Page 22 of His to Save

I watched from the doorway as he took his first bite, and before he could even swallow it, the entire plate was flying at my head. It missed me by centimeters, shattering against the wall instead of my face.

I wanted to run back to the safety of my room, but my fear kept me rooted to the spot as Rand stomped his way across the room. “Stupid, useless bitch,” he muttered before grabbing me by the back of my neck and shoving me down to my knees, hurting my fingers in the process.

He shouted for me to clean up the mess I made, and like the stupid girl I am, I asked him for the broom and dustpan.

“Use. Your. Fucking. Hands,” he snarled, punctuating each word with a hard kick. Each time the toe of his boot met my body, pain like nothing I’d ever felt before exploded beneath my skin.

I sobbed and begged for him to stop, but he didn’t care. It’s like my suffering brings him joy. He’s demented. Twisted in a way I thought was only in books and on television.

But I did it. With aching fingers and throbbing ribs, I picked up every last shard from the floor, and then I dragged myself into the kitchen to get a rag and some spray to clean up the food.

Once the dining room was spotless, Rand tossed me into my room with a cookbook and locked me in, telling me to read it front to back.

And I will. I’ll read it cover to cover and memorize every recipe if it means a repeat of tonight never happens again.

Aching, Nora

CHAPTER 6

ATLAS

Islam the damn diary shut with an anguished roar as white-hot fury courses through my veins like molten lava, burning me up from the inside out.

Tremors rack my body as the weight of Nora’s suffering threatens to crush me.

All these years, he’s been hurting her—and yet, all these years, she’s persevered.

Every single person in her life has let her down, which is why I won’t stop until I find her; until I know she’s safe. Ellis has asked me about bringing the diary into the station, but I can’t do that until I read every word.

But at the same time, every part of me is terrified to read any more. Each entry is worse than the one before it, and I honestly don’t know how much more I can take.

Which is bullshit. Nora fucking lived it, and I’m over here pussing out over reading about it?

“Get your shit together, man,” I grumble out loud, trying to calm the beast raging inside of me.

Finding Nora is the only thing that will bring me peace.

If only I knew where to look. For now, my best bet is to keep searching for some kind of clue between the pages of her diary.She left it in my mailbox for a reason—I just need to figure out why, and fast.

And so, I read, pouring over her words, until it feels like I’m drowning in the pain she bled onto these pages.

I read until I physically can’t take another entry without puking from the pure agony laid bare before me.

Nora might look small and unassuming, but I swear to God, she’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.

After a quick break, I jump back in, trying all the while to prepare myself for the hurt. But it’s a fruitless effort, because each new entry is like the slice of a sharpened razor blade across my skin—merciless and full of stinging anguish that lingers long after the cut’s been made.

Hours pass, right along with the pages as I read about Grace’s sickness—one that is eerily similar to my mother’s—and about Nora’s abysmal sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays and about the horrors she experienced at my father’s hands.

By the time I’m a little over three-quarters in, it’s dark outside and my stomach is rumbling. Though, I’m not sure if it’s from hunger or the need for vengeance brewing inside of me…

The sheer amount of loathing I feel toward—fuck, calling him my dad at this point feels like another sin against Nora—himis unlike anything I’ve felt before.

It’s this driving need that sends me back into her words, because if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that I will find him, and he will pay.

DIARY ENTRY, AGE 17

Dear Diary,

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