PROLOGUE
Bear
Nineteen Years Ago
Mama’s screams have me dashing down the hall to the kitchen. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but everything that’s wrong. For as long as I’m able to remember, this same scenario has played out in different rooms of this rambling old farmhouse.
I’m not sure how old I was when I finally figured that this is not normal behavior. I always thought this was how families behaved, but when Ididfigure it out, I swore an oath to myself – and Mama – that someday I would put an end to it. I would get her out of here and away from Daddy.
Over the last two or three years, I’ve sprouted like a beanstalk as Mama puts it, and I’m now big enough to take him on. I’ve just been too scared to. But tonight, the sight that greets me in the kitchen has me seeing red. The mad completely drowns out the fear.
Daddy has her by the hair and is forcefully holding Mama’s face under the dirty water in the sink. Yanking her head back, he shouts in her face as she splutters and sucks in what is clearly a much-needed breath.
“How many times do I have to tell you to shut the fuck up? Always with the fucking screaming. You know the consequences of not listening to me, and when I dole out your punishment, you scream like a banshee.” He shoves her face back into the water. “Don’t want to listen when I speak? You suffer the consequences.”
As Mama starts to struggle, I snap. I can’t stand for this to go on anymore. I’m sick of him hurting her and then trying to justify his actions by saying he’s only teaching her to be “a good wife.” I rush forward, fists clenched, and ram his body with my own. At fifteen, I’m six-foot-three and have a good few pounds on the miserable old fucker.
I’ve been working out for the past year, the goal of saving my mother from this piece of shit my motivation. On the days that it’s been hard and I’ve wanted to quit, I remember the goal, and that’s kept me going. The anticipation of how good it would feel to put an end to his abuse has me pushing harder.
He may well be my biological sperm donor, but he long ago stopped being my father. He lost hero status in my eyes the day I understood he was nothing more than a bully and an abuser.
As my body slams into his, Daddy stumbles back, losing his grip on Mama’s hair. She lifts her face from the water and desperately sucks air into her lungs.
My fist tightly clenched, I swing back and with all my might let my father have it. The punch lands true, and I watch with grim satisfaction as blood spurts from his nose. He covers the bulbous protrusion with both hands, a mean look in his eyes.
“You little bastard, you’ve busted my nose,” he yells, blood splattering as it drips down his chin. A few drops land on my face, and I wipe at them with a hand. He lunges for me, and as I sidestep, he overshoots the mark.
Almost as one, we swivel to face each other, and he lunges again. With a cry, Mama grabs for my father’s arm as he goes to swing at me. “No, Silas. Leave him be, he’s just a boy.”
With a snarl, he turns on her, his attention diverted for the moment. “Was I not just teaching you a lesson for talking out of turn, you stupid bitch?”
That’s the point where things get a bit hazy, and everything seems to happen at the same time.
I fling myself at him to intercept the blow, intending to break his fucking arm. I see the look of horror that crosses my mother’s face as she realizes what I’m doing, and she pushes me out of the way.
I watch as her neck snaps back at the impact of my father’s vicious backhand, and her cry of pain hits me right in the chest. The blow knocks her off her feet and, almost as if in slow motion, I watch as she falls sideways into the corner of the kitchen cabinet beside her. It sounds like a melon being dropped as her head makes contact. Horror blooms bright as the blood I watch begin to flow from the wound.
Mama drops to the floor without a murmur and lies there, motionless.
For long seconds, the world appears to freeze on its axis,noneof us moving. Blood pours from my mother’s temple, an ever-growing pool beneath her head. My father and I stare down on her unmoving body. I know we need to check on her, but I’m too scared to. On some level, I think I already know what the outcome of this clusterfuck is, yet the terrified boy in me doesn’t want to face the possibility.
If I don’t confirm it, it won’t be real.
My father’s the first to break out of this weird trance that has us both in its clutches. Going to a knee, he reaches out a shaking hand – hesitates, then places two fingers on Mama’s neck.
“Ava?” His voice shakes as badly as the hand he currently has pressed to her pulse. “Sugar, come on now. You know I didn’t mean it. You just never listen, you know? Ava?”
His words are what finally snap me out of this inertia. Adrenalin coursing through my body, I fight back the urge to backhand him, like he just did to Mama. A rage unlike anything I’ve ever felt before washes over me, through me. Unleashing it all on him, I yell at him with all the pent-up emotion of an adolescent living in a daily hell.
“You weren’t teaching her anything, you sorry son of a bitch. You’re nothing more than an abusive bully with anger management issues, and I fucking hate you. Look at her. She’s lying there because you put her there.”
My father turns anguished eyes to me. “She won’t wake up,” is all he says – all he gets a chance to say.
Launching myself at him, I lash out with my fists, pounding on him like the punchbag at the gym I’ve been going to. “How does that feel, huh? Like that? Huh?” The words run on repeat, a refrain as I continue to land blow after blow until he’s lying on the floor, curled into a protective ball, not even defending himself.
Disgustedly, I push away from him and crawl over to where my mother continues to lie still. All color has drained from her face, her eyes are wide open – staring.
“Mama.” I reach a tentative hand out, but chicken out at the last moment. Some part of me knows that she’s gone. I just don’t want to accept it.
