Kiera's POV
"Do you really have to be that dramatic?" My eyes fall open to meet Lara standing next to me, her gaze drawn and her lips set in a grim line.
My lips work this time, but I have nothing to say. I am drowsy, and my whole body feels slow, like I have been asleep for too long that I no longer understand my bodily functions.
"Right," she rolls her eyes. "I expect you are about to launch into a tale of how Alex did this to you, right?"
"Lara…"
"Don't Lara me!" she snaps suddenly, her golden locks bouncing out of the hair tie. "I have done everything I can for you, Kiera. Everything your mother would have wanted for you."
"You took the house!" I wail. It tastes like salt. "That house was the only thing my parents left me, and yet, you took it without thinking twice."
"How about every single thing I spent on you since you killed them seventeen years ago?"
It is the first time my mother's sister has ever expressly told me I am responsible for the death of my parents. But I have always seen it in her eyes, all those years ago when I was forced to move in with her after the funeral.
"Lara…."
"I would have had my sister here with me if you had not gone ahead to call her that night. It's no different from today. Just the slightest inconvenience, and you go right ahead to call the world."
It hurts. Every part of me hurts.
"I was pushed down the stairs, Lara." My voice breaks, like the sound of the rain hitting the earth that night. "He pushed me down the stairs."
"Oh, stop being such a crybaby," she mutters, swatting a hand in the air dismissively. "Alex wouldn't have hurt his child. He cares about that little bump way more than you care for it. Because tell me why on earth you decide to get him pissed all the time enough to take it out on you?"
"Is that what I did to you, too, before you sold me off to him?" I whisper, my eyes tired of every shed tear. "I got you pissed each time you raised your hands against me and made me go to bed without dinner?"
"Don't get me started on how badly I wanted to toss you out!" Something changes in her tone as she moves away from the bed. "You are such an ungrateful child. I found you the best man, more than you could ever do for yourself. And this is how you repay me?"
"You should have given him to your daughter, Ava, instead."
The hit comes before I can blink, forcing my head to the other side. It stings, way more than the injuries on my arms. I try to push back the fresh tears, but they come anyway, unhindered.
"Your husband will be here to pick you up," she mutters, moving towards the doors. "You'd better play nice to him if you don't want to be back here tomorrow."
But after another six hours, Alex never walks in through that door.
And with my frail legs, I take myself home.
***
I am floating.
Or at least, that is what it feels like, where nothing tethers me to the earth. My arms feel light by my side, and a soft sigh escapes my lips. This is what peace should feel like, but even in that state, I know that it isn't bound to last long.
As if on cue, the sharp thud jerks me up from bed, in the little room in the basement. My eyes dart around the dark space for a few seconds, the blurriness slowly taking form. My head hits the top of the shelf when I move, and a whimper escapes my lips.
Another thud.
Wood splinters meet me where I sit on the bed, decorating my head and the sheets. I sniff in the dust, resisting the urge to cough, to let him know that I am awake.
"Where is she?" His voice roars through the building like thunder, and I push further into the headboard. My legs push up, and my knees press against my chest. The shivers that follow are uncontrollable.
Natural.
The way it has always been. I wonder why I still am not used to it.
"Keira, where the fuck are you?" he growls from the floor above, dragging his feet. I pray he doesn't come back here with all the might I possess. Still, I know prayers don't work. They never have for me. "Don't tell me we are about playing a little hide and seek again?"
A whimper escapes my lips, and I slam them against each other to stop another from slipping out. It is cold, even though it has nothing to do with the summer night.
When he moves again, when more wood splinters fall from the floorboards above, I hear someone else with him. A woman. Soft, tiny voice that feels like gritty butter.
"Alex," she sighs dramatically. I imagine her with long false lashes, stiletto nails, and an outfit that barely covers anything. Of course, it is the middle of the night. What else can Alex come home with?
"Why don't you let her be?" she continues, her tone filling me with dread, worse than Alex.
"Oh, shut the fuck up!" He screams suddenly, his voice echoing through the building. "This isn't any of your business."
"I just thought…"
"Just go into my bedroom and get ready for me. I need to show that good for nothing what real fucking feels and looks like. How dare she make me spend so much in the hospital?"
"No," I whisper in the dark, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. Even if no one can see me, I shake my head repeatedly, willing it to all be over soon. There is nowhere to run to.
No one to listen to me.
I hear the door to the basement crack open, and in that second, I slowly roll out of the bed, landing unceremoniously on the ground. He hears me, because his feet halt suddenly, and laughter rolls next, cold and dreadful.
"Hey, wifey," he calls, a tinge of amusement in his tone. The silence ends when he moves again, the floorboards groaning with every step as he comes down the dingy stairs.
"Come on, baby. Are we going to play this game again?"