Page 3 of Beneath the Flames
“It’s not your job to protect us, Maren,” she said quietly, her fingers squeezing into my shoulders.
A burst of anger had me responding before I could filter the words.
“No, it’s your job, Mom.But you’re not doing it.”
My hand immediately covered my mouth, regret hitting me like a punch to the gut.
“Mom—”
She stepped back, looking likeIwas the one that had hit her.
“I’m sorry.”My words weren’t fair, even if they were true.
Mom opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to refute my words, but her lips pressed into a thin line instead.It had becomemy job to protect the family, to be first in line for his wrath because she refused to put us over her own fear.Though, in her defense, she had tried to leave many years ago, when my siblings were too young to remember anything.We piled into the car in the dead of night and drove for days.All I could remember was the rise and fall of the sun, my stomach aching with hunger.We couldn’t stop until we got somewhere safe, she kept saying.
When we finally did stop, my father had somehow trackedus down, dragged us home, and then beat her within an inch of her life.
She found the courage to try leaving one more time when I was about to go to college.
It ended the same way.She gave up after that.
Which left her, my brother, and my sister stuck here with him.I was nineteen now.I was old enough to choose to leave whenever I wanted—and believe me, Iwanted.
But not when it meant my family would be unprotected, not when it meant I wasn’t there to take the brunt of his violence in place of them.
I would do anything for them—whatever it took to protect my family.
Even if that meant giving up what I wanted.
Finally, her lips pursed together, and she nodded.
“All right, Maren.I’ll make a list.”
My throat ached as I tried to swallow the burning in my throat, and turned from her gaze.As much as I dreamed of a life away from these wooden walls, from this farm, and from my father’s abuse, I would always put my desires on a high shelf and stay here if it meant keeping them safe.
Leaving wasn’t an option.Not for me and not for them.He’d proven that he would hunt us down no matter how far we ran.Even if Iwereto ever leave my family behind, who knew what he would do.The endless scenarios played out in my mind, shoving terror down my throat until tears burned my eyes.
No, I would stay.Forever.To protect my family from my father’s wrath, there was no other choice.
***
The hot metal of the car door handle stung my hand as I yanked it open, about to crawl inside when something grabbed my wrist.I struggled to keep my feet under me as I was pulled backward, barely catching myself from sprawling face first into the rough gravel.
“Where do you think you’re going?”The words were full of quiet menace, and I didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.My father’s six-foot-four frame loomed over me in his usual overalls and flannel rolled up to the elbows getup, mud-caked boots making the air smell like manure.His hair was a peppery gray, long and unkempt, pulled back into a messy ponytail.Stray hairs blew across his dark eyes.
Anytime he went into town, he cleaned up, combed his hair, and looked more presentable—so that no one would ever know the disgusting man he actually was.So that no one would ever guess that he beat his family.
But at home, in the middle of nowhere, he didn’t have to pretend.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I swallowed, unable to look at those hate-filled eyes for more than a few seconds.“To the store,” I answered, forcing any flicker of feeling from my voice.If I sounded angry, it would make my father’s wrath worse, making him think I was fighting back—which was the worst thing any of us could do.I had learned a long time ago not to fight back.
But if I sounded scared, it only made him happy, and my father didn’t deserve an ounce of happiness.
Or my fear.
I forced my body to go numb, shoving the anger, fear, andsoul-rending hatred deep down inside me as I added, “Mom needs me to pick up a few things.”
My father’s brown eyes were so dark they were almost black, and they narrowed, searching my carefully blank face for a lie.
