Page 16 of Your Daddy Does It Better
The dirt kicks up under my feet, earthy and solid, as I sprint further into the haunting beauty of the evergreen. I’m so lost in the freeing euphoria of the run that I don’t see or hear him until his arms wrap around me like a vise. I’m trapped. Immobile. His voice is like drops of venom in my ear.
“Hello, Isla.”
The slash of a blade and my shirt is sliced open, baring my flesh. But there’s something else—a faint trickle of blood between my breasts.
Paul’s hands squeeze, and I scream in agony. “You thought I’d let you jump from my cock to his? Such a pathetic whore.”
My face is level with the ground, the scent of the earth so strong that I can taste it. The sound of a zipper being pulled down fills my body with dread, and my heart thunders as cold metal slips under my cotton pants as they are torn off me. The tip of his cock leveled to my behind.
“Please, Paul. No,” I beg, my voice small and inconsequential. I know it’s pointless to ask this man anything. He’ll take what he wants and not care if it’s what I want.
The tip of his blade is on my labia. I close my eyes, desperate to leave my body. To shut out everything and leave this life to meet my maker. I don’t know if heaven and God exist, but decaying in the dirt would be better than the life I’m living.
“I was going to give you everything. You had it all, but you betrayed me like a common whore. I thought you were special, Isla. Mine. But you were never mine. You were just waiting to spread your legs for the next guy. But my father, Isla? My fuckin’father?”
His hot breath invades my nostrils, and the putrid scent causes bile to rise in my throat.
“I’m gonna tear your fat ass apart, and then I’m going to shove this knife in your cunt and gut you like a fish. I’ve always wanted to see how a cunt looks ripped apart by a knife. Perhaps I’ll just rip it open and fuck it with random shit I find on the forest floor. Might as well have one last fling with you, you ungrateful, filthy bitch.”
“The hell you will.”
Bryce. His voice is like a guiding light in the darkness.
A second later, Paul’s weight is lifted from my back, and the icy blade is removed from my flesh.
Mud coats my skin as I drag myself toward a tree, seeking safety and stability. I prop myself against it and turn to see Paul on the ground with Bryce looming over him.
Blood.
So much blood.
My gaze falls on the slick red covering the silver blade. It glints in the rays of sun spearing through the trees.
Bryce growls, “I’m going to fuckin’ kill you.”
“You won’t kill me, Pops. I’m your flesh and blood,” Paul spits.
Bryce’s bloody fingers circle the handle of the knife, his eyes focused on Paul. He grips Paul by the throat, pinning his head to the ground. Pulling the blade back, he stabs Paul directly in the eye.
The squelch of the knife entering his eye socket, and Paul’s screech echoes around me. I watch in sick fascination as Bryce yanks the blade free, now covered in chunks of flesh and fluid. He examines it with a smirk before shoving the knife into Paul’s other eye. Finally, he plunges it directly into his son’s heart.
I snap out of my stupor. I need to save myself from the deranged depravity before me. Planting my palms on the ground, I rise and run.
I cast a glance over my shoulder. Shame washes over me as I glimpse Bryce’s blood-soaked angry expression. He discards Paul’s limp body and runs after me. His long legs take one stride for every two of mine.
“Leave me alone.” I’m not sure if I mean the words flying from my mouth because as much as I fear Bryce, a part of me is drawn to his brutality.
His violence against Paul repels, disgusts, and scares me. But I can’t deny that my body reacts in a way it shouldn’t. Bryce’s determination to protect me at such a high cost to himself has my emotions soaring. And I hate myself for it. I hate that I’m intrigued and turned on by such violence. Perhaps all the years of abuse have broken me and twisted my mind into accepting wrongdoing as palatable.
“Isla, please, stop.”
I want to do as Bryce asks, but the little girl whose father beat her needs to run. The woman abused by his son doesn’t want to listen to anything he has to say.
“You can’t leave, Isla. Be reasonable. You don’t have a car, and your phone is in your purse back at the cabin. There’s no cab you can call around here or a bus to take. What are you going to do, crawl into the forest and wait for an animal to attack you?”
I have no options, but I’d rather be eaten by a bear than give him the satisfaction of admitting my situation. “The only animals I’ve seen in this forest are you and Paul.”
The sun is rising. Ironic that the colors marring my skin in ugly bruises are so majestic in the night sky. Orange, red, purple. Being lost out here sends chills down my spine.
