Red Wolf Rising

3.Broken

The door slammed behind me with a bang that shook the walls. My father stood in the hallway, his jaw was clenched, and his eyes burning with anger. His silence was worse than yelling, but it didn’t last long.

“Where were you?” He snapped.

“I, I was at work. I just...”

“Don’t lie to me!” He yelled. “You weren’t working. You were out with some boy, weren’t you? Whoring yourself out like the little tramp you are.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “No! I wasn’t...”

He stepped closer, towering over me, the smell of alcohol evident in his breath. “Don’t you dare talk back. After everything we do for you, is this how you repay us? You’ve made us late this morning. We had to make our own breakfast. Do you know how pathetic that is?”

“I didn’t mean...”

His hand shot out, striking me across the face so hard my head moved sideways. My cheek burned and stung.

“You never mean to,” he spat. “Always, sorry. So unbelievably useless. You shame this family. You shame me.”

I staggered back, but before I could steady myself, he grabbed me by the arm and hurled me hard against the wall. Pain shot through my shoulder, and I couldn’t breathe for a second.

“You think you’re grown now? Think you can sneak around with men and come crawling home like nothing happened?” He snapped venomously.

“I didn’t! I swear!”

His boot slammed into my stomach, knocking the breath right out of me. Instant pain seared through me, and I leaned forward, gasping and guarding my stomach.

“Ungrateful little brat,” he growled, as he kicked me again. The air left my lungs in a sob I couldn’t hold back. I leaned into the floor, my body shaking, and tears streaming down my face, my head still pounding from last night’s fall.

Finally, he stepped back, trying to get his breath. “Get to your room! I can’t stand the sight of you.”

I tried to push myself up, my arms trembling intensely, and my legs struggling to function. The room tilted, my vision was blurring.

“Move!” he insisted.

“I’m going,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I forced myself to my feet, swaying, each step in agony. I staggered down the hallway, his eyes burning into my back until I turned the corner.

I didn’t even make it to my bed. My legs gave out just inside the doorway, and I collapsed to the floor. It was all too much. Then darkness swallowed me whole.

The afternoon light hit my face, and I groaned. I must’ve been out for hours. My eyes slowly opened, and my body still aching. My head still throbbing, and even the simple act of breathing felt heavy. Had I cracked a rib?

A loud knock on my door made me jump.

“Accalia!” my mother’s voice called out. “Get up! You better get moving with dinner before your father comes home!”

I groaned, moving slowly on the floor. My body protested even the small movement.

“I can’t...” I tried to say, my voice cracking.

“You can, and you will,” she snapped as she stepped into my room. Her eyes scanned me with disdain. “And don’t even think about going to work tonight looking like that. I have already called in for you.”

Not going to work? That would usually send my mind spinning, imagining the lost wages. I needed every dollar I could get. I needed to get out of this place. But right now, my body was too sore to feel anything else. I was too tired to care.

“Okay,” I whispered.

She looked me up and down, her eyes narrowed, like I was somehow ruining her day just by existing. “Come on, move your ass, Accalia. I don’t have all day to wait for you to mope on the floor.”

I forced myself to my feet, my head swaying slightly. I moved toward the kitchen slowly, dragging one aching foot after the other.

My mother huffed behind me, muttering under her breath about my laziness and how ungrateful I was.

“Pathetic,” she scoffed. “Seventeen years old and still acting like a spoiled little brat.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t. My body refused to argue, and my mind was too numb to fight.

I moved around the kitchen, my body working on autopilot. I threw together a lasagna with mince, sauce, pasta sheets, and whatever cheese we had left. Once assembled, I slid it into the oven. While it baked, I tossed together a quick green salad and warmed some garlic bread. Chop, stir, set the table, repeat. My body kept moving, even if my mind wasn’t really there.

My mother watched me for a moment, tapping her fingers against the countertop. “Hurry it up, your father will be home soon.”

I nodded without saying anything, pretending to focus on the little task in front of me. Inside, I was falling apart. Everything; last night, my dad, my mom, the diner, this town, it all felt like too much. Like I was slowly sinking, and no one even noticed or cared.

Just over an hour or so later, dinner was ready. The plates were set, the food warmed, and the smell filled the house. My mother gave it a quick once-over and nodded.

“You’d better go to your room for the rest of the night,” she said. “Looking at you right now, it’ll put anyone off their food.”

I swallowed, nodding quickly, beyond relieved that I was being excused for the night. “Thanks, Mom.”

I rushed up the stairs, hoping to avoid him. I stopped at the bathroom door, went in, and started cleaning up; hair brushed back, face washed, hands under cool running water. For a moment, it felt nice. Then I looked up. And froze. The girl in the mirror looked like me, but not really. I gasped out loud.

My face was so swollen, there were dark purple and yellow bruises across my cheeks, my lips were cracked from dehydration and crying, and one eye was nearly shut; I looked almost unrecognizable. My hair was tangled and matted with yesterday’s sweat and grime. My skin, once clear and soft, was now mottled and bruised.

I was a shell of my former self.

I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even blink. I just stood there, frozen, while it all crashed down on me: Dad’s rage, Mom’s disappointment, and that awful feeling that the world wouldn’t notice if I was gone.

For a long moment, I just stood there, shaking, clutching the sink as if I let go, I’d hit the floor. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. But nothing came.

I stared at the battered girl in the mirror and felt every piece of me shatter a little more. Under this roof with these people. At that high school with those bullies. At the diner with that cruel boss. I was breaking, inch by inch, day by day. And yet… beneath it all, I was still here. Still me.

The swelling would fade. The cracks would heal. The bruises would fade. This couldn’t define me. I wouldn’t let it. Things had to change.

I would make them change.