Chapter 1

My head was spinning.

And not in the way it did when you were hungover or had a terrible nightmare.

No. It was excruciating and painful, I couldn't even breathe.

"Shit," I cursed, clutching my sides, as something wet dribbled down my mouth.

My vision was blurry. I could only see the faint outlines of the kitchen cabinets and the overhead lamps but beyond that, everything else was faint.

I groaned, trying to push myself up to my feet but I couldn't. My legs suddenly stopped working.

What the hell happened?

"It's your fault!" I heard my father's beastly voice roar and mom's whimpering following suit.

They were arguing, or rather my father was raining curses on her.

"If you were home like I asked you to be, this wouldn't have fucking happened!"

"You almost killed her, Salem!"

"What the hell did you just say?!" I heard him bark and then a thump followed.

It wasn't hard to decipher what had happened. Either he'd planted his fist on her face or he pushed her again.

I wonder what mom saw in him, aside from his wealth and position.

My eyes finally cleared and I realized I was lying on the kitchen floor. The white tiles stained with my blood, and glasses that had shattered everywhere.

"I told you to never talk back at me, you witch!" My father screamed again, followed by another thump.

I grabbed the nearest stool and pushed myself up to my feet, groaning and pressing a finger against the throbbing on the side of my face.

I winced in response, and pulled back immediately. A sob clogged my throat when my hand returned stained bright red.

What did he do to me?

I looked at my parents across from me, both of them were still oblivious to my consciousness and I wasn't sure I wanted them to notice me either.

My memory returned with vengeance and I gasped, stumbling backward.

Dad had returned from a function, drunk senselessly and he yelled out for mom but she wasn't at home.

She'd announced last week and yesterday that she was going for a visit to her parents. It wasn't a wonder that he didn't hear her, Dad had selective hearing.

He didn't want to hear anything that he didn't want to.

So when he came home and didn't find his wife, he took out his rage on the nearest person.

Me.

I gasped again, catching myself quickly before I fell again.

The man almost killed me. I looked around the mess; the glasses on the floor, the broken chairs. He wasn't just lashing out, he had an intent.

It was a miracle that I was still conscious.

"Mija¿"

My head snapped up, catching the wide eyed stare of mom.

"Are you okay?"

Dad was frozen in his spot, his hand still hanging in the air. I stepped back out of terror and he quickly dropped his arm.

"Tara-" he stuttered, licking his mouth furtively. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"You almost killed me," I whispered, my fingers trembling. "I would've died."

"No!" He barked, moving forward and I scrambled away. "I was drunk. I-I didn't know! Tell her-"

He looked at my mom desperately and a part of me hoped she would stand up to him finally and kick him off his high horse.

I stared at her hopefully, begging with my eyes.

Tell him, Mom. Tell him the kind of monster he is and walk away.

But she didn't. Sasha Lodge plastered a smile on her face instead and rose to her feet, dusting the sides of her dress.

"He's right, Tara," she said gently. "He didn't mean to-"

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered and spun on my heels, running off."

"Tara!" She yelled after me but I didn't stop.

"Tara, wait!"

I didn't stop until I was in my room, and I shut the door, locking it securely.

My gaze caught my reflection in the mirror and a warbled sob left my mouth.

"Christ!" I cried, raking a hand through my hair.

The left side of my face was nasty. My cheek was swollen and bruised, and there was blood that had long dried plastered on my temple.

I could barely recognize myself. Even my Dior pyjama set was soaked with my blood.

I felt utterly disgusted and pulled it off my body with lightning speed. My breasts stared back at me, speckles of blood dotting my brown skin and I swallowed back a disgusted cry.

"Tara!" I heard rapid knocking on my door but I didn't move.

"Tara, please open the door," she tried twisting the handle but it didn't budge. "You know your father didn't mean for what happened."

I scoffed, the first tear running down my eyes. "How long will you keep making excuses for him?"

"Tara!" She sobbed, knocking weakly but I ignored her.

I used to think my father was the perfect man. A good husband. A wise leader.

I grew up knowing his bright smiles and lovingness, but it was all a lie. The smiles masked the cruelty underneath.

He first started with my mom, abusing her until she was unconscious or had to be sent to the hospital. There was a time he beat her so much her ribs broke and she had to get twelve stitches.

He never touched me, of course. Feeding me lies that my mom just needed some straightening and this was the best way he could do it.

I believed him until I didn't anymore. And then one day, I finally stood up to him and called the cops.

I hoped my mom would confess when they came but she just pretended everything was fine, saying I must've heard wrong.

Of course, the police couldn't touch the powerful senator so they let him be.

That was the first night I saw how twisted my family was. Since then, if mom wasn't home for him to lash out on, he would take it out on me and then blame her for not being around.

A part of me believed that mom knew this and used it to her advantage, so she began staying out late sometimes leaving for days under the guise of going to her parents.

"I've had enough," I muttered under my breath, fuming with so many emotions.

I walked over to my closet and pulled open the doors, eyeing the stash I'd been stacking for months.

I was waiting for the right time and this was it.

This was the last straw.