PROLOGUE 2
MORGAN
T he hit comes quickly. Ethan’s go-to move; a backhand across my face. This time, he has put enough force behind it that my teeth cut the inside of my cheek. I stumble back, landing on my arse.
I fight back the tears. I worked out fast that he likes it when I cry. He keeps going when I break down. He gets aroused, and that never ends well for me.
This has been my life for the last three years. He wasn’t always like this. Not until he lost his job.
The fact that I earn more hurts his ego. And then he started drinking, which in turn made it worse. I swore I would never become my mother, but here I am, doing exactly that.
“You can’t fucking do anything right can you? All you’re good for is a fucking root, and even then, you just lay there.”
A retort is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it along with the blood that has gathered in my mouth. I’m not sure what has set him off this time. It could be as simple as me not replying to his text in a certain timeframe or because I said hello to another man.
He walks up to me, and I hate that I flinch when he raises his hands. A sick crooked smirk takes over his face. I can't help when my eyes drop to his crotch, growing wide as I watch his pants become tighter as his cock starts to firm.
This isn’t new but that doesn’t stop me from silently begging no. Please no. Please, just walk past me.
As if reading my mind he clarifies, “Oh this isn’t for you, I’m saving it for Evie.” Grabbing a hold of his firm cock he thrusts his hips in a suggestive manner.
Who the hell is Evie? Why the hell do I care?
“This is for you.”
Before I can process what is happening, his hands are at either side of my head, and he is forcing my head down as he brings his knee up connecting with my nose. The pain is instant and radiates all around my head. He throws me to the side as if I’m nothing. Which I guess to him, I am.
I hold my nose, trying to catch the blood. It doesn’t work, the warm liquid runs between my fingers, dripping to the floor.
The tears I can’t hold back fall freely. Just like the blood from my nose.
“You’re a pathetic cunt.”
He lifts my head by my hair, forcing me to open my eyes. He spits on me as he lets go, letting the dead weight of my head hit the floor, bouncing on impact. As he turns on his heels to grab his keys, I let out a breath.
He looks at me, then at the blood on the floor from my nose. Before spitting on me again, he tells me to clean it up and finally leaves.
Once the room has stopped spinning, I sit up, my body protesting every move. Stumbling to my feet I search for my phone and find the one name I didn’t have to hide or delete.
Hitting dial, I press the phone to my ear and wait. As soon as I hear the hey, I manage to croak out one word. “Spinifex.”
I busy myself with packing. Only essentials. I have a few hours, but I want to be ready. I’m ready to close this part of my life. Chalk it up to a learning experience. Can I call this learning? It sure as fuck was an experience.
Walking past a photo of us from our high school graduation I pick it up, allowing myself to remember when things were simple.
Both young with the world ahead of us. How fucking naive was I?
I don't register what is happening until I launch the frame across the room and watch as the glass shatters against the wall.
I fight the instinct to clean it and walk back to our room. Reaching up for my duffle bag pulls on my sore muscles, but I ignore it. I need to pack.
Throwing clothes, books, documents and my laptop in it. I don’t need anything else. Really, I could get away with just my documents and laptop. But I want my own clothes when I get back to Barrenridge.
While rummaging around I find the rose I dried. The first time he gave me flowers was after the first time he hit me. To say sorry, and that it wouldn’t happen again. I snort at the memory and then crush the dried petals in my hand and drop the dead flower into the bin.
No more.
Once I’m convinced I have everything, I sit on the couch. Waiting. Not too long now.
I close my eyes, letting my mind wonder. This wasn’t the plan. How did things go so sideways? We were in love. People in love don’t hurt one another. But my aching body says different.
My thoughts are interrupted by the pounding on the door of our apartment. It mimics the pounding in my head. It doesn’t matter that I took paracetamol, the ache is constant. I know who it is, I’m just surprised that he’s already here.
I open the door.
“Hey big bro.” I try to smile, but moving my face in any way, sets it on fire, not to mention re-splits my lip. I hate that my one repeating thought is; it’s been worse.
“I’m going to fucking kill him!” He yells while searching around the apartment. “He is fucking dead.”
“He isn’t here.”
“Ethan get your fucking slimy ass out here now, you fucking coward.”
“Shane,” I yell to get his attention but immediately regret it. “He isn’t here.”
“You’re coming home. Now.” He orders, always the older brother, always playing the protector.
“I’m not arguing, I already have everything I want and need packed.” I motion to the duffle bag.
Shane picks it up while I grab the backpack. I leave the keys on the kitchen bench. The movement has the light catching the small diamonds on the promise ring he gave me on graduation night. I slip that off and place it next to the keys. I close the door behind me and on this chapter of my life.
The drive home is quiet. Which is very Shane, but I can feel his anger coming off him in waves. I’m almost choking on it.
About halfway, he seems to have calmed slightly. And when we hit an hour out of Barrenridge he finally asks, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Morgan!” His hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white.
“Because he wasn’t always like this. And when the good times were good, they were amazing. I thought this was just a dark period. If I showed him I was there and how much I loved him I’d get those good times—I’d get the old Ethan—back.” I dash away the only tear I will shed for that man.
Shane says my name again but with pity etched in every letter, and I hate it.
“Don’t Shane.”
He moves his hand to rest it on my shoulder, but he moves quickly causing me to flinch. Shane catches it and drops his hand.
Soon enough we’re pulling into our parents driveway, and I’m hit with every reason why I left here in the first place.
Drunk father.
Emotionally absent yet abusive mother.
And an overprotective, overbearing, keeping everything running older brother.
It’s all so stifling.
I don’t blame Shane for being the way he is. He had to play the role our parents neglected to fill while we were growing up. While I had him, he had no one.
Well, he had his best friend, Rhys. But even Rhys left him. I feel bad for Shane, but I don’t let that show or he’ll give me the same speech as always. I chose to stay here, don’t pity me for my decision. Ok, so a speech is a bit of a stretch. But for Shane, that’s a whole-ass conversation.
I think I’m back in town for five days before I feel brave enough to leave the house.
The bruising has turned yellow and has faded completely in some places.
But I still wear makeup to try to cover it up.
I decided that the general store is a safe place to start.
But on my way there, I think I see Ethan.
I don’t see his face, but the figure and the way he walked has my mind racing.
I have to convince myself that it is in fact not him.
The next day I go for a walk with Mum, and like the day before I think I see him. I hate the way this prick is plaguing my mind.
He hasn’t come looking for me. Why would he? He has Evie, let her be his new punching bag.
I shouldn’t think like that, but at this point, I’m just glad it’s no longer me.
The next few days are the same. Me thinking I see him, feeling eyes on me. I feel like I’m going crazy, constantly looking over my shoulder, constantly fighting my mind. It has gotten to the point where I’m once again locking myself up at home. I’m even keeping the curtains closed.
I can’t ignore it anymore.
He has to be here.
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.”