by Gemma Weir
Smiling, I dip my head and kiss the corner of her mouth. “I don’t like it when you hide, Angel. I want to see your face.”
She takes a step back and pulls in a deep breath. “Why do you keep calling me Angel?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Would you rather I call you Angelique?”
She shakes her head with disgust. “No. I hate my name,” she says, anger flashing in her expressive eyes.
There’s a thousand things I want to ask, but she looks like a scared rabbit and one wrong word could make her run from me. “Do you hate me calling you Angel, too?” I ask warily.
She shakes her head. “No, but no-one’s ever called me that before.”
“That’s good,” I say. “That means you’re only my Angel, nobody else’s.”
Her eyes widen, then narrow slightly. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying, but that’s ok for now.
“What do your parents call you?” I ask, taking a small step closer to her. Angel’s expression shutters at the mention of her parents and I silently curse myself for bringing them up.
“I should go,” she says.
My heart drops. I close the distance between us and pull her into my arms. “Don’t go yet.”
“What do you want from me, Daisy?”
Her beautiful, musical voice is small and full of insecurity, so I lift her up and carry her over to the bench. Sitting down, I place her in my lap and she instantly tries to get up, but I hold her still. “I don’t know what I want, Angel, but just know that I want to be near you. I know that you wake something up in me, something I haven’t felt in a really long time. Don’t go yet. I just want to sit here with you in my lap and talk to you. Please?”
Self-consciously she pulls down the hem of her dress and I brace myself for her rebuttal. Instead she twists her fingers together in her lap and offers me a small nod.
“Okay,” she whispers, so quietly I barely hear her.
I fight the urge to fist pump the air and quickly kiss the top of her head, tucking her hair behind her ears again so I can see her whole face.
Time passes as we sit on the bench in the abandoned park. She doesn’t try to move again, but her body is stiff in my lap. I wrap my arms around her and she slowly relaxes in my embrace. “How old are you?” I ask.
I pray to every god out there that she’s at least seventeen. I’d still be too old for her but at least she’d be legal. I hold my breath waiting for her to speak.
“Eighteen,” she says.
I physically relax.
“How old did you think I was?” She asks, amusement evident in her voice.
“I was praying for at least seventeen,” I say. She laughs and light flashes in her eyes.
“Can I kiss you again?” I ask.
She stills and seems to be thinking. “It’s only a kiss, Angel,” I say.
She nods, and I lean in and take her lips with mine. I kiss her gently to begin, sweet caresses and light touches. Angel lets out a small moan and I start to lose control; I push my tongue between her lips and dominate her mouth. I half expect her to push me off, but instead she fists her tiny hands into my hair and pulls me closer, her tongue dueling with mine.
Forcing my hands to stay on either side of her face, I cup her cheeks. I don’t want to send her running or frighten her by exploring her beautiful body, so I’ll go as slow as she needs me to.
She’s my Angel now and I plan to keep her.
Finally pulling away from her, I rest my forehead on hers, panting heavily. My cock is like steel and pressing against my jeans so hard it fucking hurts. But he definitely isn’t coming out to play today, so I pull in a deep breath and attempt to calm the fuck down.
Angel looks shell-shocked. Her lips are pink and swollen from our kisses and her eyes are wide and lust-filled. If I didn’t know how innocent she was, I’d think she wanted to jump me.
“I need to go before my father realizes I’m not there,” she says breathlessly.
I nod, but my arms stay wrapped around her, holding her close while I breathe in her light, fruity scent. “Where’s your phone?” I ask.
Her cheeks tinge pink and she pushes against my hold and moves out of my lap. “I don’t have one,” she says quietly.
“You don’t have a phone?” I say, confused. “What, you don’t have it with you, or you don’t have one at all?” I ask.
I can’t take my eyes off her as I wait for her to reply. She looks too young and so fucking innocent. Her fingers twist together, and her head begins to drop.
“Angel,” I say. She doesn’t look at me. Jumping off the bench, I close the distance between us and cup her face, tilting her head back so I can look into her eyes. “Please don’t hide from me,” I whisper.
Her eyes slowly rise until our gazes lock. Relief fills me. Her eyes are filled with an emotion that I don’t immediately recognize. I don’t know if she’s horny, sad, or pissed off, but I’ll take anything over the lost, vacant look I’d seen at the wedding.
“You don’t have a phone,” I say, not asking anymore.
She slowly shakes her head.
It’s 2017, who doesn’t have a phone? The mayor’s a douchebag and a wealthy one at that, he can absolutely afford to get his daughter a cell phone.
“Why not?” I ask, then instantly wish I hadn’t.
“My father won’t let me have one,” she replies quickly, obviously embarrassed.
“When can I see you again?”
Angel shrugs. “I don’t know. My father would kill me if he found out I was here with you.”
The stirrings of anxiety claw at my chest. I need to see her again. Now I know she exists, that my Angel is out there, I need to be around her.
Leaning in, I steal a kiss from her perfect lips. “So don’t tell him you’re coming to see me. Tell him you’re going to a friend’s instead.”
Her eyes drop from mine. She pushes against my chest and takes a step away from me. “I can’t.”
Anger starts to bubble within me. “Why not?” I snarl.
Angel visibly shrinks at my fury. Her shoulders hunch and her head drops forward until her hair falls across her face, shielding her from me.
“Fuck,” I curse and step closer to her, wrapping my hand around her hip.
She flinches.
Clenching my free hand into a fist, I pull in a deep, calming breath. I fight to still the anger flowing through my body and force my muscles to relax. “Angel,” I say gently.
She doesn’t move a muscle. Her fingers are twisted together, but she’s frozen. Dropping to my haunches, I squat at her feet. “Angel, look at me please?” I beg and reach up to tuck her hair behind her ears. Her eyes are closed tightly, so I tentatively stroke her cheek with the pad of one of my fingers. “I’m sorry, Angel. I’ve never lifted my hand to a woman ever. It doesn’t matter if I’m angry or if I’m shouting. I would never hurt you. Ever”
Her eyes flutter open and our gazes lock again. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She doesn’t nod, but her chin lifts slightly. “I don’t have any friends.”
How could this beautiful woman have no friends? “How’s that possible?” I say.
Angel twists her lips into a wry smile. “We moved here when I was thirteen. I’ve been home schooled ever since.”
“Everyone needs friends, Angel,” I say.
“My father’s strict. He doesn’t let me go out very often,” she admits.
I inwardly curse, mayor douchebag just became mayor asshat. How could he keep my Angel hidden away? She’s eighteen and has no friends, no cell phone. She’s jumpy and scared. What the fuck is he doing to her?
“Does he know you’re out today?” I ask.
Angel shakes her head. “No, I snuck out,” she says with a small rebellious smile.
“You gonna be in trouble when he figures out you’re gone?” I ask.
The smile drops from her face. She steps back from me and starts to twist her fingers agitatedly together.
“I need to go,” she gasps.
“Angel.” I grab her arm and pull her toward me. “Is he gonna hurt you?” I pray to God that she laughs, that she says no and assures me I’m jumping to conclusions, but instead her eyes drop to the floor again.
“No, of course not,” she says robotically, her entire body rigid in my arms.
Fuck.
I scream the word in my head because I don’t want to scare her again by shouting it out loud. I want to pull her on the back of my bike and run away with her; take her to the Sinners and tell them she’s mine. We protect what’s ours. But she’s so young and as much as I want to claim her and own her, I think I’d probably scare the shit out of her if I suggested it.
“Angel, if he’s hurting you, just tell me and I’ll protect you.” I try to keep the anger out of my voice and nearly succeed.
Angel pulls back her shoulders and lifts her head to look me right in the face. “I’m not your problem, Daisy. We just met. I don’t need you, or anyone else, to look after me because I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”
Her eyes are filled with anger and righteous indignation and I feel proud. It’s a ridiculous feeling because she’s right, we only just met, but I’m already thinking of her as my Angel and I love the attitude she’s throwing at me right now.
With a smirk I prowl toward her and pull her into my chest, lowering my head and kissing her thoroughly. When I pull away from her lips, I wait until she looks up at me. “You’re right, Angel. We only just met. But I like you and I want to get to know you better. I want you to be safe. So when can I see you again?”
I fight the blush that threatens to bloom in my cheeks. Daisy wants to see me again. He’s kissed me too many times to mention today, and now he wants to know when he can see me again. I rarely wish for a cell phone—most of the time I don’t really care that I don’t have one because I don’t have anyone to call. But today I could have given Daisy my number and behaved like a normal teenager and God, I haven’t felt normal in so long. Most days I long for the insipid trivialities that people my age face—normal angst ridden teenage drama would be a welcome relief. I’m not a normal teenager and I haven’t been since Nicole died and the full force of my father’s wrath fell onto my shoulders.
“Angel.” Daisy’s voice prompts me.
I falter. If my father finds out I snuck out today it’ll be bad, very bad. My father’s rules are absolute; if he catches me, I won’t be given the opportunity to sneak out again.
“I don’t know when I’ll be able to sneak away again,” I say.
Daisy frowns. “I only just found you, Angel, I can’t give you up now. How are we gonna do this? You don’t have a cell, so how can I speak to you?”
I could give him the phone number for our house, but my father doesn’t allow me answer it. “I have a computer.”
He smiles brightly. “Are you on Facebook? I’ll send you a friend request.”
My shoulders slump and I shake my head. “No, my father doesn’t allow me to have a Facebook profile.” Daisy scowls and I feel myself tense. “Email,” I shout. Daisy turns to me “I have email. He doesn’t know about it.”
“I wanna see you though, Angel. I wanna touch you and hold you in my arms. But I suppose email will do until you can sneak out again.”
I smile shyly and type my email address into his phone when he hands it to me. “I need to go home,” I say.
He sighs but nods in agreement. “I’ll give you a ride,” he says as he entwines his fingers with mine.
I shake my head. “I can’t. My father or one of his friends might see.”
Daisy growls. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m gonna give you a ride home. Look, I’ll park around the corner if that makes you feel better, but honestly I’d rather walk you to the door and tell your dad that I’m your guy and that he can go fuck himself if he doesn’t like it.”
My guy.
I shouldn’t be doing this now. My number one priority should be on getting myself and my mama away from my father. But it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but anger, fear, and sadness. Daisy makes me feel hopeful, I don’t want to lose that.
“You can drop me around the corner,” I say.
Daisy smiles and pulls me along behind him to where his motorcycle is parked around the corner from the playground. He climbs on, then holds my hand while I timidly climb on behind him. I tell him where I live, and he drives away, the motorcycle’s engine roaring loudly.
I don’t admit that this is the first time I’ve ever been on a motorcycle. The wind blows through my hair and exhilaration tingles through every single one of my nerves. Is this how my sister felt when she left with her biker boyfriend? Was this why she chose him over me? I’ve never really understood or experienced actual freedom, until I climbed onto the back of this bike and we rode away. But this feeling, this overwhelming sense of opportunity is intoxicating; we could drive into the sunset and go anywhere we wanted. We could be free.
The ride is over far too quickly, and Daisy pulls to the side of the road around the corner from my house. I slide off the bike on shaky legs and run my fingers through my windswept hair. I don’t want my time with him to be over, but reality hits me and I turn to face Daisy. “Goodbye,” I say, reluctant to leave in case this is the last time I ever see him.
“Where do you think you’re going, Angel?” Daisy says smiling. His arms reach for me and he pulls me toward him and kisses me deeply. “I’ll email you tonight, okay?”
I nod, a slither of hope building in my chest. Daisy releases me, and I slowly walk away from him. I can’t resist glancing at him over my shoulder once more, before I drop my head and rush toward my home. My heart’s pounding in my chest as I scurry around the side of the house and into the yard. A trellis, covered in wisteria climbs up the wall and ends just beneath my bedroom window.
I watched my sister climb up and down this trellis a hundred times over the years, so I know it’ll hold my weight. Reaching up I hold onto the wooden slats and climb toward my window. It only takes a minute to reach the window ledge and I grip it tightly, thankful that I left my window open this morning.
I throw my leg through the space and try to silently lower myself to the carpet, holding my breath until my feet hit the floor. Quietly, I kick off my shoes and brush down my dress and then I turn around.
My father is seated on the edge of my bed staring at me. His face is twisted in rage when he stands up and silently stalks toward me. I know I should lower my head and try to make myself invisible, but the glimpse at freedom Daisy has given me, refuses to allow me to cower. Instead, I stand tall, my shoulders back and I stare back at him. I know the exact moment he sees the look of defiance on my face.
I watch in slow motion as he raises his hand and swings it toward me. His knuckles backhand me across the cheek and fire explodes across my skin. He hits me with so much force, my head snaps to the side and I crash to the floor. Cowered in a heap, I lift my hands to cradle my face. When his feet step into my line of sight, I pull in a terrified breath. His hand grips the neck of my dress and he lifts me up only to backhand me again.
I feel the skin split on my lip and taste the blood in my mouth. Tears run down my face, but I refuse to let him hear me sob. His hand tangles into my hair and he drags me from the floor and flings me over the bottom of my bed. I hear the clack of his belt unbuckling and feel the cold air cover my exposed skin as he rips my dress over my butt.
The belt makes a thwack noise when it crashes down against the backs of my legs. I shudder at the sound because I know in mere moments the pain will start to burn through my skin. Closing my eyes tightly, I block out the pain. The belt thrashes down again and again but I zone out and pretend this isn’t happening. Later the pain will overwhelm me, but for right now I hum a familiar comforting tune in my head and drift away into my subconscious.
I don’t know how long my father’s punishment lasts, but the next thing I’m aware of is my mama tiptoeing into my room and h
elping me to crawl up my comforter until my head is on the pillow. She leaves, only to return moments later with a bowl of warm water. In a practiced art she carefully bathes the welts I know must cover my legs and butt. I watch the cotton balls that start off white, turn bright red with blood. She discards them only to grab another white one and start all over again.
Once the blood is removed she covers the injured skin with an antiseptic ointment. I don’t have to watch to know what she’ll do next; this isn’t the first time she’d tended to the injuries my father’s belt can dish out. I had no idea that all the times my sister would stay in her room for days on end and I wasn’t allowed to visit her, were because she was recovering from one of my father’s punishments.
I never realized while I was growing up, that when I’d done something to anger my father, Nicole had always stepped in to divert his attention from me. She had protected me for years before it finally became too much, and she had to escape.
How ironic that she only got a few short months of freedom before death claimed her. She’d survived years of abuse at my father’s hands and then her chance of happiness had been ripped away from her far too soon.
My mama works silently, wiping the blood from my face and holding an icepack against my swollen cheek and lip. She quietly hums the tune to a song I’ve never known the words to; the tune that allows me to hide inside my mind when my father releases his rage against me. She places two painkillers on my tongue and holds the bottle of water to my lips as I swallow the tablets. Her hands gently stroke my hair and tears run down both of our cheeks. This might be our lot in life right now, but I’ll get us away from him. I’ll find us freedom.
I remain in my room for the next three days. I don’t see my father at all in those days and I’m grateful that he chooses to stay away. My mama bathes my wounds daily, helps me to the bathroom, and brings me food. We never talk about the fact that my father beat me so badly that even three days later I’m still struggling to move. It’s the eternal elephant in the room. My father—her husband—is an abusive asshole.
I’ve tried to talk to her about it many times since my sister’s death. I’ve begged her to pack up and run away, but she always refuses. I think he’s beaten her into submission. Over the years I’ve heard every excuse and listened as she’s defended him. She told me that it was his right as my father and her husband, to punish us as he saw fit. That we need to do better, to be better, so he wouldn’t need to punish us in the future.