“It’s okay, don’t be scared,” he whispers into the dark room. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
Like a warm fuzzy blanket, his words settle over me, giving me warmth and shelter, I wish I could shelter him too. I wish I could protect both of us, but we’re only kids. Our foster parents are supposed to take care of us.
Heavy footfalls meet my ear. Fear trickles down my spine. Larry is coming up the stairs. Coming for us… any time he’s in the room, something bad happens. My stomach tightens with worry. A moment later, the door flies open, and my worst nightmare fills the doorframe.
The light coming from the hallway is almost completely blocked out by his body, but there is a sliver of light that casts through, allowing me to see his face.
His bloodshot eyes tell me he is drunk, no surprise there. I think he’s been out at the bar every day since I arrived, and when he isn’t there, he’s fighting with our foster mom. He sways lightly on his feet as he moves to take a step forward, an evil smile spreading across his face.
“Hey, little bird,” he slurs, stepping inside the room.
I squeeze William’s hand so tightly, it must hurt him, but he doesn’t make a sound. He, like myself, is frozen in place, knowing what’s to come.
“Come here, Dove.” He motions for me to get up, but I can’t move, my limbs are useless, petrified.
“No,” William says, his voice stern and almost… scary. To me, anyway.
“No?” Larry, our foster father, starts laughing. “Did little Will grow some balls overnight?” He shakes his head. “I said come here, Dove. I want to spend some quality father-daughter time in the other room.” He licks his lips, and my stomach churns.
“I said, no!” William growls. “You don’t touch her.”
“What are you gonna do about it, Willy boy?” Larry taunts. “I thought I already taught you a lesson. Obviously, I didn’t beat it into your head hard enough.”
Though drunk, Larry is still fast and crosses the room, coming straight for me with ease. I’m shaking so hard, all I can do is sit there and wait for the inevitable to happen. At the last second, Will lets go of my hand, and moves to stand. He’s sluggish and I know it takes a monumental amount of effort for him to move.
Pain contorts his features, and I want to tell him, no, to stop, but my tongue is too heavy, the words lodged deep in my throat, refusing to come out.
“I said, don’t touch her!” I’ve never seen or heard Will speak so violently, and a new sense of fear washes over me. What if Larry hurts him again? Just as the thought enters my mind, all hell breaks loose.
Larry lunges for me, but William intercepts. I know this isn’t going to end well, not for me or for Will. Everything happens so fast. Fists start flying, landing with heavy thuds against skin and bone. Tears fill my eyes as screams and grunts erupt inside the room. I can’t make out what belongs to who. All I can do is pray that Will is going to be okay. He has to be, he’s the only thing keeping me together here.
My mind is in disarray from fear as I helplessly watch the scene unfold.
“You’re as good as dead, boy,” Larry yells and pulls something from his pocket. Then I see it. Something shiny, metal… the blade catches in the light.
He has a knife. Larry has a knife. My brain screams the warning at me. I act without thinking. Without fear. Jumping up, I throw my body between Larry and William. I don’t care what the outcome is, all I know is I have to protect Will, protect him like he’s protecting me.
The pain of the blade as it slices through my skin barely registers in my mind. I don’t care about the physical pain because there are much worse pains. Like the pain I feel as I look at William. Seeing all the blood soaking his shirt. Blood… so much blood.
“Dove! Wake up…” I feel hands on me, warm, and firm. My eyes pop open, and the first thing I do is try and sit up.
“Calm down, it was just a dream, there is nothing to be scared of…” Zane’s soft voice filters into my mind, but I’m still there. In that room with him.
I would do anything to bring him back. Anything for him to be alive today. I would have gladly taken his place. I should have been the one dead.
Pressing a hand to my stomach, I look down at my sweat-soaked body. I trace the scar there… Blood. So much blood… William died, and it’s all my fault.
“There was blood, so much blood,” I whisper. Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away. The weight of the cuff on my wrist disappears, and then he’s there, right in front of me, his dark eyes piercing mine, looking at me with nothing but kindness.