You Were Mine (Rosemary Beach #9)(52)
Author: Abbi Glines

The embarrassment that came with that question reminded me of my stupidity, as always.

“GIRL!” My stepfather roared.

He was angry now. My eyes stung with unshed tears. If he would only just beat me like he used to, back when I was younger and I brought home poor grades in school. If he would just call me names and tell me how worthless I was . . . but he wouldn’t. Once, I had wished more than anything that he would stop hitting me. I hated the belt, and the welts he left on my legs and bottom made it hard to sit down.

Then, one day he had. And I instantly wished he’d go back to hitting me. The bite from the belt was better than this. Anything was better than this. Even death.

I opened my bedroom door and took a deep breath, reminding myself that I could survive whatever he did. I was saving my money from the housecleaning jobs I had, and I would be leaving here soon. My mother would be glad I was gone. She hated me. She had hated me for years.

I was a burden on her.

I tugged my shirt down and tucked it into the shorts I was wearing. Then I pulled the shorts down so they covered more of my legs. It was pointless, really. I had long legs that were hard to cover up. There were never any shorts at the thrift store long enough.

It was only an hour before my mother got home. He wouldn’t do anything that she could walk in on. Even if she did, I wondered if she would accuse me and say it was my fault. She had already blamed me for the way my body had changed four years ago. My breasts had grown too large, and she said I needed to stop eating, because my ass was fat. I had tried not eating, but it hadn’t helped my bottom.

My stomach had flattened out, and it had only made my chest look larger. She’d hated that. So I had started eating again, but my stomach pudge never returned. One night when I had walked into the living room in a pair of cut-off sweatpants and a T-shirt to get some milk before I went to bed, she had slapped me and told me I looked like a whore. More than once she had called me a stupid whore who had nothing but her looks to get her anywhere in life.

I stepped into the living room to see Marco, my stepfather, sitting in his recliner with his eyes trained on the television and a beer in his hand. He had come home from work early.

His gaze swung to me and slowly trailed up my body, making me shiver with disgust. What I wouldn’t give to be smart and flat-chested. If my legs were short and fat, then my life would be perfect. My face wasn’t what attracted Marco. It was average enough. I just hated my body. I hated it so much.

Nausea crept up, and my heart raced as I fought back the tears. He loved it when I cried. It made him worse. I wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him.

“Come sit in my lap,” he ordered.

I couldn’t do it. I had been able to avoid him for weeks by staying away from the house as much as possible. The horror of having his hands up my shirt or in my pants again was too much. I’d rather he kill me. Anything but this.

When I didn’t move, his face twisted into an evil sneer. “Get your stupid, slutty ass over here and sit on my goddamn lap!”

I closed my eyes, because the tears were coming. I had to stop them. If he’d just hit me again. I’d take it. I just couldn’t stand him touching me. I hated the sounds he made and the things he said. It was a never-ending nightmare.

Every second I stayed back was a second closer to my mother getting home. When she was here, he called me names but never touched me. She might wish I didn’t exist, but she was my only salvation from this.

“Go ahead and cry, I like it,” he sneered.

His chair creaked and then I heard the footrest slam down. I snapped my eyes open to see him standing up. Not good. If I ran, I wouldn’t make it past him. The only other option was the backyard, but his pit bull was out there. It had bitten me three years ago and I had needed stitches, but he hadn’t let me go to the doctor. He’d told me to wrap it up; he wasn’t putting his dog down over my stupid ass.

I had an ugly scar on my hip bone from the dog’s teeth.

I’d never gone into the backyard again.

But watching him walk toward me, I wondered if being eaten by his dog wasn’t better than this. It was a means to an end: death. Which didn’t sound so bad.

Just before he reached me, I decided that whatever his dog did to me would be better than this. So I ran.

He cackled with laughter behind me, but I didn’t let it slow me down. He didn’t think I’d go out the back door. How wrong he was. I would face the pits of hell to get away from him.

But the door was bolted. I needed the key to unbolt it. No. No.

His hands grabbed my waist and pulled me back to feel his hardness pressing against me. The sour taste of vomit burned the back of my throat as I jerked away from him. “NO!” I yelled.

His hands moved around and grabbed my breasts and squeezed painfully. “Stupid whore. This is all you’re good for. Couldn’t graduate from high school because you were too damn stupid. But this body is meant to make men happy. Accept that, bitch.”

The tears ran down my face. I hadn’t been able to stop them. He knew the words to hurt me. “NO!” I cried out again, but this time the pain was there in my voice. It cracked.

“Fight me, Reese. I like it when you fight me,” he hissed in my ear.

How could my mother stay married to this man? Was my father worse than this? She’d never married him. She never told me about him. I didn’t even know his name. But no one could be worse than this awful man.

I couldn’t do this again. I was done being scared. Either he would beat me until he killed me or he would kick me out. I had feared both for so long. Mother had told me once that all that men would do in this world was think about sex when they looked at me. I would be used by men my whole life. She constantly told me to leave.

Today, I was ready. I only had eight hundred and fifty-five dollars saved up, but I could get a bus ticket to the other side of the country and get a job. If I got out of this house alive, that’s what I was doing.

Marco’s hands slipped down the front of my shorts and I bucked against him, screaming. I didn’t want his hand there. “Let me go!” I yelled loudly enough for the neighbors to hear.

He pulled his hand out and jerked me around by my arm so hard it popped. Then he slammed me against the door. His hand punched my face with a loud crack. My vision blurred and I felt my knees go weak. “Shut up, bitch, and take it.”

His hands grabbed my shirt and jerked it up, then tugged my bra down. I sobbed, because I couldn’t stop the horror. It was coming, and I couldn’t stop him.