Page 57 of Brambles and Bellflowers
Was she going to talk about the abuse? But she’d never opened up to anyone about this before. She’d barely acknowledged it had even happened. For years, all anyone ever had to go on was outside evidence.
It was horrible and cowardly, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear this.
Somehow, despite the raging turmoil burning within me, I didn’t know if I could.
“I wasn’t supposed to do anything,” she sniffled. “Not even if I was scared.”
I could hardly hear her over the pounding in my ears.
“But I was sick that day, and it was hard to think…” Her voice trailed off in the end, or maybe it was becoming harder to focus through the red cloak falling over my vision, and I missed her words. I wasn’t sure.
“And he was hurting me,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
Hatred made my vision flash with blood and murder. I was going to kill them.
“I kicked him,” she said, her voice gaining conviction and force. “Normally, it wouldn’t have worked, but he wasn’t walking right that time, and he fell into the window. There was glass everywhere—and a lot of blood.”
Was this a regular ‘client’? And she was sick? “What—”
“I got cut, and they burned me to stop the bleeding,” she said, her breath hitching. “M-Mr. Richards said it had to be this way because I was bad. It was my fault.”
“They burned you?” Shadows began to creep along the tent walls as my control slipped. But her small form trembling against me kept the darkness at bay. “Why would it be your fault?”
“Because I fought back,” she repeated her earlier remark.
“Did Eric Richards normally treat you when you were hurt?” I asked. “Did they ever take you to the doctor?”
She shook her head against me. “Mr—Mr. Richards never touched me. They only took me when things were really bad. Otherwise, it washisjob. To learn.”
“Who ishe?” I asked, somehow, through the pounding in my head.
She shook her head again, not answering, before she pressed her face against my chest. “Damen, you’re hurting me.”
Her statement barely registered through my tumultuous thoughts, but when it did, I forced my arms to relax. She was so small against me, so warm and sweet, that everything in me recoiled at the thought of her getting hurt. I breathed through my rage, hoping to steady my spiraling emotions.
I had to hold it together. Nothing good would come from giving in to my true nature.
“Where is it?” I was mildly curious, trying to steer the conversation from Eric Richards himself. I knew the scar was on her upper thigh, but I was unsure of the exact location.
She was shaking, and I almost regretted asking—of course, she would be afraid to talk about it further—but then she spoke, voice steady. “It’s ugly.”
Her statement hung in the air between us.
“I doubt it,” I answered with complete sincerity. Nothing about her could ever be ugly.
She sucked in a breath, trembling, and I almost thought she would change the subject, but then she surprised me.
“I guess it’s fine,” she sighed. “You’ve basically seen my boobs already.”
What? Herboobs? What didthathave to do with anything?
Bianca shifted in my arms, fidgeting with her leggings, and my thoughts slammed to a halt.
She couldn’t mean…
I couldn’t breathe, her intentions suddenly clear.
I’d only asked a question! Whyin the world was sheshowingme?
