Chapter 2

Willow

A huge, swaying shadow emerged from the darkness of the hallway.

Victor.

I could hear the wheezing in his lungs with every breath he took, and his movements were jerky and unpredictable. The stench of stale beer and whiskey hit me so strongly that my stomach immediately turned.

“Are you deaf? I asked you a question!” he roared, his voice echoing between the narrow walls like the blast of a cannon.

Before I could even open my mouth to mumble some weak excuse about school activities, a rough, calloused hand grabbed the collar of my sweater. Victor yanked me toward him with a single violent pull. My feet nearly left the floor.

His face was terrifyingly close. His eyes were bloodshot, and something dried and crusted glistened on his stubbled chin.

“I… I was at school, Victor. I had my last class…” I whispered, trembling.

I tried not to look him in the eyes.

Looking him in the eyes was a challenge.

Looking away was disrespectful.

There was no way to win.

“School?” he scoffed, his breath blasting directly into my face. “You get to sit there getting smarter while I work myself to death? While I lose everything?!”

The raw, desperate rage beneath his words froze the blood in my veins.

He was not just drunk today.

Something else had happened.

“I lost everything at those goddamn tables!” he screamed, spit spraying across my face. “Those fucking cards… all those bastards at the club! They cleaned me out! And you? You just come home with that useless, freeloading face of yours, exactly like that whore of a mother you had!”

My stomach clenched.

Gambling.

He had been playing cards again, and he had lost again.

That was when he was most dangerous.

When he lost, someone had to pay for the fact that he was a failure.

And in this house, I was the only currency he could use to settle his frustration.

The next second, the world spun around me.

Victor threw me against the wall with all his strength. My back and the back of my head struck the rotting wallpaper with a dull thud. My vision went black for a second, and a sharp ringing filled my ears.

Before I could slide to the floor, his hand tangled in my hair and jerked me back.

“This miserable fucking life is why I ended up like this!” he shouted.

He drew back his free hand and drove his fist into my stomach.

The air exploded from my lungs.

I collapsed onto my knees with a silent, strangled gasp. The place where he had kicked my ribs yesterday erupted in pain, as though someone had pressed burning iron against my side.

I could not breathe.

I clutched my stomach and instinctively curled into myself on the floor.

It was the only defense I had.

Make myself smaller.

Become invisible.

But today, that was not enough for Victor.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” he roared, and his heavy steel-toed work boot slammed into my thigh.

A painful hiss escaped me, followed by the salty, metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. I must have bitten my tongue or the inside of my cheek when he threw me against the wall.

Ellie, I thought desperately as the next kick struck my shoulder.

Just think about Ellie.

Her blond curls.

Her laughter.

I closed my eyes and built a wall in my mind between myself and physical reality.

I had learned how to separate myself from my body.

I let Victor beat the piece of flesh curled up on the floor while my mind went somewhere far away.

I counted the dollars hidden beneath the floorboards.

I counted the days until I would be old enough to take my little sister away with me.

“You’re nothing!” Victor panted as he delivered one final, vicious slap that snapped my head to the side.

Dust and dirt from the floor clung to my face.

“You’re a burden.”

The words hurt almost as much as the blows, but I refused to let him see my tears.

He could never have those.

Eventually, his rage began to fade as the alcohol and exhaustion took control of his body. He breathed heavily, then spat onto the floor barely four inches from my face.

“Stay the hell out of my sight tonight,” he growled hoarsely.

Then he turned and stumbled back into the living room.

A few seconds later, I heard the springs of the couch creak, followed by his heavy, ragged snoring.

He had passed out.

The hallway fell silent.

The only sound left was my own broken, gasping breath.

I lay on the cold, filthy floor for several long minutes. Every muscle in my body trembled, and I felt as though my entire body had become one enormous, throbbing bruise.

The skin beneath my left eye felt tight and hot. I knew it would be dark purple by tomorrow.

Damn it.

Until now, he had always left my face alone.

Every breath sent a sharp stab of pain through my ribs.

Slowly, painfully, I opened my eyes.

I stared at the dust gathered along the bottom of the wall.

You have to get up, the voice inside my head ordered.

You have to go to work.

“I can’t…” I whispered to no one as a single hot tear rolled down my nose and mixed with the blood on my lips.

Yes, you can.

If you do not go to the café, they will fire you.

If they fire you, there will be no money.

And if there is no money, Victor will destroy Ellie forever.

That thought was enough to give me strength.

With trembling arms, I pushed myself off the floor. I used the wall to pull myself upright while the room spun around me for a moment.

I swallowed the blood and saliva that had gathered in my mouth, then stumbled toward the bathroom.

I locked the door behind me and switched on the flickering yellow light.

When I looked into the cracked, stained mirror, a stranger stared back at me.

My black hair clung messily to my face. The corner of my mouth was split, and dried blood stained my chin. The skin above my left cheekbone was already red, swollen, and throbbing.

I turned on the faucet.

I held my hands beneath the ice-cold water, then splashed it over my face. The sharp sting cleared my head.

I grabbed a piece of rough toilet paper and carefully wiped the blood from my mouth.

Every movement hurt.

I peeled off my gray sweater and examined the damage.

A huge black and purple bruise covered my thigh where his boot had struck me. New bruises were already forming across my stomach and side, joining the old ones.

With a trembling hand, I reached behind the cabinet for the cheap concealer I kept hidden there.

I applied a thick layer over the swelling on my face, then blended it with my fingertip.

It did not hide everything. The swelling was still visible. But at least it dulled the color.

There was nothing I could do about my split lip.

I would tell my boss I had fallen.

That was what I always said anyway.

I quickly changed into my worn black café uniform, then pulled the enormous sweater over myself again.

I was ready.

Physically, I was falling apart.

But somewhere deep inside my soul, a stubborn flame still burned, one that refused to be extinguished.

Quietly, careful not to wake the monster snoring in the living room, I slipped out through the back door.

The biting cold of the evening air caught my face.

I pulled my sweater tighter around myself, lowered my head, and started walking toward work.

Once again, the invisible girl disappeared into the shadows of the night.