55. Olivia #3
“I hate this stuff! This is supposed to be a manly place, Livy,” Mack growls, climbing into the treehouse with a frown while taking in the newest decorations I got.
I swear he complains every time he crawls through the door.
“You added more?” He sends me a deathly glare as I place a figurine on a new shelf I acquired from a garage sale with JJ a few hours ago.
If I took it home, my father would immediately find it and break it.
So, I bring it here to make it feel more like a home than a hangout.
“Uh, yeah?” I shrug with a smirk, knowing he’ll throw a fit about the pink trinkets I keep sneaking into the treehouse. Secretly, though. I think he likes them, but he won’t admit it. Yet.
I roll my eyes at him. “So bring your own stuff up here, then. Add the reds and blues you’re so desperate for. What do you have against pink, anyway?” I raise a brow.
“Maybe I will,” he huffs playfully, giving me a smirk. “I’ll decorate it with…”
But he doesn't continue his words and bites his tongue.
His eyes widen when a deathly growl echoes through the trees, stopping me in my tracks.
We freeze and sit up. Please be an animal.
Please be something else and not the man I ran from to come here today.
Discreetly, I tug at the ends of my shirt, nerves eating away at me from the inside out.
I tuck my hands together, hiding the trembling my father causes every time he bellows my name.
“Olivia.” My father’s roar vibrates through the floorboards of the treehouse, raw and thick, slurring with the scent of booze I can practically smell from here. “I know you’re out here somewhere, you little bitch!”
A deafening boom echoes as he thrashes his belt against the trunk of a tree in the distance. The same belt that usually finds the flesh of my back, leaving welts in its wake.
He's on a warpath I want nothing to do with. Besides, I didn't do anything.
“Come out now! Or I’ll make the basement feel like a luxury suite later!” His voice cuts through the treehouse like a damn whip.
“Fuck,” I hiss to myself as panic consumes every inch of my body. I drop down, hitting the treehouse floor hard. An elephant sits on my chest as I rub over my heart, trying to will the panic clawing at my throat to subside.
Everything blurs in front of my eyes, mixing in vivid colors as tears burn the backs of my eyes, threatening to spill over my cheeks.
So much for the Viotto Motto of never crying in the face of danger.
Mack’s face disappears completely, washed away by the emotions rattling me to the core.
The treehouse disappears. Everything turns dark.
My mind takes me away, hiding me from the rage-filled voice seeking me out.
His voice rings out again. He slurs and trips, hitting the forest floor hard.
A thump echoes through the trees until he curses my name again, sounding closer and closer.
“He’s going to find us,” I gasp out, grasping my chest again.
“You’re okay, Buttercup,” Mack whispers.
The sound of the foreign nickname brings me out of my stupor, helping me to focus on the things surrounding me, and not the man demanding my presence so he can beat the shit out of me.
An arm snakes around my shoulders, pulling me closer into his side.
The familiar scent of the cologne I got him from the Dollar Store fills my nostrils and settles something in me as he grounds my panic.
“We won’t let him find you,” he whispers as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “We’ll protect you. Forever."
I lay my head on his shoulder, mentally counting down the minutes until my father stumbles away, but I'm not that lucky.
I hold my breath as chaotic footsteps crunch through the forest, getting closer to our location until it seems like he's standing right outside, yelling my name and cursing me for being born.
"Here," Mack whispers, digging into his pocket and pulling out a beautiful rock with blues and greens swirling through it. "This is for you."
"It's beautiful," I say, admiring it until he drops it into my hand with a grin.
"Got it for you, Livy. Found it down by the river the other day and thought you might like it.
See? We can add this to our collection here and give the treehouse more colors than pink," he quips, gesturing to the shelf.
Mack swallows hard as a tense silence consumes the space around us.
“I think he's leaving," Mack mumbles, narrowing his eyes on an object outside the window.
"See, Buttercup? He never found us. You're safe. "
"For at least another day," I say in a shaky voice, staring at the rock and tracing the colors spreading through it.
“Always safe,” Mack mumbles, holding me tighter than before. “If he ever gets too bad, come home with us. We’ll protect you.”
I nod, acknowledging his words, but don’t answer.
My father would never allow that. Heaven forbid I have male friends in the first place.
He’d have a fit if he found out I potentially stayed over in one of their rooms. Although he knows I spend time with Franco’s sons.
Hell, he even encouraged it at one point, begging me to get into the middle of things so I could spy.
But I’ve never done that. No matter how many times the man terrorizes me, I’ll keep my boys’ information safe.
Even when he threatens to marry me off to the highest bidder when I’m of age.
“I need to go home,” I whisper, shaking my head. “If he finds me out here…” I trail off, trying not to imagine the beating I’ll take. Or worse, being thrown in the basement until I’ve learned my lesson.
Some days, I wish my mom would leave him.
I wish she'd take us and run from him. But she won't. Can't. She's too glued to my father's side, staying loyal.
Even when he hasn't. I've heard her crying from his infidelities and betrayals.
It's something the Viottos don't take kindly to.
But whatever. If it were my mom stepping out, she'd immediately be punished for it in the basement of the church in Briar Cove.
I don't want to ever see that place. Never again.
"Be safe," Mack says as I slowly crawl away.
There's a desperation in his voice when I slowly lower myself down from the treehouse and run home as fast as I can, crawling through my window and landing hard on my bare bed. There's a silence in the house. Like a silence before the storm whips through and disrupts everything.
That night, my father came home, drunker than normal, and tossed the whole house apart looking for me.
Until he found me.