Page 10 of Dirty Behavior

I wanted to force myself to believe that everything I'd gone through was worth it to have ended up here with him. I wanted to believe in fate.

But I can't lie, forgetting it ever happened was something I tried to do daily.

All I wanted was a little piece of normalcy. Maybe one day I'll get there, I'll wake up and everything will feel like it was just a horrible dream. That my body was never broken, that my skin never held the colors of the rainbow.

Maybe one day I'll be able to replace all the pain with happiness, erase the memories and suffering, and just be normal.

One day.

Our lips unlocked, Dante smiled and reached for the door handle. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let's go home.” Smirking, I opened my door and walked to the front of the car.

Holding out his hand, Dante twined our fingers together and guided us up to the house. His pace slowed as he climbed the front steps, his free hand coming out and stopping me just behind him.

“What? What is it?” I asked, trying to look around him.

Holding a finger to his lips, he nodded his head at the door. “It's cracked open.” His voice was a whisper, finding the wind, and making its way into my ear.

“Maybe we left it like that?”

Shaking his head no, Dante signaled me to stay behind him as he pulled out the gun from his waist. With the tips of his fingers, he nudged the door open, holding the gun out firmly in front of his chest.

Sidestepping, he inched his way into the house, sweeping the weapon from left to right.

Following closely behind him, I kept my steps light and soundless. That was a trick I had learned when I was trapped at Remo's. It let me stroll around the house without his knowledge and gave me some time alone.

He never let me roam, never let me out of his sight. I was watched day and night by him or his hired eyes and ears. The doors all had locks on the inside and out, the windows were barred, but even the smartest man had a weak spot. He had to sleep.

I payed close attention to Remo's routine and habits. The more I behaved, the more I followed his stupid fucking rules, the more time I got out of my closet prison.

And it bought me time alone in the dark, when he was out cold, his home became my stalking ground. I took note of every single detail in that house, all with the hope that I could use it to my advantage.

There were bumps in the road, my mouth would get the best of me at times, I couldn't help it. And it cost me a number of painful bruises or deep lacerations from whatever his weapon of choice was at the time.

There were scars on my back from a cord he used to whip me once for throwing his dinner across the room. Two of my knuckles were offset and larger than the rest because he had broken them after he caught me trying to steal a knife from the kitchen drawer.

Once I braved using the phone and attempted to call my father. I held the phone in my hand, had the buttons all dialed except for the very last digit.

Then his voice rang in my head with his threats and punishments. I wanted to call my father so badly, but I wouldn't risk his life for a single phone call. If any of what Remo said was true, my father put me there. There was nothing he could do to help me.

So, I hung it up, walking away with my head down, leaving another breadcrumb of the person I was behind.

I could have called my father, I could have even called the police, but I didn't. Remo had stained my mind and body with fear for my family. I wasn't scared for myself, I wasn't afraid to die, but I was afraid for them.

But as I lost a part of me in that moment, I took something else from it. It was the first time I realized how strong I truly was.

Yes, I had been beaten. Yes, he had desecrated my body with visual proof he was in control. Yes, I had survived it all.

But it took strength to hang up that phone. Because I wasn't afraid for myself, I was afraid for them. That was the hand I was dealt, that was my life. And I was going to be the only one that bore the punishments for it.

Their lives meant more to me than my own.

I knew I was strong enough to outlast Remo's dark side, to live and break free. Dialing one number wouldn't save me, it would only hurt the ones I loved. The strength of knowing I would put them first before myself filled me with warmth and confidence.

My body was damaged, but my mind was my muscle.

“Dante, I don't think anyone's here. Nothing looks messed with or anything.” Scanning the living room, I saw Dante's empty glass still on the table, no cupboards or drawers were open. The house was just as we left it.

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