Page 117 of Pretty Little Scars

Crack!

Oh God.

The breath leaves my lungs, my mouth goes bone dry, and I’m flung back in time when a monster ruled my life and my back was on fire.

Crack!

Someone’s hurting a horse with that whip.

I run out the barn doors and see a man training a young horse, the whip in his hand. He cracks it over and over, getting so close to the horse’s haunches, and I just know he’s going to break the skin any second.

No no no no no!

“Hey!” My voice is thready and thin, probably because I still haven’t been able to drag in any air. “Stop it.”

I want to scream at the man to stop cracking that whip.

You’re not quite bloody enough, little girl. You’re so fat, you have so much skin to break. You better not lose any weight and ruin all of my fun, or I’ll do this to your sisters until I tear the muscle from their bones.

Crack!

I can feel the tears tracking down my face as I run over to protect the horse, getting between the two, and then I feel the whip tear at the flesh of my shoulder and arm, making me stumble and fall into a fence post, hitting the side of my face and making me see stars.

Fuck you bleed so pretty for me.

“Darby!”

“Don’t hurt the horse. Don’t you dare!”

I just keep saying that over and over, but I can’t tell if I’m yelling it or if it’s a whisper because I can’t catch my breath, and my shoulder and arm sing in white-hot pain.

“Fuck, get some water.” I think that’s Dr. Fisher’s voice. “Darby, I need you to take a breath for me. You have to breathe.”

I pull in a breath, and then I look around and find Dr. Fisher frowning down at me, the trainer with the whip is pale as aghost, his lips are moving, but I can’t make out what he’s saying over the rushing in my ears, and fucking Peter is standing by the barn doors, smiling as wide as he can.

I fucking hate that guy.

He reminds me too much of my father.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Can I go?” It’s a whisper because that’s really all I’m capable of right now. The past is too close, I hurt, and I can’t be here.

“I’ll drive you home?—”

“No.” I shake my head, interrupting my boss. “I just need to go.”

“Darby, I think you should sit for a second.”

I stumble to my feet and manage to walk into the barn on my own. I don’t even bother to scoop up my medical bag as I walk through to the other side where my car is, and without waiting to see if Dr. Fisher approves or not, I get in the driver’s seat, start the engine, and pull out of the driveway, trying to ignore the way my shoulder is singing with pain.

This ranch is bad luck for me.

I can’t stop crying, so I pull over on the side of the highway and try to get myself together, but his voice is in my head, so loud and big and mean, anddamn it. I thought I’d battled my way through this and that I was so much better.

I’ve been so much better.

When I can finally get the tears to slow down, I put the car in gear and drive back toward Tucker’s ranch.