Page 54 of Undeniably Corrupt
I wish they didn’t know about Hazel. In fact, I never told them when I was pregnant or when she was born. My father knew, essentially letting me know he was still keeping tabs on me. And with that, his threat extended from my mom’s life to my daughter’s. As if it were even necessary.
Me: When you’re willing to travel to Boston without Dad.
I leave it at that, knowing she’ll never do that. She hasn’t left Lavender Lake, let alone the state of Maine, in decades. But she’s alive, and my leaving the way I did, the arrangement I made, means my father won’t touch her. At least I have to hope he won’t.
I’m also hoping Sunday means the assholes aren’t out lurking, but as I turn the corner onto our street, I see that my wishes fall flat.
Shit.
My number one asshole is right there, and he’s not alone. He’s got his crew of merry men with him, and they all find me.
My grip on Hazel’s hand tightens, and I quicken our pace, my head down and my gaze locked on the steps of my building up ahead.
Whistles ring out through the night, bouncing off the brick buildings on either side of us.
“Where are you going in such a rush, honey?” Ricky calls out to me. “Come over here. I want to talk to you. I think we got off to a bad start, and I want to change that by letting you suck my dick.”
Laughter surrounds him.
“Come on now. You don’t have to run.”
Oh, but I do.
Hazel whimpers, pulling on my hand and saying, “Mama.” She knows something isn’t right and is scared. Fury pulses through me. I hate that my child is scared.
Footsteps behind us have me swooping her up into my arms and taking off at a run.
“Oh, no, bitch. You think you can carry your kid and that will keep you safe?”
Before I know what’s happening, Hazel is ripped from my arms, and I’m shoved face-first into the building with an arm at the back of my neck holding me there.
17
Iscream, tears instantly soaking my cheeks as I hear Hazel cry out for me.
“You bastard! Let her go.” I thrash against him, fighting him with everything I can. “She’s a little girl. What kind of monster are you?” He presses me harder, showing me exactly what kind of monster he is. My face grinds deeper into the unforgiving brick, scraping more of my cheek beneath my eye. He’s twice my size and has a hell of a lot more muscle. I jab my elbow back and clip his ribs, but he doesn’t let me get far before he cracks my face back against the wall.
His hand squeezes my throat, my teeth sinking so deep into my lip I taste blood. Hazel is screaming and crying, and I can’t take it.
“It’s okay, baby. Mama’s okay,” I tell her, because what else can I do? I hate that she’s going through this. That’s she’s as scared as I am. That this could very well imprint itself in her mind and body, affecting her in ways we haven’t yet discovered. “You bastard, she’s only a little girl.”
His hot breath fans against my ear, and I whimper, unable to stop it. “I’m gonna let you go tonight, honey. But onlybecause your kid is screaming. The next time I see you”—he licks my tears, and bile climbs up the back of my throat— “this body is mine for whatever I want.”
He slams against me, knocking the wind from my lungs, but then he’s gone, and Hazel is sobbing beside me, hugging my leg. I wipe my face, feeling blood and tears everywhere, but I pick her up and get us home.
She’s a mess. I’m a mess. And as I get us into our apartment, I set her down with her toys and run for our bathroom. The right side of my face is cut up, bleeding, and already bruised. There’s no way this is getting better instead of worse. I’m going to have to call out tomorrow from clinical and from Monroe.
Fuck!
My hands meet the rim of the pedestal sink, and I shake as I do my best to hold in the sobs raking through me. I give myself a minute, but not more than that. My baby needs me. I turn on the faucet to cold and wash my face, wincing at the burn and the pink tint of water as it goes down the drain.
By the time I come out of the bathroom, I’m Mary Poppins again, singing and dancing and swallowing the harsh pill of my life down with a spoonful of sugar. I make us dinner and turn on the TV for her so she can watch and not focus on anything other than the joy ofBluey.
I text my clinical supervisor and tell her I’m really sick and won’t be able to make it, but hopefully by Wednesday. Then I text Vander the same thing. Unfortunately, he replies instantly.
Vander: What’s up? You okay? Is Hazel sick? I know you were with Katy today, so I hope everyone else stays healthy.
Ugh. Does he have to know everything? Dammit. That doesn’t fit, and I just hope he doesn’t call me out on it.
