Chapter 35

THIRTY-FIVE

brOOKE

What the fuck are you doing out there? I scream at her from inside the box.

I can’t believe what just came out of her mouth. But her feet just keep walking towards the back door.

No, not her feet. My feet. My feet .

But here in the box, they don’t feel like my feet. Domhnall just stood there looking so stunned. Not even betrayed. I saw the shame twist his features. It was the same— I choke on sobs inside the box. It’s the same look he had on his face when?—

The sob catches in my chest. She won’t let it break free.

Fuck, I need to go back and warn Domhnall my father is here. That he has Moira! I need to warn him about Moira! There’s nothing on this earth he loves more than her.

But the bitch I’m on a ride-along inside just pushes out the back door. The warm air of the Texas summer night after the cool AC of the club punches me in the face.

Me! That’s right. Me . I try to focus on the feeling of my five senses. That’s what Professor Roberts said to do, right? So focus, dammit! The breeze tickles the tiny hairs of my forearms. And the sudden hot air is bright in my lungs, outlining the shape of them from the inside. Good, good. What about my nose? What does my nose smell?

Be Daddy’s good girl. Be a good girl now .

Eyes. What do her— my —eyes see? We’re striding confidently towards a van at the end of an alley, where the bright lights installed behind the club can’t reach. As my eyes become accustomed to the growing darkness, I see the van clearer. It’s rocking back and forth.

My feet keep taking me towards the van’s tailgate door.

I stop there for only a moment and blink.

Hand , I try desperately. What is my hand doing??

But I can only watch in horror without being able to stop it as my hand reaches down and opens the back door of the van.

I scream when the door lifts up to reveal— “No!”

My father’s in the back of the van, fucking Moira. She’s bent over, face smashed into the rough carpeting, bare ass in the air, squeaking in pleasure. My father, one fist against the window, ruts into her from behind with furious thrusts.

And then instead of being me or anyone else, it’s like my head drops down through my feet. Then further down. Right through the asphalt underneath me.

You’re not here or there.

You’re in both places.

It’s both Moira beneath your father in the van here in front of you.

And it’s Domhn in your memory there . Donny .

Happening now. Always now. Over and over, now .

“Please,” Donny croaks, thin and small, struggling to get your much bigger father off him from where he’s got him pinned against the floor. Your father strangles Donny with the collar around his neck while he— While he?—

“Get off !” Donny begs. “Please, Sir!”

“Take it like a good doggy. Be a good doggy for Daddy.”

Be a good girl for Daddy .

You’re staring because you’re not allowed to look away. Daddy will get mad if you do. Tonight he’s doing what he always does.

He gagged you, tied your arms behind your back, and shoved you in the footlocker across the room. He drilled holes in it so you can breathe. And so you can watch.

“Watch, Mati, or I’ll hurt him worse. Promise you’ll be a good girl and watch so I don’t hurt pretty Donny worse than I have to . I wouldn’t do this if you could just be a good girl, Mati. Tomorrow, try again to be Daddy’s good girl. You know if you could just be good, I’d stop hurting him.”

But you’re never good enough. And you never remember to grab Donny’s hand when you see him the next day so you can escape the monster together. There’s something I need to tell you, Donny!

You just wake up in your bed where everything is safe and normal, then go downstairs to find Daddy smiling, joking with you, and cooking breakfast.

Every time you’re back in the box, you scream at yourself to remember this time. Remember!

But there’s the pills Daddy forces you to swallow. He makes those strange hand gestures in front of your face and when he snaps, you fall asleep.

Then when you wake up the next day, groggy, sick feeling with the vague memory of bad, bad nightmares, Daddy looks at you as if he’s worried about you for having such disturbing dreams. Maybe you should see a therapist, he always says, but you never do.

He just gets more pills, and you swallow them with breakfast. That’s why he says you have trouble remembering sometimes. It’s a side effect. But isn’t your mood better now?

You don’t know. You don’t know anything.

You feel split in two .

At night you don’t remember the day and during the day you can’t remember what happens at night.

You can’t seem to tell what’s real from what’s not. Only one thing makes any sense in any of the hazy dream worlds you’re walking.

The boy with the crystal blue eyes.

Things around him get more clear. He makes you feel alive, and awake. But something’s wrong. You can feel it. Something’s wrong with Donny. Your bright boy has started to fade. There’s this itch at the back of your neck as you start to suspect there’s something wrong with your whole world.

You start to stash the pills your father gives you in the morning. You pretend to swallow them but instead spit them out when he’s not looking. During the daytime with Domhnall, you know something’s wrong even if you can’t put your finger on it.

Then, one night, after a day when the shadows under Domhnall’s eyes are deeper than ever, you experience the horrific evening tied up in the footlocker, managing to stay present for it. Not swapping to her , even though you can feel her there, watching from inside a deep box in your head. But you stay in charge, and witness what you witness.

You still think you can escape the monster. Donny looks like he has hope for the first time since you met him. Together, you’ll escape him and start over.

But when you go home to get your passport and the money, the monster’s waiting. Always one move ahead on the board.

“What do you think I’ll do to him now?” the monster growls. “I always warned you what would happen if you stopped being Daddy’s good girl.”

“No, don’t!” you scream, but he’s dragging you downstairs to his dungeon. He throws you on the floor while he grabs his cruelest whip and starts to put it in a bag. The cat-o’-nine-tails with rocks sewn into the tiny, beaded straps at the end. Then he picks up a giant neon green phallus. And a ball gag with a hole in it.

“Stop it,” you scream and run at him, leaping on his back and clawing at his eyes. He easily throws you to the floor.

His eyes are dark and evil as he stares down at you.

“Don’t,” you say, crab walking backwards to get away from him. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You are Daddy’s very, very bad girl,” he says with his dangerous, quiet voice as he stomps towards you. You get up to flee but he catches you by the back of your hair and jerks you backwards until your head slams the hardwood floor.

You only blink awake when he’s got the oxygen mask over your head, tube down your throat, the rest of your body constrained by rope.

“No,” you cry as much as you can with the breathing tube down your throat. It comes out an illegible, “Naaa.”

That’s when you hear the whir of the machine that means— Oh god, oh god, oh god !

Within seconds, you’re choking without breath, spasming against the ropes constricting your body until suddenly oxygen floods back in right at the moment you’re about to pass out.

You float out and leave her behind to take the punishment, screaming as you watch from within the box.