And I can’t do much about it. Shane might be a cop, but he only has so much pull.
“Morgan, can you take the rubbish out?” Mum asks.
A simple request but it has panic flooding my system. Go outside? Where it’s dark? Where can he get me? But being the dutiful daughter, I swallow those thoughts down. Maybe I can wait until Shane gets home?
“Morgan!” she yells at me. If I don’t do it now, Dad will get involved, and I’d rather face Ethan than Dad.
Maybe if I had told Mum the reason I was home, and what the bruises were from, she wouldn’t be forcing my hand. But if I told her, she’d manage to make me feel like it was my fault; just like Ethan used to. I shake off the nervous energy and make my way to the kitchen.
“Yeah Mum, sure.” I pick up the bag and make my way outside to the bin. He won’t strike at night. I’m not that important to him. I repeat it like a mantra.
But just as I finish repeating it for the fourth time, I feel a fist in my hair, and I know it’s him. He pulls my head back. Pain flares in both my scalp and neck. My back is flush with his front. His free hand wraps around my waist holding me to him. I hold on to the strands he’s pulling trying to relieve the pressure. Leaning down so his mouth is at my ear, his breath ghosts over me as he whispers, “Thought you could run, did you?”
“No, Shane needed me home to help with Mum.” The lie tumbles from my lips easily.
He lets go of my waist and pushes me forward while still firmly gripping my hair in his fist, making it so I'm immediately pulled back into his hold.
He snarls, “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
I breathe a sigh of relief when he releases me, but that is short-lived. Because he is spinning me so I’m facing him. The face I once thought was handsome, is contorted in anger with a hint of disgust. His hand wraps itself around my neck, squeezing tightly, dragging me to him. My hands wrap around his hand trying to pry his fingers off of me. In my struggle I miss him leaning closer to kiss me. He tries to slip his tongue into mymouth, but I keep my jaw clamped shut. He moves his free hand to my face. His thumb is on one side of my mouth and his fingers are on the other side, and he squeezes. My teeth dig into the inside of my cheeks and when I can’t take the pain anymore, my jaw unclenches allowing his fingers to push my cheeks in between my teeth, causing me to open. Ethan takes the opportunity and forces his tongue into my mouth. It’s messy, like his tongue is trying to clean every surface. Which is ironic because it has left me feeling dirty. When I don’t kiss back, he withdraws his tongue and bites down onto my lip. The metallic taste I hoped to never taste again, fills my mouth. Normally I would take it, but this time I slap him across the face.
Instead of getting angry he smiles at me. It’s not a nice one either.
“You know I love it when you fight back, you stopped there for a while, it all became,”—he twirls his hand around before finishes— “boring.”
Then he punches my stomach. I fold into the impact and cough as he knocks the wind out of me.
“Come on cunt, fight back.”
I push him still trying to catch my breath, but he barely moves.
Getting in my face he growls through clenched teeth, “Be better.”
He wants better? Fine. I stopped fighting back and just let it happen; he tore me down that much I stopped caring; I just accepted the beatings. It seemed to make it move along quicker. But not anymore.
I stand tall, wincing as my abdomen muscles and still healing ribs scream in protest, clenching my fist.
“There she is.” He taunts.
I cock my fist back and swing in the direction of his face, but he steps back. I throw another punch, which he smacks away, then I go to kick him.
“Predictable, as always.” Then the back of his hand hits me across the face. This time there’s no blood, but that doesn’t stop my cheek from stinging from the impact.
He goes on a tangent; I zone him out and focus on my next move. He is confident I won’t attack. Confident he has the upper hand. But when he gives me his back, I run at him and tackle him. Thankfully he goes down.
“You bitch.”
He moves quickly, getting on top of me. Placing his knees either side of my body squeezing at my waist while holding my hands above my head. “That was a dirty move, and you know it, but still I’m impressed.”
I fight his hold, “Fuck you.”
Ignoring me he moves up my body, so his legs hold down my arms, as his hands wrap around my throat. “I should make you choke on my dick before I choke the life out of you.”
Panic like nothing before surges through my body. I am not dying like this. I try to swing my knees up to try to connect with his back, but I can’t reach. I twist and turn but it only makes him squeeze tighter. My fight starts to slip as my lungs start to protest the lack of oxygen.
Black dots swim at the edge of my vision; my body starts to give up. This is it. I accept my fate.
