48. Chapter 48

48

Hope

Heath parks in front of my house.

"Good night," I murmur, having no strength to keep my eyes open.

"Get your ass inside," he orders.

Fighting back a smile I stumble to the porch.

I look back and Heath is watching me. I give him a wave and get inside my house as quietly as I can.

I make my way to the stairs through the darkness. Also, it's eerily quiet in the house.

Mom is supposed to work a shift tonight and Dad is out with his friends.

I told them about the fair, and they agreed. Though Mom cornered me later and asked me about Heath. I thought about lying but figured she would see through me. When I told her he'd be there, she lectured me to stay away from him among other things. I half-listened to her scolding—which is a first for me. I respect her too much to not ever listen to her. After Dad left, she put herself to work to provide for me while also saving up for college. She's done so much for me. But she doesn't know Heath like I do. I wish she did.

In the safety of my room, I lock the door and quickly change out of my dress and wash my face.

Wearing my favorite blue pajamas, I slide into bed and retrieve everything out of my satchel.

The polaroids. I love all three of them, but there's one that's my favorite. The way Heath is smiling down at me while I'm laughing has my heart turning into a cotton ball.

All my feelings for him resurface and butterflies wreak havoc in my stomach.

I like him so much.

I wonder what he feels for me is as strong as what I feel for him.

A knock on my window pulls my attention. Heath is there, hanging onto the windowsill trying to lift himself off of it. I rush forward and open the window. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to ask you something."

"You could have texted me."

He gets over the windowsill and shuts it behind me.

"That wouldn't have worked." He grabs the back of his neck and looks anywhere but me.

"How did you climb so high up?" I look under the window and gape at the height. My room is on the second story.

Heath comes behind me and points at the trash can. "I stood on it and then climbed up using the bricks pointing out."

"That isn't safe."

"I needed to see you."

We steer toward my bed. I make room for him to sit. His eyes settle on the Polaroid, and he picks it up. "This picture—"

"Hope, open the fucking door," Dad speaks from the other side.

My heart skyrockets in alarm.

Cold sweat beads appear on the back of my neck and goosebumps sweep over my body.

I look at Heath who's watching me closely. His blue eyes darken, and his face turns serious.

"Is it him?" he asks in a harsh voice.

I shake my head and grab his arm, pulling him to stand up but he doesn't. "Please. You need to leave."

He stands up. "I'm not leaving. I'm going to beat the shit out of him for hurting you."

The knocks get harder and louder.

"Please, Heath." I squeeze his arm, as I try to drag him to my window but he's strong. He barely moves an inch.

"Hope open the fucking door right now," Dad hollers, and my palms start to get clammy.

Heath glares at the door with the intent to burn it down. "He's the man who's hurting you, isn't he?"

I shake my head.

Heath cups my cheek. "I'll protect you. Go hide—"

"No! You don't understand. You have to leave. I beg you," I hiss at him, trying to control my frustration and fear.

"I won't leave you with him," Heath argues and it's certain that he won't leave.

"Then hide in the bathroom please," I try.

Reluctantly, he gets into the bathroom and closes the door enough to leave it a little ajar.

"Hope!" I jostle and don't have the time to fully close the bathroom door.

I run to the door and pull it open with shaky hands. Dad stomps inside and grabs me by the throat. "Who the fuck is in your room?"

"No-no one." I sputter in short breaths.

Dad releases me with such force the side of my head hits the wall and my ears ring.

"I saw the car and I heard the noise. I know someone came up." He glares at me and then surveys my room looking around at the nooks and corners.

"It's just me," I tell him, holding the side of my head that's throbbing.

"Really? Then who's this fucker?" Dad holds up the Polaroid.

The color drains from my face.

Shivers chase down my spine, then curl toward my stomach and freeze every muscle.

This can't be happening.

He can't know.

Oh my God.

He'll kill me.

My eyes glance at the bathroom door where blue eyes are watching me. Heath is there. I have to protect him.

"He's a friend," I mumble, my hands shaking with terror.

It feels like I'm stuck in a nightmare and it's all part of my imagination. But the ache in my head tells me it's not. This is happening. This is how everything goes down, crashes, and burns into quick flames.

Dad strides toward me. His hands grip my arms, and he squeezes hard.

"Don't lie to me you fucking bitch," he snarls at me with boiling anger.

"You're hurting me."

"You think I don't—"

Dad's voice fades out as I see Heath opening the door. His face is shadowed with rage and an intense look I've never seen on him before. Even from afar, I can see the tremors moving down his arms. He's shaking with blind rage that's consuming him from the inside out.

I shake my head at him and then meet Dad's dark gaze.

"I knew it! I knew you were whoring around." He yells at me.

I try freeing myself from his hold and he lets me go. I take a shallow breath of air, only to have it knocked out of me when he slaps me across the face. My balance slips and I fall to the floor holding my cheek that stings with searing heat.

Dad yanks my head up by my hair. His fingers pull my hair, and I wince hard.

"Tell me his name. Tell me his fucking name!" He applies more pressure, and I wail out in excruciating pain.

But it lasts for only a moment.

The pain disappears and my head drops.

Moving on my feet and hands I back away from him and hold my scalp that's aching with the sensation of a hammer jamming my head.

Then I hear him, "Heath Travon. That's my fucking name. And now I'll imprint it on your fucking soul so even your shadow is scared of me."

Through my blurry vision, I see two figures. One is hunched over the other and landing punch after punch.

I wipe my eyes and watch the scene.

Heath is holding down my father by his throat and his arm is busy punching him.

Dad looks bloody and bruised. His body is trying to flee but Heath isn't letting him escape. He's holding him down with his weight and knee that's rammed in his stomach.

"You're going to be dead by the time I'm done with you," Heath warns him.

Dad chokes as he flies his hands around.

Heath stands up and kicks him hard in the ribs. Dad rolls over so he's looking at me. His face is covered in blood and sweat, and his eyes are burning with anger directed at me.

I scramble away under his dark eyes.

"Don't look at her!" Heath pulls his head toward him. "Don't you fucking dare look at her. I swear I'll gouge your fucking eyes out."

I'm trembling against the wall. My body is paralyzed by shock. I can't move myself.

"Who the fuck are you, boy?" Dad coughs out. His eyes watch Heath with keen interest.

"Someone who'll go to any extent to protect Hope. Even against her goddamn pathetic excuse of a father."

Dad gives him a cynical smile. "Is that so?"

Heath glares at him. "I swear on it with my fucking life."

For the first time, I see fear washing over my father. He's scared. The same fear he used to instill in me is now what he's feeling.

The eye contact prolongs until I see a little movement. Dad takes out a small knife from his jeans pocket and holds it tightly.

"Heath!" I call out but I'm too late.

Dad pushes it to Heath's thigh, and he groans.

Getting to his feet Dad rushes out of my room.

I run to Heath and quickly press tissues to the open bleeding wound.

"It's not stopping." My hands are trembling because of how anxious I am.

I don't want to lose him.

Why does it feel like I'm losing him?

Heath cups my chin and makes me look at him. "Tie a piece of cloth around it. I'll be fine. It's not deep."

I tear apart one of my T-shirts and tie it around his wound tightly.

Then I help him stand. "Are you okay?" I run my eyes all over him, searching for any injury.

Heath brushes his fingers over my temple. "You're bleeding, Rose."

He brings his fingers down and I see blood on them.

I should feel concerned, but the only person I seem to worry about is him.

"I'm fine. It's nothing."

Heath looks at my injuries and his gaze turns intense. The black swallows the blue with rapid speed. "Come here." He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly. "You're shaking."

My head is spinning, and my chest feels heavy from the worry and fear.

"It's okay. I'm here. I'll protect you," he assures me as he rubs my back.

Protect me. How?

He got stabbed because of me.

I got him hurt.

This is all my fault.

"Hope?" He looks down at me. "Look at me. I need to see you."

He. Got. Stabbed.

I'm the reason.

There was blood.

"Rose, listen to me!" He shakes me a little until I break free from my thoughts and face him.

His blue eyes hold anger as he says, "Don't get lost in your head."

My lips wobble. "You got hurt because of me. There was blood—"

"It isn't your fucking fault," he hisses.

No. He's not thinking right. He has feelings for me that's why he doesn't want me to feel responsible but that doesn't erase the truth. I got him hurt.

Before I can argue with him, he pulls away and says, "Stay here until I come back."

I panic. "What?"

Heath points to the bed. "Sit."

I shake my head.

"I need to take care of him," he says.

My eyes bulge out in apprehension. "What? No! You—"

With a sigh, he limps out of the room, and I follow him. "Heath, you—"

"Shh…"

Before leaving I grab a thick book, it's the closest weapon I can find. It can do serious damage if I throw it with enough force.

Heath gives it a bemused look and then moves down the stairs with caution. I stay right behind him instead of walking ahead of him like a shield.

God. How pathetic I am.

We hear Dad speaking to someone in the living room.

The moment we join him, he gets off the phone and looks at us with amusement in his brown eyes that I inherited from him. I wish I didn't. I wish I didn't look like him or resemble him in any way. I wish we weren't connected at all.

"So, this is your boy toy." His smile is sick and evil. With the blood on his face, he looks truly wicked.

I keep my mouth shut and stay behind Heath who's glaring at Dad with zero ounce of fear.

Dad wipes off the blood from his busted lip. "She isn't worth it. You're stupid if you think she is. Like her mother, she's useless."

Heath goes rigid. His body vibrates with tension. "She's worth it. You asshole!" Heath snaps.

Dad breaks out into laughter and the sound makes me reach for Heath's T-shirt.

Heath takes a step toward him and lashes out at him, "You beat your daughter. How fucking sick are you?"

Dad glares at him. "Now you're going to teach me how to treat my daughter?"

Heath's hands curl into fists by his side and I see them trembling. " Treat your daughter? You fucking asshole you beat her blue and purple. I've seen the marks. You choke her, hit her, slap her. How fucked in the head are you?"

Dad straightens and suddenly the air in the room evaporates.

The walls close in on me and the space looks ten times more congested than it already is.

My hand tightens around Heath's T-shirt which seems to help me hold myself together. Otherwise, I'd be having a panic attack.

I can't face the man who's my father. How messed up is that?

I slide further behind Heath, and Dad notices, and a grin appears on his mouth.

No. I hate that grin. It makes me restless because I know something very bad is about to happen.

Just then, the police sirens fill the vicinity. Blue and red lights flash in through the open windows. The noise of cars pulling up fills the neighborhood.

In minutes policemen barge inside holding guns and shouting instructions.

It all happens so fast. I zone out.

I feel like I'm in a nightmare and I can't move.

My eyes take in the scene, but my ears are muffled.

I see it all happen and I do nothing. I can't do anything.

Dad points his finger at Heath and screams words I can't hear. He cries with actual tears then shows his bruises and scrapes to police about how he's the victim.

A man comes around me in uniform and handcuffs Heath who's speaking words to me.

I can't hear him. I can't hear anything around me.

What is wrong with me?

In panic, I lock my arms around him to prevent him from going away from me, but Dad pulls me away. He digs his fingers into my arms as I try to reach Heath who's screaming words at Dad, but it only makes him hold me tighter.

The police take Heath outside and push him inside the car. Not for a second his eyes avert from my face.

"…yes he hit me like a wild animal. You can see the damage he's done to me. He's a criminal for sure because no normal kid goes around hitting people. I wonder if he's hurt my daughter." Dad stands beside an officer murmuring words in misery and wiping his tears.

I try to open my mouth and tell the police the truth. I really try. But I can't. It's like suddenly I've gone mute.

I'm stuck in a limbo of fiction and reality where I'm a ghost—my existence is merely a fraction of my soul. Nothing more than that.

Wild animal.

He's a criminal.

He's hurt my daughter.

The voices get louder.

I want to scream at myself.

I want to scream at the policeman.

I want to deny the lies my father spoke and tell him the real truth.

Out of nowhere, courage rips through me and I face the policeman. "Sir, I want to tell—"

"Nothing." Dad slips his arm around my shoulders and squeezes hard. "Right, sweetie?" He looks down at me and the warning shines brighter in his eyes.

I won't crumble. "No—"

"She's still in shock. Don't mind her." Dad assures him who gives us an unbothered look and walks away.

My body seizes into panic.

No! Come back.

Can't you see his fingers digging into my arm?

He silenced me and you left.

It's then I realize that it doesn't matter if I tell the authorities or not. They won't help me. Much like that policeman they'll turn deaf and ignore my words. They'll go blind and not see the signs that are right in front of them. All because they don't care. No one does.

Except for Heath. The only person who stepped up for me, who fought for me, and who tried to protect me.

He's the only one who didn't ignore me. Not like my mother or the policeman.

I close my eyes to get a hold of myself . Breathe in. Breathe out.

I don't know how long it will take me, but I will pull myself together once again.

The first thing I notice is, I'm sitting on the couch. Dad is in the corner reciting convincing lies to a woman while staring at her with interest.

This is my chance.

I need to get to Heath.

Standing up, I run outside and hear Dad shouting my name and asking officers to stop me.

My feet hit the asphalt hard as I run in the direction of the police station. It's seven blocks away from my house but I don't care.

I have to get him out somehow. I have to do something.

Sirens blare behind me and alarm bells ring in my head.

However, I don't stop running.

The only thought in my head is Heath. How he's in this situation because of me.

I run, run, and run.

Blood and adrenaline pump through my veins. Hot sweat gathers on my skin.

My breathing is loud and uneven. I can't catch oxygen.

Still, I don't allow my steps to falter.

The only thing on my mind is to reach the guy I know I'm falling in love with.