Page 61 of Tough Love

The moment he drops into the driver seat beside me, the oxygen is gone, my lungs pulling futilely at the thick air between us.

“You remember what I said, peaches?”

I shudder at his pet name for me, remembering the exact moment he crowned me with it.

“Look at this untouched arse. As perfect as a fucking peach.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Good.” The car starts with an unnecessary roar. “You’re going to owe me for that little stunt you just pulled.” My skin crawls as we careen into the roadway. “Think you can just walk away from this?”

I know I should be able to. I know it’s my choice to say no and force him away. But his threat also rings true in my ears.

“You dare speak a word about this to anyone, you so much as breathe a fucking hint at what goes on, and I’ll slit your fucking sister’s throat in her sleep before I do the same to your mother while your daddy watches me fuck her.”

I don’t doubt he would either. After all, nobody’s seen Jarrod for weeks. Not since he stepped out of line and forgot what he’d been told, pushing me around in the canteen line.

Somebody told Kath.

Who told Tristan.

Who burned me with his cigarette lighter for leading the guy on.

My skin itches where the last of the scars heal beneath my uniform. I bite back the apprehension that grows every time we crest the end of Tristan’s driveway. His house is a shitty little shack on the outskirts of town with an overgrown garden and dead cars littered through the backyard.

What hurts me more are the little feminine touches Kath’s added inside on her visits; visual reminders of how fucked up this all is. One more thing to screw with my head while Tristan screws with my body.

He shoves me roughly in the back door, slamming it shut behind us with his boot. My nostrils burn at the acrid stench of stale smoke and spoiled food. No matter what my sister does, she can’t mask the utter despair that literally bleeds from the walls in rivulets of condensation staining the wallpaper a tawny yellow.

“You ready to play?”

My lips refuse to part, and at best all I can do I whimper a pathetic “Mm-hmm” as I bring my hands to my school uniform and start to undress.

The sooner we start, the sooner it’s over.

The sooner I can put my clothes back on, readjust my mask, and re-enter the world as though I haven’t just been abused by my sister’s boyfriend. As though it doesn’t hurt when I pee. And as though I don’t lie awake at night wondering when he’s going to finally get bored with our games and kill me.

Because how else could it ever end?

TWENTY-TWO

I laugh as Jess lays out an assortment of candies on the coffee table before us. She arranges M&Ms, jelly babies, snakes, caramel melts, and my favourite, strawberries and cream, in little bowls as I lean on the arm of the sofa with my legs tucked up, watching her.

“Really, Jess? Do we need this much?”

She smiles, dusting her hands off as she admires her colourful masterpiece. “Probably not, but we’ve got to have a bit of everything, right?”

I pick up Briar’s discarded jumper and toss it over on the spare chair so Jess can get settled beside me.

She nestles back into the cushions with a fistful of jelly babies, and sighs. “Plus, heavy topics require something to keep your energy up.”

That they do.

“It feels weird doing this,” I admit. “I’ve never told anyone about my past before.”

She shrugs, popping a lolly in her mouth. “You don’t know much about mine, either. Sometimes it’s just one of those things that doesn’t need to come up, you know?”

“Yeah.”

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