Page 1 of Last Breath

Prologue

Not all love is clean.

Not every love story has hearts pounding, roses laid at your feet, flowing tears of joy, and that first moment when you fell in love.

This isn’t a story of two people who found each other. They never lived in their pristine little house in rural Connecticut with their two point three kids, a dog named Rover, and jobs they both adored.

No.

This story tells you about a girl who found love where she least expected it.

It’s about two men who had never hadjoy.

Chapter 1

Salem

Thirteen-years-old

“No! Please, no more!” The screams were harsh, taunting and powerful. I tried to cover my ears and ignore them, but the deeper the timbre of pain, the more piercing damage it did to my soul. Another bone-crunching snap bounds off the walls as I force myself to stay put. To avoid helping in any way is excruciating. I feel every strike. Every controlled yelp sends another chill up my spine.

My blood runs cold with every squeak, every squeal and cry.

“Please. Don’t make me!”

“You heard what I said, and you will do as I say, bitch. If you don’t, that fucking whelp will pay the consequences. Is that what you want?” Another hit, another moment of gasping air between jaw-jarring punches as he tells her what he wants.

“Is that why you don’t fight me? Why you don’t ask for this to end? Maybe tonight’s the night I let you watch.”

That’s when I hear the sound of Tress’s Doc Martens scuffing that deadened left leg of his. It gives you chills of scared anticipation. The soft gumshoes carry his awkward weight across the floor as I count down the distance.

I’ve been crouched behind the piles of dirty clothes in my closet for close to an hour, hoping to avoid the inevitable.

Not so.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” he eerily sings, sounding just as horrific as you’d imagine. At his most dangerous point, my father Tress is ten times worse than a serial killer and five times less remorseful than a repentant crack addict looking for their next hit. Untamed and wildly entrenched in his own psychosis, helovesto gloat about the feel of harming us. Tress laughs as he drinks himself into a stupor, moments before he uses me and my mother as punching bags or for his greedy sexual release. He reminds me that I’m a blight on the plans he had for his grand life. I’ve heard time and time again how I owe him for living this long.

“Do you fear me? You should.” His boots clack across the shattered tiles as he ventures down the hall toward me and my hidden sanctuary.

Sanctuary is saying a lot. There’s no sanctuary to be found in here. There’s no such thing.

I know I can’t stay hidden either. He’ll find me. He always finds where I am. The longer I make him look, the more damage he’ll inflict.

Feeling around the space, I scramble for anything to defend myself with. Other than dirty mismatched socks and torn shirts, there’s nothing of use. I don’t have toys, and I have no regular childhood requirements that others take for granted. I only have enough underwear for three days and stained shirts, stolen from the lost and found from the local school, a school I don’t attend. Malachi, my best friend and neighbor, brought them home for me. He’s the only person I can count on. He heals my wounds and soothes my damaged soul.

“I’ll find you, whelp.” Tress’s tone is sickeningly sweet.

My breathing quickens as my heart rate soars. My skin shimmers from the sweat breaking out as I anticipate the pain. Touching the edge of the still healing scar on my arm, running over the edge of the pinched skin, the bruises from two days ago are now beginning to change in shade.

I can’t be found tonight.

I can’t let him see me.

I need to run.

I need to run before he closes in on my hiding place.

I know what will happen. My torment and punishment will break me this time. I won’t survive this again.

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