Page 20 of Do It For Me
“I’ll go to sleep,” I whisper, knowing full well I can’t yet. I’ll have to face my father’s wrath first. “I had a great time. Thank you for… everything.”
Dante nods with a soft smile. He leans in as though he might kiss me on the lips, but instead, he presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. Then, he whispers in my ear, “Leave your window open. I’ll come tomorrow night.”
I nod slowly as he pulls away. He smiles, turning to leave without even acknowledging my father. I hope he doesn’t take offense.
My father yanks me inside, and I close my eyes as he shoves me against the door, grabbing the collar of my shirt.
“Did you fuck him?” he grunts.
“Would that matter?” I try to stay calm. “I’m not a—”
“You fucked him!” He laughs. “You’re a fucking slut.”
My chest tightens, and my vision blurs. I want to say I didn’t, that I had a good time, that I relaxed for once. But why would I? He doesn’t care. Even if he believed me, he’d hit me anyway.
He yanks me again, his fingers digging into my skin, and it hurts. Yet the only thing I care about is my new cardigan. But as if he can read my thoughts, he rips it apart.
“This isn’t yours,” he growls. “And this? You think hiding your body makes you any less of a whore?” He rips my shirt next, and I clutch it to my chest, tears streaming down my face.
“You’ll be in trouble if you ever tell him the things you make me do to you!” He spits. Every word is like poison to me.
I don’t reply. I have no reason to do it.
“Do you hear me?”
I hate him.
“Please—”
He slaps me. I shut my eyes.
“Do you hear me?” he repeats through gritted teeth. “You say‘Yes, Daddy.’”
“Yes,Daddy.” My voice is barely a whisper.
He looks at me up and down, his frown deepening. I’m still covering myself with the remnants of my clothes, but he doesn’t care. He likes watching my tears. He loves knowing he has power over me. I hate that I can’t fight him. I hate the way he looks at me with disgust.
I don’t understand why he hates me. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t choose to be born a woman. I didn’t ask to be kidnapped. I didn’t ask to be raped. I didn’t ask to be sold.
Why does everyone claim I brought this on myself, when all I’ve ever wanted is to be free? The one thing I ask for—the one thing no one will ever give me.
“You’re worthless. I can’t expect anything but disappointment from you.”
He shoves me so hard that I slam my head against the edge of the staircase. Pain explodes, my vision blurs, and a sharp ringing fills my ears. He paces in front of me, and for a fleeting moment, I think he might let me go. Instead, he drives his foot into my stomach with such force that the air is ripped from my lungs in a painful rush.
“I can’t risk you giving me a bastard,” he spits.
I close my eyes. My father’s hands wrap around my throat. He squeezes so hard I think he’s going to break my neck.
A gasp echoes behind me.
I can’t open my eyes again.
I don’t remember how I got to my bed, but I know I wasn’t able to tuck myself in. The window is shut, and I’m still wearing my ripped clothes. That’s a good sign.
When I push myself up on my arms, a sharp pain sears through my back. My chest tightens, a lump rising in my throat, but I force myself to stand. Step by step, I inch toward the window and push it open as quickly as my aching body allows.
Fresh air floods the room as I take a deep, shuddering breath. A sob escapes me, and I press my hand over my mouth to stifle it.
