Page 22 of Do It For Me
I sigh and nod. She said the same thing yesterday. I can’t blame her, though. He’s unpredictable.
“Thank you.”
She cups my head in her hands, her thumbs gently brushing against my cheeks. “Don’t let any of this define you, pet. I know it’s hard; I know it hurts. But ye must live, alright? Don’t close yourself off to a new feelin’. Dante’s a good guy.”
“But I don’t know him.” A lump forms in my throat. “He doesn’t know me. We’ll just end up—”
“He’s not yer father, alright?” she whispers, her voice even softer. “Not everyone is like him. Trust me, there’s good people out there. Ye deserve happiness, love. At least one of my daughters should get a chance.”
“Mum—”
“Trust him. And if you can’t trust him yet, trust me. I know what I’m sayin’.”
Notes:
6. Kind: Child/Kid.
HE’S INSANE!
Should I be scared?
I don’t know how Dante will get up here, but I’m certain my father will hear something.
It’s already midnight, and there’s no sign of life in the garden. Perhaps I should just go to bed.
He’s not coming.
I pull the duvet over myself and close my eyes after one last glance at my window.
I’ve left it open every night since they rescued me. I spent too much time locked in a closed room, and at least this gives me a breeze of fresh air. It doesn’t matter if it’s cold or bucketing down, I need to keep it open.
Out there, there’s freedom. If I latch my windows, I won’t have it again. The window is my last hope. If I sleep with it shut, I’ll be trapped forever.
Or I’ll be free, and I won’t need this stupid illusion.
I sigh. Perhaps he forgot. It’s better that way. I can’t tell him my father ripped the cardigan, nor can he see the bruises. We’re not even married, and he already has excuses to hit me, or to leave me.
I hug my pillow harder.
How will it be like to be married? In fairy tales, some wives seem happy with their husbands... sometimes. But when the wives had husbands like my father, they always ended up with someone far better.
That doesn’t happen in real life. If it did, my mum would’ve found someone who made her happy.
When I was a child, I loved Sleeping Beauty. The villain hated her, but she had three godmothers who cherished her, and the most terrible thing she endured was pricking her finger and sleeping until the prince awakened her.
It wasn’t long before my father found out Mum had been telling me those stories. He hit her, of course. He always did when he had an excuse. This time, he said the stories would fill my head with nonsense. How could they? He was the one beating his wife until she bled.
The “nonsense” he meant was love. To him, love doesn’t exist. We aren’t supposed to fall in love with our husbands. We are just pets for them to use. Love doesn’t exist. Men don’t have feelings. A mother might love her child, but men feel nothing beyond desire, so they take what they want from whoever they choose. They have no limits for it.
Thatis nonsense to me. Not just because my mum and nanny taught me otherwise, but because I’ve seen something in Dante’s eyes that tells me to trust him. When I touched his hand, I felt a spark in my chest, a comfort I’ve never known. Everyone else feels cold; they make my skin crawl. But not Dante.
I want to trust him. My mum does, and that should mean something…
But I don’t want to live like her. If she’s wrong, then I don’t want to have children. I don’t want sons if they’ll be like my father. I don’t want daughters if they’ll live locked away like me, or suffer the same fate. No one deserves that.
A quiet thud sounds behind me. My body tenses, and I keep my eyes shut.
I must’ve imagined it. If not—
