The Heart of Nine

Chapter Seventeen

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Chapter Seventeen

The light streaming in through my window pulls me from my dreams the next morning. My eyelids flutter open and I look over to the bedside clock to see it’s 10:30 am. I let out quiet sigh, not wanting to get out of bed yet. It takes me a minute to realize I’m not alone, I turn over to see Tristan still sleeping peacefully, his arm around my waist and his breathing deep and even.

Memories from last night flood back to me, the bruises, his dad abusing him, his need to protect his brother and sister. I hesitantly pull back the blankets, just enough to expose his bare chest and stomach. Just like last night, his body is covered in dark purple bruises, except they look worse now that’s there’s some light in the room.

I feel my heart clench at the thought of this happening to him. I lightly run my hand down his chest, feeling his smooth skin underneath my fingertips.

My thoughts are in a frenzy. What can I do to get him out of this? How often does this happen? Doesn’t he try to fight back? Those are just some of the questions running through my mind. It’s so hard for me to believe this is happening, but the evidence is right here in front of my face!

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when I feel a hand cover mine, stilling my movements. Startled, my eyes flash back up to Tristan’s face to see him staring at me, he gives me a sad half smile, “Morning.”

Crap, he caught me staring. I twist my hand in his grasp and link his fingers with mine, returning his smile, “Morning, how’d you sleep?”

He smiles at my question, “Pretty good, but I know that’s not the question you really want to ask.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, “How’d you know?”

“I can see it in your eyes, plus we didn’t really talk much last night after I told you everything.” He replies with a wink.

I smile a little at his attempt to lighten the mood, “Trist, you know we need to talk about this.”

He sighs in defeat, “I know.”

I sit up and he follows, I decide to start out with an easy question, hoping that this will get him to ease into the conversation with me, “How often does it happen?”

He stays quiet, not meeting my eyes. For a minute I’m afraid that he’s going to close up and go back to the way he was before but finally he speaks up, “A few times a week, mainly when he gets home from work. Connor, Emma, and I are never at home on the weekends so it doesn’t happen then.”

I’m happy that he’s at least willing to answer my questions, but that’s over powered by the wretched feeling that I get when I hear that this happens to him almost all the time.

I stay silent, trying to process this small piece of information. A few times a week, but not weekends? What kind of sick bastard beats their kid almost every day?

When I don’t answer right away, he meets my eyes. He obviously sees something there because he immediately launches into his story without me even prompting him with questions.

“You have to understand that I never let him touch Emma and Connor. That’s why it happens to me so often. Usually he comes home in a bad mood, then he literally drinks until he passes out, but sometimes he wakes up after a while and he’ll be even more pissed and that’s when he comes for me. I try to make sure that Emma keeps Connor in her room so they won’t have to see it but sometimes it doesn’t work.” He says, all of this in a rush. Almost as if he thinks I’m going to stop him and he won’t be able to get it all out.