“You don’t belong out here. You’re still mine to protect. Mine to discipline.”
“I was never yours,” I hiss. “And I’m not coming with you.”
He takes a step forward, and every nerve in my body screams at me to run. But I don’t. Not this time.
I lift my chin. “You don’t scare me anymore, Daryl. I’ve survived worse than you.”
That’s when it happens.
The flash of rage. His hand swings out and collides with my cheek. Pain explodes through my face, and I stumble back with a gasp, stars clouding my vision.
He lunges. I scream.
His hand clamps over my mouth.
Things get chaotic after that. I fight his grip. God, I fight. I scratch. I kick. But he’s stronger, always has been, and this time…he’s prepared.
Something cracks against my temple.
White light. Then darkness.
I don’t know how long I’m out—minutes, maybe hours.
I wake to the smell of mildew and dust. I wince at the throbbing ache in my head. I try to massage my temples, but I realize my hands are bound.
What?
I try to sit up, but nausea rolls through me like a wave, and I collapse back onto the mattress.
No.
Wait…
The mattress…it feels familiar. I glance to the side, a soundless gasp escaping my lips as I confirm my fear. It’s the same mattress, the same old floral sheets.
He brought me back here…this house I swore I’d never return to. The walls still have the same floral wallpaper that Mom handpicked with care. The air still carries that slightly musty, slightly nostalgic smell.
It’s like stepping into a grave.
Memories slam into me hard and fast…
The nights I cried myself to sleep after Daryl played one of his cruel tricks or made another of my friends leave. The silence. The helplessness.
It’s all here. And so is he.
The door creaks open, and Daryl steps inside, carrying a bottle of water and a smug little smirk.
“Welcome home, Ellie.”
“Where’s Pete?” I ask, looking around, hoping he’ll come to save me. This one time.
Daryl scoffs. “The old man moved away after you refused to come back with him. I guess he couldn’t deal with the consequences of his choice. This house probably reminds him of his failures as a father.”
“Please…” I whimper in frustration. “I need to get to work. Just let me go.”
“No.”
I glare at him. “You can’t get away with this.”
