Chapter 22 Clark
"I'm not going anywhere with you, Sterling. I'd rather die than spend one more second under your thumb."
Rage contorted his features into something monstrous, barely human. With a wordless snarl, he lunged, one hand clamping around my throat while the other fumbled for his weapon.
"You stupid bitch," he spat, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "I tried to do this the easy way, but you just had to push it."
The cold bite of metal pressed against my jugular, and my pulse kicked into overdrive, a hummingbird beat of sheer, animal panic. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, every sensation magnified - the rasp of my labored breathing, the acrid stench of Sterling's fury.
This was really happening. This was how my story ended, in blood and violence and the cruel mockery of a love I'd never truly had. Tears spilled down my cheeks unchecked, a final, futile act of defiance.
In that endless, crystallized moment, I let my eyes slip shut. Let myself drift away from the horror and the fear, to a place of warmth and safety and soul-deep belonging.
I saw Alex, eyes sparkling with mirth as he chased me through the park, our laughter ringing out high and bright. Felt the sun on my face, the grass beneath my bare feet, the unbridled joy of just existing, wild and free and perfectly in tune.
I saw Daddy, haloed in golden morning light, his smile soft and sleep-rumpled and so full of love. Heard his voice, low and rumbly with laughter, as he pulled me close and nuzzled into the curve of my neck, whispering endearments into my skin like prayers.
Hot tears streaked my cheeks, grief and longing a dull ache in my chest.
It wasn't fair. The heartbroken thought rattled around my head like a pinball as the blade pressed closer, Sterling's grip like an iron vice around my throat.
It wasn't fair that I'd fought so hard, come so far, only to have my happy ending ripped away by the cruel twist of a knife. That my found-family was going to have to pick up the pieces and forge on without me, their smiles dimmed by the specter of my loss.
It wasn't fair that Daddy - sweet, loving, endlessly patient Daddy - was going to have to identify my body and plan my funeral instead of walking down the aisle with me. That I'd never get to introduce him to the boy I'd been before Sterling, before that toxic shame had sunk its claws in and stolen my light.
But in that terrible, infinite moment, as my lungs burned with the need for air and my vision began to black out around the edges, I knew that I'd do it again. Love Daddy, love Alex and our cobbled-together little clan, even knowing this would be the devastating end.
Because it was worth it. The warmth of Alex's hugs, the safety of Brody's arms. Every laugh-filled moment and stumbling step forward and heart stopping confession of love.
Even with a blade to my throat and seconds left to my name, I knew I wouldn't trade a single one of them for the world.
My story might have been cut unbearably short. But in its pages, woven between grief and fear and unspeakable ugliness, there had still been so much beauty. So much love. An entire universe of precious gifts I'd carry with me, even into that last good night.
And as I closed my eyes and the darkness finally crashed in, as Sterling's rage-twisted face faded into nothingness and I braced myself for the blinding pain narrowed down to a single, distant point, I exhaled what I knew would be one final, shaky breath. Formed the shape of four precious words with the last of my strength, a benediction and a promise and the truest thing I'd ever known.
"I love you, Daddy."
I waited for the end, the descent into nothingness. Waited for Sterling's blade to pierce my skin, for my life to bleed out onto the polished hardwood.
But it never came. Instead, I felt Sterling's grip on my throat loosen. Heard the clatter of metal on wood as the knife fell from his fingers.
Hardly daring to breathe, I cracked my eyes open. And froze, stunned by the sight that greeted me.
Sterling was crying. Not the crocodile tears I'd seen him employ so often in the past, but real, honest-to-god sobs that shook his broad frame and left his face blotchy and wrecked. He stared down at his empty hands as if he didn't recognize them, horror and self-loathing etched into every line of his expression.
"I can't," he choked out, the words mangled and raw. "Fuck, I thought I could, but..."
He met my gaze then. Beneath the rage and the hatred and the ugliness, there was something else. Something small and broken and terribly, terribly wounded.
"I loved you," he whispered, and it sounded like a confession. A plea for absolution he knew he didn't deserve. "God help me, Clark, but I did. You were everything to me."
Some small, long-buried part of me recognized the truth in his words. He had loved me. Not in any healthy or sustainable way, but with a desperation born of brokenness. Of wounds so deep and festered they'd poisoned everything they touched.
"My father," Sterling continued, gaze distant and haunted. "He was a fucking nightmare. A mean drunk with a vicious streak a mile wide. And my mom just took it. Took every punch and insult and degradation like it was her due. Like she deserved it for daring to exist."
A shudder rippled through him, and I felt an unwilling pang of sympathy. Because I knew that story. Hurt people hurt people. But understanding wasn't absolution. And even as my heart ached for the wounded child he'd been, I knew it didn't excuse the monster he'd become.
"I'm sorry you went through that," I said, and was surprised to find I meant it. "But what you've done to me... that's not love. That's abuse, plain and simple."
Sterling flinched like I'd struck him, fresh tears spilling over. "I don't know how to be anything else. I thought if I could just make you stay. If I could keep you with me, control you, fucking consume you, maybe I'd finally feel whole. Maybe I'd finally be enough."
Then, so suddenly it made me jump, he buried his face in his hands and screamed. Screamed like an animal caught in a trap, guttural and agonized, muffled against his palms.
He looked at me then, and there was something like pleading in his gaze. Something desperately hungry, yearning for a benediction I wasn't sure I had the strength to give.
"Get help," I said. Calm. Implacable. "Real, professional help, not just running from your demons. Face them head on and don't stop until you've made something better of yourself. Until you can look in the mirror and not hate what you see."
Drawing in a deep breath, he rushed away and out of sight, into the darkness.
Relieved, I locked the front door, tears already blurring my vision. I staggered up the stairs into the playroom and fell on my knees, little fingers scrabbling for something soft. Something safe.
And then, blissful give. Faux fur beneath my cheek, stitched-on smile pressed to tear-stained skin. Bananas, my stalwart simian companion, offering comfort as only the very best of stuffies could.
I didn't know how long I lay there. Curled into a shaking ball, sobs wracking my frame. Long enough for the light to change, shadows lengthening across the floor. Long enough for my limbs to go heavy, sorrow-drunk, leaden with the effort of holding myself together.
But just as consciousness began to fray around the edges, I heard it. A gasp, sharp and pained. The thud of dropped keys, a muttered curse.
"Clark? Baby boy, where are you?"
Daddy.
A whimper slipped past my lips, high and thready with need. I tried to call back, to croak out some pitiful facsimile of his name. But my voice was gone, stolen by tears and terror alike.
But it didn't matter. Because in the next instant, he was there. Falling to his knees beside me, big hands reaching to gather me up, to cradle me against the steadfast warmth of his chest.
"I've got you," he crooned, rocking me gently as I shook apart in his arms. "Shh, baby bug, I'm here. Daddy's right here, I've got you."
A fresh wave of tears swamped me, hoarse sobs muffled in the crook of his throat. I clung to him like he was the only solid thing in the world, blunt nails scrabbling at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I could reach.
"Daddy." The word escaped me. "Daddy, he..."
"I know, baby." Brody's arms tightened around me, one big palm cupping the back of my head. Holding me together as I threatened to fly to pieces. "I just saw your text."
When he pulled back to meet my gaze, his own eyes were red-rimmed.
"I'm so sorry," he rasped, and I'd never heard him sound so wrecked. "That I wasn't here, that you had to face that monster alone, had to be so scared and hurt. Christ, if I'd lost you..."
"No." Forcing rubbery limbs to cooperate, I reached up. Cupped his stubbled jaw in my palm. "No, Daddy, please don't blame yourself. You couldn't have known. Couldn't have stopped him, he was so far gone."
Daddy's brow furrowed, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw.
"I should've seen it coming," he said, low and pained. "Should've known he wouldn't let you go that easy.”
"You do protect me, Daddy." The words burst out of me, fierce despite the way my voice wavered. I stroked my thumb over the high arch of his cheekbone, willed him to hear me. To believe. "Every single day. With your love, your patience.”
My vision blurred again. But I pushed on, desperate to make him understand. "When he had that knife to my throat, I really thought I was gonna die."
Daddy made a wounded noise, crushing me impossibly closer. Like he could take me into himself, make me a part of his own flesh and bone where nothing could ever touch me again.
"But it was you I saw." I swallowed hard. "When I closed my eyes and I knew it was the end, it was your face behind my eyelids. Your arms I felt around me, your voice in my ear telling me I was strong. Brave. That I could survive anything, because I had something to fight for. Someone to come home to. It was always you, Daddy. My safe place, my home. The one thing in this world I knew I couldn't leave behind."
Daddy exhaled shakily. "You're never leaving me behind, my sweet boy.”
Daddy's breath stuttered out of him, hot against my temple. He dipped his head, pressed a hard, desperate kiss to the hinge of my jaw. My cheek. The thin skin of my eyelids, my brow, the tip of my nose.
"I've got you," he murmured into the crook of my neck. Pressed the words into my skin like a vow, a covenant. "You're safe now, I promise. He'll never touch you again."
"I want to report it. What he tried to do. I can't let him get away with it again. Can't risk him hurting someone else the way he hurt me. I need to do this. Need to take my power back, once and for all."
The days that followed were hard. Between giving my statement to the police, fielding calls from well-meaning but exhausting friends and family, and weathering the inevitable flood of nightmares and panic attacks, I felt wrung out. But through it all, Daddy was there. Steady and strong, an unshakable pillar at my side. He held me through the shaking and the tears, talked me down from the ledges of my own mind. Reminded me over and over how brave I was, how resilient, how loved.
There were nights I woke up screaming, phantom hands around my throat. The sight of our kitchen knives made me flinch, stomach turning to lead.
And then the detective called with news of additional evidence. Old police reports from Sterling's hometown, restraining orders filed by ex-partners, even a few eyewitness accounts of his violent outbursts.
It was real. Tangible, indisputable proof of what I'd always known - that it wasn't just me. That I hadn't imagined the abuse, the cruelty. That I wasn't crazy, or weak, or secretly to blame for the way he'd shattered me.