Page 7 of Devoured
“You really thought you could leave?”he finally asked.
I said nothing. What was there to say after seven years of this? He laughed once. It was short and mean—like I was a dog that had tried and failed some pathetic trick.
Outside the house, he killed the engine. Got out first, then came around to open my door like a gentleman. I followed him up the walkway, knowing what was coming. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
He unlocked our front door and held it open for me. I walked past him into the house. The lock clicked behind us.
Everything shifted.
His hand shot out and grabbed my hair, yanking me down hard. My knees cracked against the tile.
“You ungrateful bitch.”His fist connected with my face. Once. Twice. Blood filled my mouth. When I curled up, his boot found my ribs. I couldn’t breathe after that.
Something inside me went quiet. It wasn’t the numbness I’d learned to wrap around myself like armor. This was different. This was the quiet that comes before lightning strikes. Seven years of this. Seven years of blood in my mouth and bruises hidden under sleeves. Seven years of being small, being sorry, being whatever he needed me to be to survive another night.
I was done.
He was halfway up the stairs when I managed to push myself up on my elbows. Blood dripped steadily from my nose.
“Coward!”I shouted. I managed to stand up, despite the excruciating pain running through my body.
He stopped. Turned. Came back down slow.
“You think beating women makes you tough?”My throat felt raw, torn. Each word cost me. “You’re nothing. Always were nothing. Just another weak little boy playing dress-up.”
His feet stopped moving.
The house went quiet except for my ragged breathing. He stood there on the landing, looking at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had.
“What’s wrong? Can’t handle the truth?”I taunted.
He laughed, but there was nothing funny in it. That fake smile spread across his face—the one he wore when he was about to hurt me worse. He stopped right in front of me.
“You done running your mouth?”
I wiped blood off my lip with the back of my hand. “Kill me or let me go.”
Then I spat. Right at his boots. The red splattered across the cracked leather.
Before I could blink, his hand was around my throat. He slammed me into the wall so hard the picture frames jumped. My spine screamed. All the air rushed out of me at once, and when I tried to pull more in, his fingers just squeezed tighter.
He leaned in close, breath hot against my ear. “I think I’ll kill you.”His voice was calm, like he was working through a math problem. “Break the back door after. Mess up the living room. Take some jewelry. They’ll think it was a robbery gone wrong.”
His fingers adjusted their grip, finding better purchase. “Poor Theo comes home to find his wife dead. I’ll cry for the cameras. Maybe offer a reward for information.”
My nails dug into his forearm. Black spots bloomed at the edges of my vision. My mouth opened and closed like a fish on land.
He was going to kill me. He was really going to kill me.
The thought floated through my mind, strangely peaceful. No fear anymore. No panic. Just... relief. My hands fell away from his arm. My body went slack.
Let it happen. Let it finally be over.
The darkness swept in from all sides. But it didn’t take me where I expected.
I fell through a cold that burned. When I hit the ground, it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The walls of my house were still there, but covered in something that moved like veins. Black rot crept up from the baseboards. The ceiling dripped something viscous. Everything seemed familiar but twisted.
My breath caught. I knew this place. The stone walls, the smell of rust and pennies, the way the shadows moved wrong. It was the same place from my nightmare all those years ago in the group home. The night I’d begged to be taken too. The night something had listened.
