Page 73 of Make You Beg

A chill runs down my spine. I do not want to have to explain this.

Does she not know what’s happening behind closed doors?

“N-nothing.” I bite back my words, clenching my fists to my sides. “That’s⁠—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” She pauses. Her eyes tell me all I need to know. She does know. “I’m sorry.”

If you’re so sorry, why do you let him do this? I’m tempted to say.

But she’s not my mother. It’s not her duty to protect me. She’s nothing. No one.

Why would she care? No one ever does. I’ve been hiding my scars for years, masking my tears.

For all I know, she doesn’t really know the gravity of my father’s actions.

“There’s some gauze in the bathroom, let me get it.”

Miranda rushes out of the library.

I’m about to take off, but I’ll give it to her—the woman is fast for her age. She comes back with a package of white gauze and a bottle of alcohol. I resign myself to it, not wanting to make a fuss. If I do, Madelyn might hear.

If I do, my father will hear us, too, and I do not want him to come back here.

I take a seat on the couch in the middle of the room.

Miranda sits by me. She presses her lips together. “I heard you protected Maddy against some guy at a party. Thank you for taking care of her, Kayden.”

Well, at least someone appreciates what I do.

“No need to thank me.” I pause. “I’m her brother, that’s what I do.”

“I’m glad you see yourself that way. I really appreciate everything you do for her.”

Bet she wouldn’t say that if she knew I ate her daughter’s cunt over the hood of my car.

She takes out a piece of gauze and opens the bottle of alcohol, soaking some of the liquid onto it.

“T-take off your shirt, please,” she says. “So, I can patch you up.”

I do.

“This will sting.”

Her warning is no joke. The burning intensifies with her touch.

“Fuuuck,” I groan.

“It’s okay. Let me clean this up.”

“Why do you stay with him?” I ask, attempting to distract myself from the pain as she cleans up my wound. Addressing the big elephant in the room.

“What?”

“Why do you stay with my father if you know what he does?” Another question pops up in my head, and I’m tempted to word it out.

“I love him.”

Fucking lie.