𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐨𝐟 (unfinished)

2 . 2

Leland's POV

Six Years Ago....

I sat by the wall outside my parents' bedroom, worried as I heard the screams and bellows coming from inside. Dad was furious, livid, and without reason. As always. He was yelling at Mom because she embarrassed him in front of his new colleagues. They had a dinner party with all the attorneys and their spouses. When Dad was introducing himself, his accent was thick and one of the partners misheard his name as Alistair. Mom corrected the man and this apparently infuriated Dad, because who the hell did Mom think she was speaking for him? Why did she correct the man who was going to make our lives a whole lot easier? So for years, he stuck to it. And that's how Alistair Romero came to be.

I hugged my knees and put my head in between my legs. I was afraid for not just mom, but for myself and for Belle. She came waddling toward me with her milk bottle in her mouth, "Lanny, I want Mama!"

My eyes softened when my two-year-old baby sister sat down beside me. I cradled her into my arms and I put my index finger on my mouth. I whispered, "Let's play hide and seek?"

"NO!" she tried to wiggle herself out of my embrace and screamed, "I want Mama!" I didn't hate her for not wanting to play this game anymore. She was probably getting tired of it, because on some days we played it three times. We did it so she was safe, because if anything happened to her I'd never live with myself. Out of my pockets I fished out a chocolate and I broke a piece for her.

"If you find the best place to hide, I'll give you more chocolate," I promised her as she stuffed her little face with the two blocks of chocolate. I didn't even get the chance to wipe the smudges off her cheeks when she was already running away to hide. Her little legs were getting faster and her dirty diaper was bouncing up and down. Mom was going to be pissed that I didn't change it yet.

The bedroom door burst open and Dad stepped out, spotting me sitting there. He grabbed me roughly by the arm and yanked him up to my feet. "Why the hell are you eavesdropping you little creep?" he demanded. I whimpered, mostly because I was afraid Belle hadn't gotten enough time to hide but also because he was hurting me. "I'm sorry dad," I whispered and tried to pull away but his grip only tightened.

"Apologize to your mother too. She needs to learn to keep her mouth closed." Dad shoved me into the room and I fell onto their carpeted floor. Mom was crying. No sobbing, wailing. Her eye already starting to bruise from where his dad had hit her. Her shirt had ridden up her torso and I could see the teeth marks and nail scratches. She gazed at me with a pained expression.

"I'm sorry mom," I said quietly. I'm sorry I can't protect you. That I can't keep you and Belle from harm. I'm weak. I'm sorry. He was yearning to defend her but I was paralyzed by fear.

Dad's suddenly sickly sweet tone made my insides feel like they were being burnt with acid, "Go to your room before I really lose my temper!"

I escaped from the room as fast as I could, passing every hallway in our six-bedroom house, wanting to escape to Dean's house. Dean has been my best friend since our mothers met in real estate meetings. When Mom still worked. As I sprinted towards the staircase, I'd almost forgotten about the most important girl in my life, Belle. I halted in my tracks when I heard her giggles and coos when I ran past the towel closet she was hiding in.

"Lanny!" she giggled and the closet door burst open. She opened her arms and twitched her tiny hands, and I knew exactly what that meant. She was ready for bed and she wanted to sleep in my arms. I sighed and texted Dean that I wouldn't be able to make it to his house after all. I walked into my room where I locked the door. I could still hear more shouting from my parents' room. And I dared not come out again.

Dad's abuse was inconsistent and unpredictable. Some days he was fun Dad - he took us on spontaneous trips to Islands I'd never heard of, and bought us expensive gifts. And on other days, the unlucky days, he was the unmasked monster from my nightmares. All I wanted was to find a way to protect Mom and Belle, but I was just a child myself. I felt helpless, and the situation was only getting worse over time.

I remember the time when Dad was helping me with my fourth grade Science homework and I told him to stop saying the word shit, because it tasted like tomato gravy mixed with chalk pieces. He slapped me so hard that I couldn't go to school for an entire week. "You can't taste words, you moron!" he spat in my face. And I told him I could. But dad, I could! And I could smell the words, numbers and words and colors, and I could taste those colors!

Mom wrote to the middle school that I had a stomach bug. Then she spent the time trying to get the swelling on my face to go away. I remember her sitting on the edge of her bed, crying silently when she thought I'd left the room. She was used to the abuse by now, having endured it for years. But it still broke her heart to see the fear in my eyes, I knew it. She wanted to escape, but had nowhere to go. She had given up her own life, her own identity, to become the battered wife of an angry, violent man. She felt trapped in a prison of her own making.

Every night after Dad would lay a finger on her, or me (although, she was his usual target), she'd make me strawberry shortcake and we'd sit in the kitchen. She'd let me have as much as I wanted. No matter the time of day or night. And when Belle came along, she'd be with us in her pram, sleeping soundly. She would tell us "Sarò forte per te. Anche se mi uccide." (I'm going to be strong for you. Even if it kills me.) Until Mom felt like she could no lo get take it anymore. So she packed her shit, all of our shit, and she left him.

I couldn't leave with them, I didn't want to. I knew that I had to for my safety, but I was fifteen by that time and I had friends. I had a girlfriend. I had a life. I didn't just want to leave my life behind and move to the next town with people that didn't care about me. Lincoln Hills was my home whether I liked it or not. Maybe, I was a coward, or maybe I was brave. But it surely kept my mother and sister safe when I was keeping an eye on Alessandro Romero.

My own father.

My own blood.

My own hell.