Page 173 of Before We Were

Once, twice, three times.

I don't have anything left to fight back with. Even if I did, what's the point? The punches would keep coming anyway.

One more hit.

Just end it.

Please.

Just fucking end it so it stops.

His attention snaps back to her, his voice pure poison. "This is all your fucking fault to begin with."

Then his hand wraps around my throat, squeezing just enough to remind me who holds the power. "And you—if you ever dare speak to me like that again, it won't end well for you. You hear me?"

"Go to Hell," I spit through blood-stained teeth.

From the corner of my eye, I catch movement—Mom, trembling but determined, a kitchen knife clutched in her white-knuckled grip.

What the fuck is she doing?

"Get away from him now, Scott." Her voice shakes, but there's steel underneath.

The sight of her standing there, weaponized desperation in her hands, sends ice through my veins. He's not in his right mind. He's going to kill her.

The instant his grip loosens on my throat, I explode into action. We crash to the ground together, and my fist finds his face. Something snaps—his nose or my hand, I'm not sure which. Pain shoots up my arm, but adrenaline drowns it out. If I don't stop him now, he'll go after her next.

"Nate, stop. Please."

Her voice cuts through the haze of violence, and something in my chest splinters. Why does she keep defending him? Why does she always choose his side? Why does she stay after every nightmare he puts us through?

"I fucking hate you." The words taste like truth and shame.

"You're just like your mother." His hand finds my throat again, and suddenly I'm on my back, the full weight of the devil himself crushing the air from my lungs. "Weak."

When he finally releases me and storms out of the room, I wait for the door to slam shut before my knees buckle, and I drop to the floor. Spitting blood onto the pristine tile, I gingerly massage my jaw, wincing at the sharp ache radiating through my skull.

Mom rushes to my side, her hands trembling as she reaches for me. "Nate, honey, are you ok??—"

"Mom, don't." My voice cracks, but I don't look at her. I can't. If I see her broken like this, it'll destroy whatever piece of me is still holding on. "Just don't."

She swallows hard, her voice shaking. "He just… he had too much to drink, and he??—"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Anger surges, momentarily drowning out the pain. I force myself to my feet, glaring down at her. "You're seriously going to feed me that bullshit again? Look around, Mom! Look at you. Look at me!"

Her silence is deafening, her eyes shining with tears she won't let fall.

"It's not just the bruises, Mom," I continue, my voice trembling with rage and exhaustion. "It's the fucking humiliation. The way he makes you cater to his every whim like we're nothing more than props in his fucked-up play. Smiling for his friends, dressing up for his parties. It's all a sick joke to him. We're just collateral damage in his fucking game of power and control."

She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

"I'm tired, Mom. I'm tired of the lies. The excuses. The pretending. I can't do it anymore. I'm fucking done."

Her tears spill over, and she reaches for me again, but I pull myself up off the ground and step back.

"You need to send Jake away," I say, my voice breaking.

Her brows knit together in confusion. "What?"

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