Page 52 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

As quietly as I can, I set my salad down. Riggs blinks, his irises on fire and his lids rimmed in red. He doesn’t appear as if he should be here today. I want to drop next to him, wrap him in my arms and tell him everything will be okay, as if I could literally lift the weight of whatever he is dealing with off his shoulders. It’s breaking my damn heart.

Yeah, yeah, I get it. But we’ve discussed this. I can’t stand to see people going through stuff and Riggs made my first time smoking pot enjoyable and ensured my safety. I feel in a way it was his olive branch and I will always cherish that. Where Riggs is concerned, any normal thoughts or feelings, how I would handle myself normally, is out the window. Something I’m going to have to accept.

“What is this?” he asks, voice monotone and scratchy. He doesn’t peek at me, just keeps staring down at the food I’m sure he has no plans to eat… again. He sounds so fucking broken it’s making my heart hurt. I want to dive into his story, figure out how to help him. He didn’t deny me the other day when I said he deserved a change, but we aren’t onthatsort of level yet in our relationship. If we even have a relationship.

“I want some company for lunch.” Shrugging, I place my lips on my straw to take a big swig. I’m hungry but not necessarily in the mood to eat, so I’m going to sip my soda next to Riggs and if he talks, great, if not, that’s fine, too. The sexy sound of his voice, the ringing of the carefree laughter we shared on Friday, is missing. I know for a fact I will not get that today and it sucks because I’m selfish and could use it. I’m compelled to inform him he’s not alone, so I do.

He frowns and glances at me with tired, distressed eyes. My heart lurches to a stop and my soda fizzes in the back of my throat. He looks like utter dog-shit.What the hell?I don’t think I’ve seen anyone look so bad in my life. I wait for him to push me away, to tell me to get up and leave.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he nods, conveying with his eyes that he is okay with that.

CHAPTER23

RIGGS

“Daddy,no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I wailed, clutching at my ears to stop the threat he was about to spew. I didn’t mean to upset the lady. I really didn’t, but I couldn’t help myself. She kept pulling my hair and it hurt. Real bad, did it hurt. My best attempts at sitting still didn’t work because she wouldn’t stop pulling my hair. Daddy yanked me up out of the chair, paid her for her “useless” attempts, then brought me home. I think they were in on this together, but she was hoping to get some of my hair cut.

Will I ever understand the point of this torture? Will I ever find someone who doesn’t want to hurt me? I mean, who in their right mind agrees to hurt someone else’s kid? There’s a possibility he didn’t ask her to, and she did it on her own. Either way, I shoved her face in the back of my mind to remember one day. If I made it to be big and strong, stronger than my daddy, then I’d give her payback.

“You stupid little shit, why can’t you make even one task simple and easy? Huh?” Hand fisted in my wet hair, he yanked my head back. The blade of his knife glinted off the orange glow from the light overhead. The one where the fan was spinning in circles so fast I couldn’t see where one blade stopped and the other started. So many blades.

I clamped my eyes shut as my belly started to roll and something sour climbed up my throat. No, no. I can’t puke now. That would make things so much worse. “Open your eyes, rat.”

Even though I didn’t want to, I had to. My eyes opened as slow as possible. The light was brighter that time, or that was the salty water that was collecting in them.

Bitter relief trickled over me when he released my hair. Instead of grabbing all of it, he took a few strands between his fingers and held them out.

Picking his knife up, he sawed through the long length only inches from my scalp. My hair had never been this long before. We always had to cut my hair ‘cause “Daddy didn’t raise no girl”. Not my fault it was so long. I didn’t know how to stop it from growing. Did he expected me to cut it like he was doing now? Maybe that’s why he was so mad at me?

I swallowed a grunt when he yanked another strand. Ignoring the stinging and burning that the dull knife created as he shoved the blade through my hair, I wrapped my arms around myself and started counting in my head. It will be over soon.

One slice hurt and I winced before I was able to stop. The noise was loud enough to catch his attention. Pain seared through my scalp when he yanked my head back again. I let out a little oomph. Darn it. Why can’t I get myself together today?

“Weak. You’re fucking weak. How the hell did you end up being my child? Maybe you’re not. Your whore of a mother couldn’t keep her fucking legs closed,” he growled and I didn’t smell the alcohol on his breath today.

Had he not had anything to drink yet? Was this him not drunk? I gulped. I always thought it was the alcohol that made him mean, or at least physical. His mouth was never nice.

I was helpless to stop the tears. How was I supposed to accept that my daddy hated me? That he was such a nasty person?

“I’ll give you something to bawl about if you need me to, son.” As if my eyes would suck up the tears, I clenched my eyes shut.

The metal was cold against my neck. “Hell, instead of cutting your hair, I should just cut everything off. Starting down here.” The tip of the blade pierced my skin at the base of my neck on the right side.

I swallowed, keeping my mouth shut.

A part of me hoped he would end my life. Such sick thoughts for a six-year-old, but I was tired. Life had dealt me some bad cards, and this was no game of Go-Fish. I couldn’t collect my good times or fish for more because the pond fate had chosen for me was empty.

With another deep breath, calm spread through me like wildfire, and I accepted my fate.

The knife dragged across my skin, spanning the entire length of my neck. Not enough to scar or do any damage, but enough to make me scream out, to make me lose my cool and beg for him to stop.

Never beg.

I jerk awake, clutching my throat and trying to draw in enough breath to keep from fainting. My skin is clammy, my shirt fucking sticking to me.

“Riggs,” Jensen says, frantic. His eyes land on my hands and his face crumples into a frown. “Your head is still attached, so is your hair,” he assures me, knowing exactly which nightmare I’d just lived through. “Only a paper cut. Remember?”

I search his face for the calm I need to speak again.Only a paper cut, remember?That’s what I told him to tell me after the first time he witnessed my freak out. It always helps me regain my bearings and brings me back to reality. A paper cut isn’t that bad. It’s just a paper cut.

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