Page 12 of Pretty When She Breaks
I was wearing boy pants.
My hair was messy.
My face was dirty.
He was gonna be super, super mad.
“Come,” Father snapped, pointing toward the elevator.
I cried quietly as it went up, up, up to the scary floor—wherehis office was.
We followed him down the corridor. Jule leaned close and whispered, “Let me talk, okay?”
I knew what to do. He’d taught me the S’s to help with Father. Be still, be silent, be small.
I nodded quickly. Jule almost never got in trouble. Father said he was going to be an alpha one day. Jule might be able to make Father not yell too much.
Or use the switch.
Father leaned against his desk. “Close the door.”
I did it really slowly, but it still wentscrraapeandclick, horrible noises that made my hands tingle.
My nose was runny, but I didn't sniff.
He hated sniffing.
The switch was already in his hand.
“What is the meaning of this?” Father said, pointing at me.
“I did it,” Jule said quickly. His face looked all serious, and then he gave a mean smile just like Father’s. “Thought it’d be funny to see what she looked like when she wasn’t all prissied up. She was a real baby about it, too. She got dirt on my face, so I pulled her hair and she started crying, of course.”
Father raised his eyebrows, not speaking for a moment. Then he laughed, making me jump.
“There’s my boy,” Father said with pride in his voice, patting Jule’s shoulder. “Thought you’d never learn. The world belongs to the ones strong enough to seize it. But we have to be smart about it, too, Julius.”
He turned to look at me again, making me shudder. “Her job is to look presentable, so don’t take that from her.”
Heat crawled up my neck as my eyes stung. Jule’s jaw clenched as he looked at me, and for a second, I was even more scared. He hated this, too, right? Or did he really agree with Father?
“Hands out,” Father ordered.
“Please don’t,” I begged, hiding them behind my back.
“Hands out,” he snapped.
I slowly held them out, watching them shake.
Crack.
Jule winced as the switch hit me. It burned like fire, but I didn’t pull away. Not yet. Not until he said I could.
“What was that for?” he asked, voice sharp.
“F-for putting dirt on Julius,” I whispered, throat tight. It was always stupid, unfair things. Jule could put dirt on me, but I couldn’t put dirt on him.
“Know your place,” my father said. “A girl who loses her temper is worthless. Control, Laurel, in all things.”
