Chapter 9
NINE
JUSTICE
My life never held a trace of hope.
Which is why I sacrificed the greatest part of myself to give my son the life he deserved.
I pray he never learns the ugly truth of his parentage, and if he does, perhaps he can forgive me for this selfless act of protection.
Every decision I’ve ever made has been with Ezekiel in mind.
But I’ve never claimed to be in the right frame of mind.
Harlan Daughtry has completely wrecked my soul, and what was left of the battered woman left in his wake was ruined by Dylan Warren.
My heart has been at battle with my mind, a tug-of-war between two men whom I’ll never recover from.
“How are you feeling?” Haven asks as she closes the door behind her and toes off her shoes. I close my journal and tuck it by my side. Sometimes my thoughts are so rampant that the only way to clear my mind is to journal. My darkest secrets lay between the pages of this tattered old book.
I scoot up on the couch and pull the blanket tighter around my body.
“Mentally, I feel weak, like I can’t trust myself to make the smallest decision.
I’m unraveling, Haven.” I shouldn’t feel so vulnerable discussing my mental health with my sister.
We both were raised by a woman who struggled with Bipolar disorder, only Haven wasn’t tainted with the disease; I was.
“Physically, I’m nauseous. I can’t keep my head out of the toilet. ”
Haven shoots me a look of pity, and I deserve as much. I’m the antagonist in my own tragedy. “I got some soup, ginger ale, and this…” She tosses the pregnancy test on the couch cushion then continues her stride toward the kitchen.
I pick up the package and turn it over in my hand, struggling to come to terms with what I already know. If I take this test, the results are cemented in stone; There will be no denying reality.
I rush to the bathroom just in time to spew the vomit into the toilet. I rest my head on my forearm and catch my breath, then stand and splash cold water on my face. I pat my face dry then close the door, ready to get this over with.
Three minutes later the room is spinning out of control.
I slide down the wall and brace my knees against my chest as I cry.
Haven knocks on the bathroom door then comes in, sitting on the floor beside me.
The pregnancy test is still locked in my fist, two pink lines vivid on the test screen.
Haven takes my hand in hers and sits silently as I come to terms with the fact that I’m pregnant.
“Do you know who–” she asks, and I shake my head.
This child could be Harlan’s or Dylan’s.
“I’ll call Luke and tell him that you’re sick.” Haven pushes up from the floor, but I grab her hand to stop her.
“Thanks, sis, but I have to go to work today.”
“You know Luke will understand…”
“I know, but Harlan won’t.”
“Have you talked to him? Ya know, since you brought Ezekiel home Saturday?”
I shake my head and stand. “He should be at work, so hopefully I won’t have to face his wrath until tonight.”
“Justice, you don’t have to go back there. This is your home. Just come back here tonight after work.” I hug my sister tight. She’s always been my anchor, the blessing God knew I needed to make it through all the dark moments in my life.
“I’m going home to get ready for work. I’ll be home after my shift.” I go into Ezekiel’s room and kiss him goodbye. He’s too focused on his trucks to pay much attention until I’m halfway to my car.
He runs out onto the porch, calling my name. “Auntie! Auntie! I didn’t tell you I loves you!”
I blow him a kiss and wave. “I love you too, little man.”
I climb in the driver’s seat and start the ignition, a harrowing pang twisting my gut.
The house is silent, but the splintered paneling tells me where Harlan released his aggression.
My shift starts at noon, which gives me a little time to shower and pack a bag of clothes to take to Haven’s.
I go into the bedroom and sort my dirty laundry into a separate basket, then pack a bag of clean clothes.
I stow everything in my trunk, then hurry inside to get ready for work.
I debate washing my hair, but in the end, dry shampoo isn’t going to cut it. I turn the shower to a scalding heat, but even that can’t wash my sins and indiscretions away. It’s tragic when you’re a prisoner to your own mind, and you’re forced to face the consequences of your actions.
I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my body and one around my hair.
I dry off and dress in panties, bra, and a tank top, then squeeze the excess water from my hair.
I blow dry my hair and contemplate applying makeup if I have time; the black circles around my eyes match the feeling in my soul–empty, lifeless.
I turn the blow dryer off and put it in the cabinet, then open the bathroom door.
I gasp in shock at Harlan’s deadly glare. He’s sitting on the bed, his eyes glazed over in a heroin-induced high, and I’m about to be the victim of his wrath. I’m caught in his trap with nowhere to run. I step into the bedroom cautiously, never taking my eyes off him.
“Harlan…”
“Justice. My beloved wife…” He lets that statement hang in the air before standing and stalking toward me. He backs me against the wall, his mouth a hairsbreadth from mine. He trails his nose along the column of my throat and releases a sardonic laugh.
“Oh the many webs we weave, when we practice to deceive.” He tsks as he rakes his fingers through the hair at my nape, then he crashes his mouth against mine.
He pierces my lip, drawing blood, then sucks it between his.
His fingers trail down my cheek to cradle my face, his thumbs applying pressure to my jaw.
“You lied to me, kitten. You stole from me, the most important piece of me–my fuckin’ namesake, my legacy.
You hid my child in plain sight, making me believe he was your sister’s bastard child after a one-night stand.
” He slams my head against the wall again.
“You’re a deceitful fuckin’ cunt, Justice, and you’re about to wish for death. ”
I struggle to keep my balance, my head whirling in a dizzy haze.
Harlan’s lips tilt in a cocky sneer, his dilated eyes turning dark as he looms over me.
He fists my hair and yanks my head back.
“The sweet smell of your fear is intoxicating. I’d rather fuck you when you’re scared, kitten.
Nothing gets me harder. So run, kitten. Give chase.
You deserve a good fuck before you die.”
Harlan steps back, challenging me to attempt to escape, and I gasp as I stumble into the kitchen with Harlan right on my heels. His fingers tangle through my hair and he slams my back against the counter and grinds his hips against me.
“NO! Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” I used to tell myself his love for me was so deep and passionate that he could only express that love physically through rage. Breaking me. Humiliating me to bend to his will. There are only so many fragments left of the woman I once was.
“Keep up the fight, Justice. It only makes me want to hurt you more.” Ripping my tank top open, his mouth descends on my breast, ravaging me ruthlessly.
My panties are the next to go, leaving me naked and bare before him.
He frees his bulging cock then grips my ass and lifts, pinning me against the counter as he slides into me with a thrust so brutal I feel the air leave my lungs.
A river of tears streams down my face, and I don’t even fight back.
I’m not compliant to his desires, and the tears only feed the craving he has for my distress.
I’m simply saving myself from the torture that will come if I continue to fight him.
Harlan’s aggression increases with each brutal stride inside me. His teeth nip, bite, and mar my flesh while his fingers indent and bruise with every touch. “Cry for me, kitten. Beg me to have mercy on your pussy. Beg me to have mercy on your life.”
“FUCK YOU, HARLAN!”
Fury flickers through his now sober eyes.
“Wrong answer, bitch.” His fist closes around my throat as he fucks me with abandon, the grip tightening as he loses control.
I can’t breathe. The pain is so intense that it’s crippling.
Panic seizes my chest, and I fight back against him, giving him exactly what he wants.
In fitful screams, I smack, scratch, and claw at him.
I just want the assault to stop. If fighting back is what it takes for him to chase his release, then check fuckin’ mate.
He releases my throat then buries his face in the crook of my neck as a maniacal chuckle rattles through his chest. His teeth latch around my pulse point, sucking and biting.
He’s lost in the moment; the high of the heroin vanished, but the thrill of decimating me is his undoing.
He erupts inside me, grinding his hips roughly against my pelvis, ripping the sensitive flesh.
The emotions that consume me at this point are so discombobulated. I don’t know if I’m pissed, frightened, excited, delirious—I’m a fuckin’ mess!
Harlan slides out of me and takes a step back as he tucks himself away, leaving me to steady myself against the counter on wobbly legs.
A pleased smirk splays across his face. So cocksure of himself.
I grip the edge of the counter tighter and my fingers brush over a hard object.
I flick my eyes to the right, seeing the cast iron skillet.
Harlan pinches his eyes closed and staggers, the heroin crashing through his system.
I grip both hands around the handle of the skillet, raise it above my head, and swing. He straightens his spine and turns, meeting the blunt force of the skillet mid-swing.
Nighty-night, motherfucker.