He continues berating me, his eyes bugging out and his spit hitting me in the face. “You’re nothing but a stupid fucking slut! Isn’t that right, Isabelle? I should have walked the other way that night at Fire. I should have known a bar slut from a mile away. But no! It’s all your fault my dick wouldn’t walk the other way.”
He rears back and slaps me hard across my cheek. I squeeze my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms to keep from screaming out. I can feel the blood running down my neck from the cut his ring must have caused on my jaw. I may be stuck, but I’ll be damned if I will let him break me.
“What did I fucking say, Isabelle? NO DENISE! No afternoons chatting like little fucking bitches. You’re to be here, cleaning my fucking house, cooking my fucking dinner, and spreading your fat fucking thighs for my dick!” He reaches out and grabs a bowl of chili, throwing it with all his strength against the wall. I watch chunks of meat, beans, and sauce run down my happy yellow walls. “And what in the fuck is this shit? I told you, you fucking bitch, I wanted lasagna. Does that look like lasagna?”
I should have seen it coming, but my attention was still focused on my happy yellow walls and the globs of dinner rolling down. I was just turning back to him when his fist hit my temple, momentarily making my vision blur. At least that seems to have knocked some sense into my sluggish brain. I dart to the right, quickly trying to escape the second fist I know will soon be following. Too late—always too late—I catch the second one in the ribs, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Brandon grabs my thick hair, and with a twist of his wrist, I’m right back at his mercy.
Mercy I know he doesn’t have.
Throwing me into the hallway with what feels like the strength of ten men, he’s quick to follow with a kick to my stomach. “You stupid bitch. You just can’t listen. I own you, all of you. No one else. No one else touches what is MINE. Especially not fucking DENISE! I warned you what would happen. No, I promised your dumb ass what would happen if you went near her again.” Kick—Slap—Punch—Kick. “You’re never going to learn are you?” He’s panting with exertion, and it’s taking everything I have not to let the blackness overcome me. Even if I know numbness would be following quickly.
I lose track of how long he stands over me, screaming and beating, alternating between his feet and his fist.
Freedom—that’s all I crave now.
I close my eyes and pass out.
*
When I wake up, the house is dark. Every bone, muscle, and hair on my head hurts. I can’t take a deep breath without wanting to die. I can feel wetness on various parts of my head and body. Fuck. It’s never been this bad. I can’t hear anything out of my left ear. What the hell happened to my ear? Fuck, I need to move. Clutching my arm around my middle, I slowly climb to my feet. I take a look around out of my very swollen eyes and see that dinner is still sitting on the table. The broken bowl, chili dried to the wall, and even the spotless cups are sitting there mocking me. With a slow and silent step, I glance into the living room. No sign of Brandon. Shuffling—more like dragging myself to the kitchen, I see that his keys are gone. Holy shit! He’s not here. Never, not once in six years, has he left me alone in the house after a ‘lesson.’
I walk along the wall, holding on for support until I reach my purse, unzipping the side zipper; I reach in and take out my phone—the phone Brandon doesn’t know I have. I’m not allowed to have a phone, and he disconnects the house phone and takes it with him when he leaves. I can barely see enough to turn the phone on. I slide my finger across the screen and unlock it. Finally, after a few wrong buttons, I place the call.
“Hello? Hello, Iz? Iz, are you there? Is everything okay? IZ??” I can hear her. She’s practically screaming. But I can’t get the words out. She knows I wouldn’t be calling this late. Hell, she knows I wouldn’t call at all.
I take a shallow breath and rasp out the only word I need to bring my salvation.
“Help . . .”
Then the blackness pulls me under.
CHAPTER 1
Izzy
I haven’t always been this weak person . . . this broken woman. I used to dream, and when I did, I dreamt big. I had plans, plans of a future so bright it would blind you. I can still remember the day those dreams, those grand plans, and that future as bright as the sun went poof.
I just didn’t know it at the time.
At the time, I thought everything would be okay. After all, what seventeen-year-old girl doesn’t think she’s invincible?
That, coincidently, was the same day I decided fate hated me. No, she didn’t hate me . . . She loathed me. People say that karma is a bitch, but I have news for you. Karma doesn’t have anything on fate when she is after blood. Not a single thing.
I wish I knew what it was that set fate on the path of my doom. Maybe it was just being born? I like to think I was at least okay there. My parents loved me, they prayed for me, and I was everything to them. So, no, I don’t think that was the day.