Page 91 of Leave Me Broken

Over my dead body.

His hands rake up and down my bare legs. I want to kick him so bad, but I’m always scared he will do something worse than just touch me if I fight back. I can stand in the shower for hours and wash his touches off, mostly. I’ll never be able to erase the trace of him if he . . . enters me. The thought alone sends a sob up my throat but I don’t let it out.

Fred lies next to me, rubbing his crotch on my hip. He’s hard, like always. Lunch churns in my stomach. A single tear falls into the safety of my pillow. No matter how much I try and block out his voice, I can’t. It’s always there.

“Your mom will be gone.” My heart hammers against my ribs. He must hear it because a hand slips under me and he drags it over my breasts, setting just over my heart. He stays there a minute before moving up and encasing my throat with his rough hand. “I’ll slit her from ear to ear. Watch the blood drain, then we can be together.”

He’s never talked about harming my mom before. I like that even less than the other disgusting stuff he has told me. My arms are weak but I bring them under me and push onto my knees to peer down at him. “Why would you say that?”

He traces a finger down my chin, over the middle of my chest, and down my stomach. And he doesn’t stop until his finger is resting over my most-private spot. He’s never touched me here before. My body is revolting, begging me to move but I can’t. Begging me to scream, but I know there’s no use.

“We can’t be together as long as she’s alive, Payson.”

“We’re not going to be together if she’s not,” I snap. I never fight back; I stopped doing that a while ago because he gets rough when I do, and the bruises are hard to hide. At least when he is touching me like this, no one else can see the traces.

Anger takes over his smug face. He snaps an arm out and grips my throat. He holds me as he stands, cutting off my air with each passing second. “You’re my property, Payson. I pay for everything you have. You owe me and what I want is your tight little virgin pussy on your eighteenth birthday. If you’re smart, you will save it for me. If not . . .” He sucks on his teeth and gives me a nasty smirk. “You’ll end up just like your mom.”

29

Payson

“Why did you stop watching us?”

There’s a beat of silence and then he says, “Your mom started dating someone knew. Someone with a good reputation. She seemed happy and I assumed things were fine. Olivia started acting up as well and I needed to be home with her.”

“She always did ruin my life.” It’s not a fair comment, but really if she hadn’t been being a brat, maybe he would have still watched the house and saw what was happening behind those “happy doors.” “Sometimes people with the best reputations do the worst things behind closed doors.”

“What did Fred do to you, Payson?”

I turn my head and force a sarcastic smile. “What he didn’t do to me, he did to your son.”

So many emotions pass through his bitter stare. I thought whenever I saw him, he was angry, but seeing how angry he is now, I know that was just his face. If looks could kill, I would drop dead. Then my mind wanders with the thoughts of him actually killing someone. It wouldn’t surprise me.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means Fred used to use Jason as a punching bag. That’s why he left as soon as he graduated.”

“He fucking did what to my son?”

“And when Jason was gone . . . who was left?”

Uncle Jet pushes to his feet and I fall back to lean against the glass shower door. He brought us into the hall bathroom upstairs because I mentioned I was going to throw up. “He fucking hit you?”

“I wish.” Looking back, I was so worried about having to cover marks on my body, but I would gladly have accepted that over the marks that aren’t seen and can never be forgotten. Physical pain eventually heals but the wounds caused to your mind never leave. You might get to a point they don’t haunt you daily but then something will trigger them and before you know it, you are sitting on a bathroom floor telling your uncle about how your stepdad molested you. All while your breath smells like vomit.

“Payson, I swear to fucking G—”

The door behind Uncle Jet flies open and Ash stands in the doorway breathing hard and . . . wobbling on his feet.

“Sssomeone tttooold me youuu werrrre crrrying.”

Great, he’s drunk.

Jet looks between the two of us, he narrows his eyes more and more with each glance. “Why the fuck do you care if she’s crying?”

I swallow and regret it as vomit burns my throat. With shaky arms and legs, I stand, grab a spare toothbrush from the cabinet next to the shower, and head for the sink while the two big oofs stare at each other. Ash is swaying and his eyes aren’t focused but you can tell he’s trying to look mad. He looks anything but.

“I’m her coach. I care about my players.”

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