8. Brynn
M y head slams into the wall. I cry out as it feels like a whole galaxy of stars dance before my eyes.
“Why the fuck aren’t you in your room already?” My aunt snarls. “And more importantly, why the fuck were you with him, talking to him?”
I can taste blood, I can taste it on my tongue. Does a bleed on the brain do that? Did she hit my head hard enough to do real, permanent damage?
I guess it’s my bad luck that I ran into him, ran into both of them, when I was simply trying to get to the safety of my room.
“Talk, bitch.”
She slams my head back again and my knees buckle. I slide down, falling into a heap at her feet.
“He, he…”
She crouches down, getting right into my face, as if that will help. “Use your words. Spit it out.”
I hate the way she torments me; I hate the way she revels in the fact that my speech is fucked.
“He wanted to know about you.” I force the words out. Force the lie.
She pauses, tilting her head, narrowing her eyes looking more snakelike. “What?”
She’s going to hurt me no matter what I say now, so I might as well try and limit the damage.
“He, he wanted, to, to know what you like.” Maybe it helps that my sentence is rambled. Maybe that helps hide the lie.
She blinks like she expected me to say anything but that. “He wanted to know what I like?” Her entire face changes, and she steps back as the biggest grin stretches from ear to ear. “But why would he ask you?” She sneers.
I shake my head, pretending to be as confused as she is.
She steps back and starts pacing the corridor. “Maybe he is realising, maybe he is accepting this.”
Could I be this lucky? Could it really be this easy to trick her?
Her eyes snap back to me, and it’s all I can do not to cower.
“Get back to your room.” She spits. “I told you I didn’t want to see you this week.” Her boot jabs at me as I scramble up and I’m gone, down the hall as fast as my legs will go.