Page 30 of Charming Cruel Boys

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When I walk through the front door of my house later, it’s like I’m floating on a cloud. Duke and I grabbed some frozen yogurt after school and just talked, without all the sexual tension this time. It was so nice. As much as I told him we couldn’t jump back into a relationship like nothing happened, that’s pretty much how it felt today.

Duke was sweet and charming, making jokes and throwing out compliments. I think he’s trying to make up for lost time a little bit. But I soaked it all up because I missed being around him and I’m a sap when it comes to the overly affectionate stuff. We talked about college and our plans for the future. I reminded him that I’m planning on getting far away the second I can. Duke just smiled, told me to pick the town, and he’d be there.

We parted ways after our snack, me heading home and him going to pick up Knight from football practice. I made Duke promise not to say anything to Knight about what we talked about today. Duke and I have history, so it was easy between us. Things with Knight are much more delicate. He and I need to be on speaking terms before I throw out any kind of relationship ideas.

I have a plan for that, though. Mostly, just… kill him with kindness? I facepalm, groaning at how stupid it sounds. Truly, I have no idea how I’m going to work on Knight. But I refuse to let that concern me right now. Instead, I’m focused on the rekindling with Duke.

I’m practically skipping toward the kitchen, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. My good mood sours, though, the second my dad’s voice booms from his office.

“Remi, get in here!” he yells.

I cringe and swivel on my heels, wondering why he might be pissed off with me today. You never know with him. It could be that I didn’t say hello right when I got home. Or maybe because I missed a spot when I tidied up the kitchen after breakfast this morning. Or it’s possible that he’s mad at something else entirely, and I’m just the unlucky bitch that’s home for him to yell at right now.

I pop my head through his office door and flash him my biggest smile. “Hi, Dad,” I greet.

“Shut the door and sit down,” he says coldly, his fists curled tight on top of his cherry wood desk.

I do as he says, shaking like a leaf the whole time. When I sit at the seat across from him, he stares me down with a practiced glare that used to make me want to vomit. Now it just makes me sad. I’ve long since given up on the idea that my father might love me. He’s never treated me with any kind of affection or love. Not once.

After a few uneasy seconds, he huffs a breath and laces his fingers together over his desk. It matches the floor-to-wall bookcase to my right that I long to grab a book from but never dare to. “Kenneth Maxwell informed me of your grade on the pop quiz in calculus.” His voice is cold and harsh, making me shiver.

“Oh?” I say, praying that I didn’t tank it.

“Explain to me, right now, Remi, why you failed that test,” my dad orders with a false calm lacing his tone. Welp, there go my unanswered prayers, flying right out the fucking window. I knew I didn’t do well.

“I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t prepared. I’ll do better on the next test to make up for the poor grade,” I rush out, desperately trying to diffuse the situation before it gets worse.

“Of course, you weren’t prepared! What the fuck do you think a pop quiz is? That’s no excuse.”

I lick my dry lips, trying to think of anything I can say to placate him. Nothing comes to mind, so I duck my head. “I’m sorry, I’ll—“

“Save it. Come here.”

I stand on shaky legs and move around the desk, stopping in front of him just out of arm’s reach.

“Bend over the desk,” he says slowly, gesturing at it with an arched brow.

“W-what?”

“Do it!” He slams his palm down.

I fold my torso over his desk as tears blur my vision. I know what’s coming. I know the pain all too well. I’m just surprised it’s happening now. My father’s hardly spanked me since I started high school. This used to be a much more common occurrence in the Williams’ household.

The swish of his belt is loud as he unbuckles it and yanks it through the loops of his slacks. A tear slips out and runs down my temple, landing on whatever paperwork is underneath me.I hope he doesn’t punish me for that too,I think numbly.

“If you were a better daughter, I wouldn’t have to do this. Do you understand? You’re forcing my hand here,” he scolds right before he whips the leather of his belt across my ass.

I yelp at the white-hot pain, but I don’t move. Moving will only make it worse. My father continues raining lashes down on me until my knees buckle and I slip off the desk, curling into myself on the floor.

“Get up!” he shouts, grabbing a handful of my long brown hair and pulling me to my feet.

“Please, stop,” I cry, wrapping my fingers around his wrist to ease the pressure from my scalp. “Please, Dad, please. I’m sorry.”

My mind is too slow to realize what’s happening. It doesn’t register until it’s too late.

My father lets go of my hair, pulls his arm back, and slaps me. The ring he wears on his right hand cuts into the skin beneath my eye. A trickle of blood slides down my cheek, but I feel nothing. The stinging on my butt and the burn on my face fade away until I’m cold and numb. Hollow.

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