Page 212 of Redeeming 6

Another crack of the belt sliced through my skin and a mouthful of vomit spluttered out through my teeth.

“Get up those stairs to bed or you’ll be next!”

The metal buckle sank into my flesh and I choked back a cry. Shaking violently, I twisted onto my side and covered my head with my hands.

“Daddy, no, don’t hurt him!” Ollie’s voice infiltrated my ears.

“I’m…f-f-fine,” I tried to tell them, nostrils flaring, as I forced myself to breathe through the pain. “Go t-to b-bed.”

I couldn’t tell you how many times he swung that belt down on my body, but I must have passed out from the pain, because when I finally came to, everything was quiet, and my father was gone.

Numb to the bone, I remained exactly where I was, too fucking broken to lift a finger, while I took stock of the night’s events. Finally, when I couldn’t take the cold creeping into my bones a second longer, I forced myself to sit up, hissing out a sharp breath when my back burned in protest.

“Joey.” Falling off the bottom step of the stairs where she had been sitting, Mam crawled toward me. “Oh, Joey.”

Too weary to fend her off, I let her cup my face in her small hands and pepper kisses to my cheek, while using her sleeve to clean my face. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. He’s gone out. He left.”

“Can I have a cigarette?”

Her brow furrowed as her eyes continued to spill giant teardrops. “A cigarette?”

I nodded slowly. “I’m out.”

Pain filled her eyes and she shook her head before choking out a sob and nodding. “I’ll get you a cigarette.”

“Thanks.”

Scrambling to her feet, she hurried into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a packet of twenty Rothmans and a lighter. Trembling, she slowly withdrew a cigarette from the packet and put it to my lips before igniting a small flame on her lighter.

I leaned toward the flame and sparked up before sucking in a deep drag.

“Are you okay?”

I shook my head.

“Is anything broken?”

Probably. I inhaled another deep drag before asking, “Where are the boys?”

“In bed.” Her hands were on my shoulders now, moving over my skin as she checked the damage.

“Where’s Shan?”

“Bed. She has headphones on.”

“Thank fuck.”

When she raised the hem of my school shirt, she choked out a pained sob. “We need to get you cleaned up. Can you stand up for me?”

With slow, calculated, rigid movements, I forced myself to get back on my feet and follow her into the kitchen.

“Take your shirt off,” she instructed, moving for the kettle. “I need to wash those cuts before they get infected.”

Jesus.

I didn’t even want to see what my back looked like.

Balancing my cigarette between my lips, I fumbled with the buttons of my shirt before gingerly sliding it off my shoulders, grimacing when my eyes took in the streaks of blood splattered on the fabric. “Is it bad?”

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