Page 145 of Give Me Love

Maybe they won’t see me.

Maybe he’ll just act like I’m not here.

I swallow my nerves and step into the kitchen, heading straight for the red Solo cups. I grab one and fill it with water before bringing it to my parched lips.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

My hand opens from the sound of his voice, and the cup falls to the floor. Water goes everywhere.

“You little cunt. Can’t even hold on to a cup. Clean this shit up.”

“Don’t yell at her, Saw,” a woman says from behind him. She’s skinny and has dirty blonde hair. She’s pretty.

He charges forward and grabs me by my hair. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do in my house,” he barks at her. “You drugged out whore.”

I wince as he pulls me down to the cup on the floor. She blanches and turns back to the living room.

“I said fucking clean it up,” he yells, pushing me closer to the floor. My ribs burn when he kicks me before he walks away.

My bones shake and tears form. One day, I’m going to kill him.

I take in a sharp breath of air and sit up, wiping sweat from my brow and trying to breathe normally.

“You okay?”

I turn to look beside me, seeing Bryce sitting on the other end of the couch. I fell asleep. I was dreaming. I’m not there. It was just a dream.

No, it was a memory.

“Yeah,” I say, moving hair from my face. “How long was I asleep?” I rub my ribs, remembering the pain.

“Like thirty minutes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You were tired. It’s fine. I did a little work, checked in on some things at Red. Come here,” he says, pulling my arm. I fall onto his lap and take in a deep breath, loving how comforting his smell is to me.

It was just a dream, Kat. He’s not here. He can’t hurt you anymore.

“You’re shaking.” He lifts my chin so I look at him. “Why are you shaking?”

“Just had a bad dream, is all.” I look away from his blues.

“Tell me about it.”

I shake my head and sit up. “I can’t remember.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, only stares at me…through me. He nods and chews on his bottom lip before looking down to the floor.

I feel bad.

I should talk to him, tell him. But it’s hard.

“I’m thirsty,” I say, standing and straightening out my shirt as I walk to the small kitchen. I search for a glass, finding them after a beat. I fill it from the faucet because the fridge is old school. I rest my elbows on the small kitchen island, looking down at the worn wood. I haven’t had a dream about him in a long time.

When I first ran away, I dreamed about him every night, thinking he would come for me. Why? I don’t know. He never wanted me there in the first place. I was a nuisance, a necessity so he could get a welfare check every month. I was also his punching bag and plaything. I wipe a hand over my face, looking up to see Bryce standing on the other side of the island.

“Shit, you scared me,” I say.

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