Page 12 of Insidious Heart
This part of my process should help with those feelings, and when I’m done, I’ll be feeling more like myself and no one will know I was here to begin with.
No one but Little John, because the rest of the world will chalk this up to another visit fromThe Harvester of Bones.
CHAPTERTHREE
STEVIE
My pulsefinally begins to regulate as I hear the front door open then slam closed. I sigh in relief as I slowly roll to my side and open my eyes.
He’s gone.
I’ve been awake most of the night, save for the half hour where I’m pretty sure I blacked out, and now that my father has left for the day I can finally see what kind of damage he caused during hislecture.
Slowly, because everything hurts, I pull myself out of bed and make my way to the attached bathroom and begin to undress. Removing my clothes—the scrubs I wore to work yesterday—takes forever for the same reason, but I manage to get them off without too much trouble and when I do, I pitch them right in the trash.
There’s another forty bucks wasted.
It can’t be helped, though, because Beau really did a number on me, and I can’t wear a stained and ripped uniform to work. Which is kind of a silly thought to have because I probably won’t be going to work for a few days if I still look like this on Monday.
A fat lip; one that’s cracked down the middle and still bloody.
My left eye is black, blue, and nearly swollen shut. What I can see of the eyeball is bloodshot to hell.
There’s a split in my eyebrow too, most likely where my father’s stupid ring caught when he hit me, and I’m probably going to need butterfly bandages or superglue to close it up if Beau forbids Rochelle—Cal’s old lady—from coming over here again.
Thankfully, I have all of that on hand anyway, as well as what I’ll need for my bruised ribs, sore stomach and back, but I’m no doctor and I could really use one.
Rochelle isn’t a doctor either, though, she’s just been around long enough to start acting like one. With the way the members of Demon Seeds MC get knocked around, she’s earned her degree at least twice over by now.
Last night was different though, and Rochelle would be a godsend if Beau allows her to come by, solely because of my face.
My fathernevergoes after my face.
Sure, Beau was angrier than he usually is when he lectures me, but even when I was sixteen and tried to run away—theonlytime I tried to run away—he never went after my face.
Everything else was normal; dragging me out of my bedroom by the back of my neck, punching me in the stomach, kicking me once I fell, and making me hang onto the coffee table while he whipped me with his belt. After twenty-three years, that’s all par for the course, but what wasn’t the same as always was the way he pulled me up by my hair and proceeded to hit me in the face until I passed out.
That was new.
New and even more terrifying than my punishments usually are.
I thought for sure last night was going to be myactuallast night. I thought for sure Beau was going to kill me this time before he finally stopped—which is another thing that was strange about that whole ordeal.
I remember my vision blurring, then seeing spots. At that point I was pretty numb so nothing really hurt anymore, but I saw my father cock his arm back one more time and get ready to deliver what could have quite possibly been a fatal blow, but just before I passed out, he stopped.
Beau glanced over my shoulder, finished yelling at me, then let go of my hair and I crumpled to the floor like a wet blanket.
No parting kick. No spitting on me. At least I don’t think so. Everything is pretty much blank after that, and while I’m just as puzzled over why he hit me in the face and why he stopped so abruptly, I also have no idea how I got to my bedroom.
My father has never shown remorse after lecturing me and he sure as hell has never taken care of me after the fact, but when I came to, I knew I was lying on my bed and I could smell rubbing alcohol on my face.
Last night is a total mystery for multiple reasons, and there’s a good chance I won’t ever get the clues back to solve it.
With a sigh and a wince, I feel around my ribs and stomach area to make sure nothing’s broken and I’m not bleeding out—hopefully—then turn a little to see how bad the welts are on my back.
They’re not so bad…
I roll my eyes, which hurts, then lean toward my reflection and attempt to see how rough my face really is.
