Page 88 of Westin

A few days later, I’m standing in the kitchen, washing the dishes. It’s what I’m usually doing at this time of night on a Tuesday. The house is clean, the men are in town, and no doubt my husband is getting laid or gambling again. The house is pleasantly quiet, so it’s a shock when I see lights come up the drive.

I frown, drying my hands. I’m in just my slip. I wasn’t prepared for anyone to be home. The truck moves fast and comes to a quick halt. My heart jumps, and I back away from the window.

Footsteps crunch over the gravel. I barely have time to whip around before the door bangs open and Avery comes through like a bull breaking through a gate, his face dark.

I stumble back, hitting the sink.

Behind him is Thomas, and a few steps behind him comes my brother. I haven’t seen David since that horrible night he gave me to the Garrisons. He looks the same, and the sight of him is like a knife to my fluttering heart.

I open my mouth, but before I can speak, Avery has me by the throat. My entire body seizes, and my legs scramble against the floor as he lifts me, just enough so I’m on my toes. My head spins. I can’t breathe, my vision flashes black.

“You fucked one of them,” he snarls.

Behind him, Thomas stands with his fists clenched. His face is deathly pale, and his gray eyes glitter. Time slows, and I see it, what I’ve dreaded for years.

This is his breaking point.

The low whistle of the oncoming train is here, and it’s hitting me. Maybe it’ll kill me.

My vision flickers. All I can think about is how good it felt to lay in the warm grass with Westin by the cemetery, how he was like sunshine on my tongue. Then, Avery lets me go, and I tumble to the ground, cracking the back of my head on the cabinet. Dizzy, I lay on my side, trying to get my breath back.

Avery’s shoes move away. They’re replaced by Thomas’s brown work boots.

I wonder distantly what horrible alignment of planets led to my birth. I could have been anyone. Even being David would be better than this. But no, I was born a woman with nothing to her name.

I never stood a chance.

The toe of his boot strikes my ribs on my right side. I’ve never felt pain like this; it leaves me breathless, almost unable to register it.

Then, it happens again and again.

The world fades from dull colors to nothing at all, but before it does, I see my brother standing in the doorway. One more time, I wish for an ounce of remorse on my brother’s face.

But he’s just watching me, hands tucked behind his back, eyes like dark ice.

It hits me at the same time as Thomas’ boot when David started hating me. Once upon a time, he was a sweet, little boy. But now, he’s a man. He drinks with men, he talks like other men, and he sees me the way they do—as just a little less than human.

It’s not clear to me that he even knows it.

The world flickers in and out. Eventually, the men are all gone. My broken body is on its side, and I’m somewhere overhead, watching it. I’ve never been beaten before, so I didn’t realize how badly it would hurt. My stomach aches. My swollen, bruised skin is tender. I want to vomit, but I can’t; my stomach muscles are loose, and I can’t clench them.

My nose drips crimson on the floor. Using everything I have left, I crawl from the kitchen and make it to the bedroom. My body is bruised, but as I pull my clothes off and run my fingertips over it, I find it’s not broken.

Maybe that’s the best I can hope for.

Bruised, but still unbroken.

The men don’t come back for two days. Patched together with rags and bandages from under the sink, I keep the ranch running as best I can. We’ll need groceries in a few days. Finally, on Saturday morning, after I’ve put dinner into the slow cooker, I hear the door to Thomas’ truck slam.

Quietly, I limp towards the back of the kitchen. A doorstop jams the back door ajar—it has since that night. I can’t do that again; I need a quick escape. Boots move down the hallway, but they trip and stumble. I curl back, glancing into the sink to locate the nearest knife.

It’s dirty, serrated, but within reach.

Thomas appears. He’s unwashed and his face is swollen. He’s drunk, with that flush men get when they have too many beers and their skin goes deep red.

Our eyes meet. He runs his hand over his face, wiping the sweat.

“I loved you,” he says.

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