Chapters (34)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Table of Contents
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Epilogue
- Excerpt from Love Defies Us
- About the Author
- Acknowledgments
- Other Books by J.M.
His face scrunches up in pain, and my heart breaks for him. I want to give him a piece of mine. Even though it won’t be a lot, it might be enough to cover the hole in his heart.
“When I was four, I had my first drop of alcohol. My dad was an angry drunk. And weirdly, I used to want to be like him, so I snuck in his man cave and drank some of his beer. When I was caught red-handed . . .” He blinks, and the crowded building evaporates in front of us, as if we’re in our own little bubble and time has stopped. “He beat my ass with an extension cord to punish me and told me if I ever uttered a word to anyone he’d skin Ma alive.”
My heart catches in my throat at his words, and it weeps for the little kid inside him. He’s broken like glass; I can see the cracks he hides within himself. My tiny fingers entwine with his big ones, and I squeeze as hard as I can. His eyes—filled with unspoken words—meet mine.
I’m broken, don’t fix me.
I don’t say anything because the way I grip his hand speaks volumes. I’m here, and it’s okay to be hurt and broken.
Maybe that explains why he drinks so much. Ever since I moved in with him, he seems to have some kind of liquor in his hand. And earlier this week when I went to his room to clean up the mess I made, I found him asleep clutching a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, weeping like a baby. So I backed out, giving him his space. And I don’t dare bring it up to him. Those are his demons to deal with.
“That’s also the first memory I had of him beating me.” He pauses. “When my ma wasn’t around, he would hit me for stupid shit, like leaving my toys on the floor, or asking for seconds after a meal.” Another pause. “When I see other kids happy with their dads, I think how fortunate they are.” He points to a boy and a girl running circles around their dad. “Sometimes, it’s best not to have a parent at all than to have one who’s fucked up.”
I agree with him on so many levels. People who are abusive get off on having control of their victims, and if they feel like they are losing power, their violence escalates.