionate embrace and the bliss evident on our faces. I take in the background, realizing this was taken outside the back entrance to the cafeteria at school.

We were alone, or so we thought.

My stomach drops as I flip to the next one. It was taken behind his father’s bar. I was supposed to stay at Callie’s last weekend, but she drove me to Zayne’s father’s bar. I met him behind it, and then we went to “our” spot at the lake, curling up on an inflatable mattress and several blankets in the bed of his truck. He surprised me with a picnic basket containing my favorite snacks and drinks.

We lay on our backs, staring at the stars in the sky. He tried to explain the various constellations to me, but I could only concentrate on how much I wanted him. I rolled over, straddling him, my lips covering his.

That moment was so raw as we took our time, exploring every inch of each other’s bodies. When he finally sunk deep inside me, I was a begging, quivering mess. Instead of pounding me into oblivion, he made love to me, his lips on mine as he slowly moved inside me.

He cracked the walls around my heart so much that I nearly told him about the abuse. I was so close to letting him in, taking the last hidden piece of me.

But Zayne is nothing if not a problem solver and protector. I feared he’d go after my father and would end up in jail.

Then, my father would take his wrath out on me. And one of the best ways to hurt me is through my mom.

It’s been her and I, trying to protect one another since I was a kid and discovered my world wasn’t what I thought. The horrific day my innocence was stolen because I got up to sneak another glass of chocolate milk.

As I blankly flip to the next photo, my mind goes down the rabbit hole to that terrible day.

The glassof chocolate milk my mom served me at dinner lit up the pleasure areas of my brain and activated my taste buds. I wanted another glass, but I knew my father would never allow it, so I didn’t bother asking.

All night, I’d been plotting. Daniel was staying at his friend Scott’s house. My dad had left earlier to head out of town to meet with someone, and when I heard the door to my mom’s bedroom close, I knew it was time.

It was midnight, and I’d never done anything as exhilarating as sneaking downstairs.

I was as quiet as a mouse as I opened the refrigerator, took out the carton of chocolate milk hidden in the back, and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. I poured it with steady hands, ensuring I didn’t spill a drop, then put it back where I found it. All without turning a single light on.

The front door opened, and I froze, my heart hammering. My father screamed my mom’s name before stomping to the bottom of the stairs. I heard my mom’s feet pounding againstthe floor as she hissed, “Are you crazy, Richard? You’re going to wake Delaney.”

I looked around, unsure what to do. I knew I was tiny enough to hide in the pantry. I’d done it last weekend when my father was away, and mom, Daniel, and I played hide and seek.

I tiptoed over, quietly opening the door and closing it, sinking to the floor with my mug firmly clasped in mine. The last thing I wanted to do was drop it.

I no longer felt like drinking it. Fear made my belly ache, but leaving it on the island would have been a mistake. My father hates it when anything is out of place.

The sounds grew louder, like a thunderstorm gaining in strength and fury. And when it descended over my house, all I could do was hold my hands over my ears as tightly as I could, squeezing my eyes closed.

But the tears escaped anyway as I heard my mother’s cries and pleas and my father’s unrelenting strikes and kicks.

When it was over, all I could hear was my mother’s agonizing sobs. I heard the door slam, and the engine's roar and squeal of the tires made me feel it might be safe to sneak out.

My fingers wrapped around the mug as I crept out, staring at my bare feet peeking from my long nightgown as I carefully took slow, measured steps, unsure what I’d find.

Once I rounded the island, I saw her, broken and bloody, on the floor. Pictures, lamps, and vases had been knocked over during the “storm,” leaving the house a wreck.

“M-Momma.” My bottom lip quivered so much I could barely choke out the word.

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