Page 8 of Protect

I say no even when it makes him angrier.

I can try to go to the police.

I close my eyes a moment. I have to do this. I have to read everything I can so I can find her, but fuck. We were in this room. I was around Hope so often. I noticed the bruises. I noticed her shyness. Why did I make myself so blind? Was it easier to believe her dad? Was it… there’s no excuse. There’s no way to make this right.

The police didn’t believe me either. I thought I was making progress. I brought evidence. But it didn’t matter.

I should have known when I recognized the officer’s last name, Kessler, as in Dimitri Kessler. Of course he’d bring me back to my dad. Of course he’d tell me to stop making trouble.

My dad’s three golden boys believe everything he says. Why wouldn’t their parents? The punishment was bad. Worse than‘bad.’ Dad took everything from me. My phone, my computer, all the cash he found in my room.

I have nothing. No escape except in reading or in my mind. I’m stuck here until graduation. I’ll have to apply to colleges at school. I won’t have the money to eat lunch, so I’ll make my future there. It’s the only option I have.

But if he finds this diary, I know he’ll do worse. Maybe he’ll pull me out of school. He’ll tell people I ran away to find my mom and I’ll disappear. I’ve seen enough movies, heard enough threats. He’s the one in control and everyone will help him.

There’s no point in talking to anyone.

There’s no point in fighting.

He’ll get what he wants until I leave.

So I’ll just save myself the pain… and take it.

Living matters more than being happy.

I set her diary down, my stomach twisting. There aren’t words for what I feel. I’m fucked up, more than an asshole—I feel like an accomplice. Because I fucking was. I sink to the floor, dropping the diary next to me as I run my hand through my hair.

“What the fuck did we do?” I ask softly.

She was screaming for help, begging forhelp, trying to explain, then she just… she just muted herself, erased herself, made herself as small as possible to escape notice and the guys and I just pushed harder, cornered her, and…

I stroke the diary gently, trace some of her words, and clear my throat. The guys will never have to read this. Because this is my fault. I should have known better. I should have seen through Coach’s excuses and lies. I’d heard plenty of them from my own abuser.

HOPE

I didn’t shrink this time. I won’t make it easy for him. The second he tried… I remembered who I am. I’m not a scared little girl anymore. I’m a scared adult, but an adult who can fight. He’s an off-balance drunk with a bad knee.

Someone could say that taking a beating is worse, but it means I chose what I was going to allow. I’d rather his fists branding themselves on me than the alternative. Taking a slow breath, I try to calm my shaking.

One of my eyes is sealed shut, puffy and sore thanks to Dad. My shoulder nearly feels like it’s been dislocated. The marks from his fingers on my arms burn and my legs hurt from his attempts to pry them apart. I’m sure he’s hurt too.

That’s the only thing keeping me going. I can hurt him now. I drove my foot into his bad knee after kicking and stomping on his thighs and he finally relented with a punch that nearly knocked me out. Nearly put me at his mercy, but failed.

He’s getting older and weaker. I’m getting stronger. My body might feel broken and exhausted, but he backed off.

I don’t know how much longer that will last though. I don’t know how long it will take him to come up with a punishment beyond denying me food and water. How long until he makes those rewards for doing exactly what he wants?

Those are thoughts for later. I rub my legs to try to warm myself up however I can. I have to hope that Knox, Dimitri, and Jaxon are as possessive as they say. I have hope that they have really switched from Dad’s side to mine. And I have to hope they can find me.

That feels stupid considering our past, but if they’re my anchor, if they’re the way out of this, then I have to cling to the semi-stupid dream of them storming in and getting me out. Once they do, I can go back to the team. I can talk to the guys who know me for me, who trust me, believe me. I’ll escape everyone even if I have to leave this country, change my name, and start over from scratch.

Burying my face in my bruised knees, I think of all the places I’ve wanted to travel. I picture myself there, safe, alone, with someone who loves me. I’ll make new friends and make the life I want. I did it once. I’ll do it again and I won’t have to rely on anyone but myself.

Sleep teases my mind, but I’m afraid to sleep. I’m afraid he’s watching, that he’ll storm in the second I nod off and slip me something to knock me out so he can have what he wants. I can’t put a chair under my door. I have nowhere to hide.

I crawl to the corner, hissing as every bruise is irritated.

It’s not much warmer, but at least I can’t hear the whistling wind. At least I can make myself comfortable enough.

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