Newborn

PART FOUR

Troy's expression tightened. "You smell like a guy," he sneered, his red-rimmed eyes lined with disgust.

The comment threw me off because business had been slow tonight. But then it triggered.

Reed, I realised. I probably smelled like him because of his jacket. I mean, he did have very distinct cologne.

Before I could respond, Troy snorted. "Can't you at least shower afterwards?"

He hated me touching other guys, almost as much as I did. However, it paid the bills when he couldn't. Also, Troy was the only guy who knew me; like, really knew me. He was aware of my past—well, most of it—and he knew the bad things that I had done. In fact, since we had been together, he was usually the one who conducted it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "You know I don't do it for fun." I boldly stepped closer and swept my fingers against his arm, feeling the strong urge to try and console him.

"Don't," was all he said.

"Troy, I didn't get any customers tonight."

I moved forward to touch him again. My fingers barely skimmed his solid build before he shoved me backward, causing me to stumble. A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed hard, swiftly averting my eyes.

"Yeah, you did!" he yelled. "I can smell the guy all over you!"

That seemed a little far-fetched considering I had only worn Reed's jacket for a short period of time, so I forced my gaze back onto his and stood my ground.

"No, you idiot," I snapped, "I didn't have any customers tonight. I was at the freakin' police station!"

Troy lashed out in one quick movement. He grabbed my arm firmly and tugged me toward him. I gasped and recoiled as I tried to pry myself away from his iron grasp.

"Don't you ever call me an idiot. You hear me, whore?" His hot, stinky breath was like a knife to my throat, and I did my best not to flinch.

That's when I saw the change in his brown eyes. He wasn't himself right now. No doubt the drugs were messing with his brain and making him believe all kinds of outrageous things. I refused to fear him, even if he was more than double my size. Troy had never hit me before. Sure, he was violent, but that normally resulted in a shove at the most. My jaw clenched as he tightened his grip around my arm, so hard that it was cutting off my circulation.

"You're just like your mother, Helena!" he yelled, his spit hitting me on the cheek. "Your whore of a mother!"

*****

Suddenly, I was no longer in Troy's lounge room or being compared to my good-for-nothing mother. I was back in my old house and just a small child of twelve years old. Mum and dad were fighting again, their screams echoing off the cream, scratched up walls of our kitchen. I sat in the corner, trembling like a frightened animal, with my shaken hands cupped over my ears in a petty attempt to sound them out. Somehow, no matter how hard I covered my ears, I could still hear them.

Then he hit her.

My mother fell, crashing to the ground in tears, sweat, and blood. . . .

I stared wide-eyed, wanting to stop my father, but I was too scared—too afraid to call for help. "Helena," my mother pleaded as her shaken hand touched her bleeding lip. "Call the police!"

I didn't even move. It was over now. He had hit her, and he would stop, just like all the other times.

Only this time he didn't.

I gasped as my father leaned over her, raising his fist in the air, and looking so furious I expected to see steam shooting from his ears. Then he hit her again. The smacking sound rang in my head. Okay, two times, he'll stop now. That's when his bloody fist went back for more like he was caught in some kind of time loop. He continued to hit her, over and over.

"And in our bed, you cheating little—"

"Stop!" I screamed without thinking, interrupting my father's blood craze. 

Meanwhile, my mother's limp body lay only meters from me on the blood-filled floor.

I could have saved her.

*****