Page 385 of Phobia
“Hugo, leave her alone,” Maman cried.
“Shut up, Pénélope. You gave me an idiot for a child. And now look at her. She’s possessed by the devil. I should have you hanged for trickery.”
Papa hunched over me, inspecting my current state, but I couldn’t stop. The hot energy coursing through my body at the moment had a power all its own. He looked dopey bending his pudgy frame. “Need another wine for the show, you drunkard?” I shrieked.
Suddenly, white-hot pain seared my scalp as he yanked my hair, forcing me to sink my nails into the skin on his hands. He yelped when I drew blood, which I found fucking hilarious, but he didn’t let me go, despite how I thrashed against his hold.
He dragged me out the door as I kicked my legs wildly, hoping to make contact with his bald head.
My body hit the wet ground. The follicles on my scalp were on fire and I was certain he was going to rip the hair out of my head in the process, but that just made me laugh harder. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but I couldn’t stop it.
Suddenly, a wet glob fell on my face.Spit.My father, the man whose last name I bore, had spit on me.
“From this moment on, you do not live in this house anymore, you shameful witch. If I see you on my property again, I will burn you at the fucking stake.”
“And if I ever see you again, I’ll eat you alive.” I cackled madly into the night, sending a flock of birds cawing in flight.
“Hugo, you can’t do this,” Maman cried. “She can’t take care of herself if you throw her out.”
“And if you defend her, I will kill you in your sleep,” he bellowed in her face before marching back into the house.
Maman approached me, almost bending over to hug me but stopping moments before making contact. She would never defy her husband.
Her voice was low between her sobs. “I don’t know where you can go from here, but this is your way out. Go far from here and never come back.”
I knew she wouldn't come to my aid. I knew she wouldn’t run away with me. I knew she wouldn’t rub my head to alleviate the burn or apply salve to my back. It was too late for her. She had already been broken by a man who had implanted a little bit of himself into her mind to complete the process of control. Papa was in her head, and she would never defy him, not even for heridiot child.
But they were wrong about me. I was no longer their idiot. I was a fucking psycho.
Chapter 8
I was homeless.
Being forced out of my home should have hurt me more than the soreness in my back. But all I felt inside was heat—a raging heat, like my blood was about to boil over. The hysteria had subsided, leaving me with a crawling sensation in my skin. I needed to do something other than lie there on the ground, waiting for Papa to take me back.
I powered through the pain and forced myself onto my feet. Then I did the only thing there was left to do. I walked away, leaving my home behind forever.
The prospect of living on my own was bleak. An unmarried woman had no power. I didn’t have any money of my own, and there weren’t many jobs available that I could do to earn money, aside from servicing men.
I had nowhere to go, yet my feet carried me to the one place I wanted to be. The moon was full tonight, and I followed the path it illuminated to the graveyard. The metallic smell of wet dirt on my dress and the pungent residue of Papa’s spit suffocated my nostrils.
Like always, Bastien was already there, leaning against his tree. He was the only thing in my fucked-up life that remained constant. I tried to remember at what point he had become the person I depended on most, but it was futile. All that mattered was that he was here waiting for me as he had been every night since we first met.My anchor. My prince of the night.
As if sensing my distress, he immediately abandoned his lookout post. His legs ate up the space between us, bringing his creased forehead into clear view.
My hyper breaths were tight and shallow until his palm came to my cheek. I melted into his touch.
“What’s wrong, songbird? Are yeh hurt?” He scanned my body for wounds, but the ones that he had sensed were too deep inside to be seen with his eyes.
“Marry me,” I blurted out.
He pulled away. “What?”
I grabbed his lapels. “Marry me, Bastien. And let’s run away from this town forever. Neither of us belong here. Let’s move and be happy together forever.”
“Slow down, sweetheart. Where’s this comin’ from? Y’er Pa hurt yeh?”
I nodded.
