Page 233 of Branded
So, I didn’t protest when she took my hand and drew me to the bed, sitting on the edge and patting next to her.
I sank down at her side.
“You know my stepdad was abusive.” Anger prickled down my spine. “But you don’t know that for a long time, I felt like I was the bigger monster.”
She shuddered, and I slid up the bed, gathering her into my lap. “You’re not a monster.”
Silence, then, “I’m finally starting to realize that.” Her head tilted back, her blue eyes tinged with pain.
“Sugarpie,” I whispered.
Her shoulders rose and fell on a breath. “He hit her. A lot. And if I got in the middle of it or was in the wrong place at the wrong time…then I got hit, too.”
I knew that, but I struggled to keep my body loose, to not tense up.
She needed me calm.
“I don’t know how exactly she managed it, but Mom convinced me to go to boarding school, made it seem like it was my idea.” She sighed. “I remember overhearing part of the conversation, but it wasn’t until she told me later that it would be better for me that I realized what I’d heard wasn’t her trying to get rid of me, but rather her trying to get me safe.”
“She was protecting you.”
“Yeah.”
A long pause, her body settling more heavily against mine, as though she were soaking up my strength and warmth and that, more than anything else, had the twisting in my insides settling, the sourness fading.
“I wanted to go,” she whispered. “That was bad enough. I wanted to get away from the yelling, from his fists.”
I smoothed a hand down her spine. “I think anyone would want to, honey.”
“I was relieved.”
That was pained.
“I was relieved that I wouldn’t get yelled at or hit anymore. I was relieved that my mom would take that instead.” A breath. “I was relieved I didn’t have to walk on eggshells or hide in the dark corner of my room or hear her get hit.”
“Baby,” I whispered.
“I was relieved that I was free.”
“I think that’s normal, honey.”
“Yeah.” A breath. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
“What?”
“I didn’t tell anyone what was happening at home, not my grandparents, not my teachers, not my counselors at school, not my friends. I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Did your stepfather threaten you if you did tell?”
Cold in those pale blue eyes. “Of course, he did.”
I clenched my jaw. “Then it’s not surprising you didn’t tell.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “But I felt guilty about it for a long time. If I’d just said something, then things might have turned out differently.” She sighed. “But I didn’t say anything, and while the guilt is still there and probably always will be, what came after was worse.”
I braced.
“So, I was relieved to be free of him, guilty to have not told anyone. She called. A lot. And I remember being so annoyed that she kept bugging me, kept making me go down to the office to take her calls when I was at school. I think she was trying to assure herself that I was okay, but I felt like she was trying to take away the only bit of normal I had, and I was a kid with my first taste of freedom in my life and…I was annoyed with my mom who’d risked everything to get me out of that house.” She swallowed hard. “And I know she risked everything because then—then he killed her.”
