Ididn’twant her to.
I’m trying to show Reign that I love him. And that he loves me too. And now that he’s taken my forbidden little asshole, he’ll declare his undying love for me. Because it was magical, as I knew it would be, and so it’s time for him to face the truth.
It’s time for him tobelieve.
I want to tell my mom that.
But then she’s sitting me up on the bed, all the while crying and screaming and saying things that I don’t understand. When she drapes a blanket over me though, covering me in the kind of warmth that I don’t want, my fog lifts.
My coma-like state breaks and I realize what’s happening.
I realize that the door…
The door wasn’t locked.
I always lock the door.Always.
After what happened two years ago, I always make sure to lock it. Doesn’t matter if I’m reading inside or sleeping or being with Reign in the middle of the night. My room isalwayslocked. And it wasn’t today because my mom and my dad were so worried about me.
And so of course, the worst has happened.
Of course in my foolish recklessness, my nightmare has come true.
I push my mother away then.
I don’t know where I get the strength from but I push her away so hard that her arms come loose from around me and I’m running out of my room.
“Echo, stop,” my mom’s screaming. “Get back here.”
But I need to go.
I need to save him.
My dad’s going to finish what he’d started two years ago.
So I rush down the stairs and tear down the hallway to get to the living room. Where I realize things are even worse. Because it’s empty and the front door is wide open.
And oh my God, I seepeople.
I run out the door and my heart drops down to my stomach.
It drops down to the ground.
Because my dad is punching Reign and he’s letting my dad do it. My dad is literally beating on him and Reign is doing absolutely nothing to stop him.
No oneis doing anything to stop him.
All these people — I don’t even know where they came from — are simply standing there, gasping and watching, without lifting a single finger. It’s exactly like the night of the fight.
And just like that night, my feet move forward as I scream, “Dad, stop.”
But I can only take a couple of steps before I’m stopped. Again, much like that night.
This time, by Mom.
She’s caught up to me and is holding me in her arms. She’s trying to shush me but I won’t be silenced. “Dad, please. Stop it. Stop hitting him.” I struggle against her hold, crying and sobbing. “Dad, please. Oh my God, stop. Please stop.”
But he won’t listen to me.