CHAPTER 2: His fault

Tossing in my sleep, the sound of shouting pierced through my dreams. My body jerked awake, heart pounding like I’d had a bad dream. It didn’t take long to recognize the voice. It was Liam.

Panic hit me like a hard slap. He was awake. Breakfast wasn’t ready.

I sat up quickly, my head spinning. Glancing at the bedside clock, I cursed under my breath. How could I have overslept? I didn’t even drink much at the party last night. But the fight between Liam and my father replayed in my mind all night, refusing to let me rest.

Scrambling out of bed, I threw on a robe over my pink pyjamas and rushed toward the door, my hands trembling. My legs felt weak, and my mind raced with excuses, but deep down, I knew nothing I said would matter.

Tiptoeing downstairs, I headed straight for the kitchen. Maybe if I made his coffee before he noticed, it’d calm him down.

But his voice carried through the house, loud and angry.

“Don’t fucking ask me ‘what you should do’! I’m paying you to think, aren’t I? The loan deadline is today, and if I don’t pay it back, we’re all screwed. Start thinking of a solution and don’t call me until you have one!”

He ended the call with a grunt, running a hand through his messy brown hair. As he turned around, his eyes locked on me, and I froze.

“You’re up late,” he said, his voice cold.

“I… I overslept. I’m sorry,” I stammered, looking down at the floor.

“Sorry? You’re always sorry, Anya. Do you think sorry fixes anything?” Liam snapped, stepping closer to me.

“I’ll make your breakfast now,” I said quickly, backing toward the kitchen, my voice trembling.

“Breakfast? That’s your solution?” He laughed bitterly. “My life is falling apart, and all you can think about is breakfast?”

Before I could respond, his hand shot out and grabbed my neck, choking me.

“You think you’re better than me now, don’t you? Just like your father!” His grip tightened as he leaned in closer. “He’s acting all high and mighty because he thinks I can’t support him anymore. Do you know what it’s like to have people who owe you everything suddenly treat you like you’re nothing?”

“Liam, please—” I begged, grabbing his arm, struggling to breathe.

“Don’t ‘please’ me!” he roared, his voice shaking with anger. “You’re just like him. Ungrateful. Stupid. Useless.”

He threw me, and my back slammed into the wall with a loud thud. Pain shot through me as I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming, but a groan escaped anyway.

I couldn’t tell if he was angry because I woke up late or because of whatever my father had said to him. All I knew was that this wasn’t going to end well for me.

I stayed quiet on the floor, my head down, rubbing at my school sore neck trying to catch my breath. Talking would only make him angrier, so I waited.

But even though I knew it was coming, my breath still caught in my throat when his foot collided with my stomach, hard.

“This is your fault,” he hissed. 

Kick 

“All of it. Your father’s nonsense, my stress. Everything.”

Kick, kick, kick

Enduring the pains of the kick as he spoke,Tears burned in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Five years of this—five years of marriage and pain—had taught me better than to cry in front of him. 

“Go to the room,” he said finally, with one last kick before stepping back. “I don’t want to see your face right now.” 

I didn’t respond. I just pulled myself up, leaning heavily against the wall as my legs trembled beneath me. My stomach throbbed, and I was sure there would be bruises by tomorrow.

When I reached the staircase, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Silent sobs tore through me, and I pressed a hand to my mouth to stop the sound.

Back in my room, I closed the door behind me and slid to the floor. The tears came in waves, hot and relentless. My neck ached, and every breath sent sharp pains through my ribs. I curled into a ball on the bed, pulling the blanket over myself as if it could shield me from the weight of my wretched reality.

This wasn’t what I wanted. This wasn’t what anyone would want. But it was my life. My father had sold me off to Liam to save himself, and now I was paying the price for his greed.

Taking a shaky breath, I forced myself to get up. The mirror in the bathroom taunted me, but I avoided looking at it. I didn’t need to see the red marks around my neck or the swollen skin. I knew what I looked like—a mess.

After a quick shower, I climbed back into bed. The house was silent now, but it didn’t feel peaceful. It never did. My phone sat on the bedside table, a useless piece of plastic. Liam had restricted almost everything on it, turning it into little more than a tracking device.

I thought about calling my father, but I knew it would only make things worse. He didn’t care. He’d made that clear the day he handed me over to Liam.

I stared at the ceiling, the tears drying on my cheeks. Five years of this. Five years of surviving, not living. Liam’s anger, my father’s betrayal, and the isolation—it was all too much.

The mirror in the bathroom reflected the red marks on my neck, but I couldn’t bear to look. After a quick shower I put on a turtle neck floor length dress and climbed back into bed, staring at the ceiling as the house fell silent.

Hours passed. The silence was never comforting, only a prelude to the next storm.

Eventually, hunger and routine dragged me out of bed. I made my way to the kitchen, beginning the process of dinner as if on autopilot. Halfway through cooking, the sound of the front door opening froze me in place.

Liam walked in, his expression unreadable.

“Go upstairs and pack a week’s worth of clothes,” he said flatly, heading to the couch.

“Where are we going?” I asked hesitantly.

His glare silenced me.

I turned off the stove and went upstairs, my mind racing with possibilities. I packed quickly—long-sleeve dresses to cover the bruises, underwear, essentials. When I came back downstairs, he was gone from the living room.

I resumed cooking, unsure of what else to do. Minutes later, Liam reappeared, freshly showered and dressed casually. He sat at the dining table without a word.

“Dinner’s ready,” I said softly.

He ate in silence. I waited, tense, for him to explain.

“You leave tonight,” he said finally, setting his fork down.

My stomach sank.

“Leave?”

“Your things are packed. You’ll find out where you’re going when we get there,” he said, standing up.

As he walked away, I sat frozen in place. My mind churned with questions, but I knew better than to ask.