Izzie serves me a look of sympathy from across the room, but she doesn’t move to intervene.

She’s just as livid as he is.

“You’re always ruining everything, Belle,” he yells so loudly that the windows shake.

His third strike sends my body to the floor, and I can no longer feel the left side of my face.

Shutting my eyes, I wince as he yells how I’m a “forever disappointment” at the top of his lungs. He kicks me all over, harder than he ever has before, and I hold back tears.

I refuse to let him see me cry, silently repeating my mother’s last words.

“Never let anyone see you look weak, Belle. Ever.”

When his insults come to an end and the height of his anger dissolves, he grabs me by the arms. Clutching them tightly, he drags me across the room and toward our second basement.

“I should’ve fucking known,” he curses under his breath as he opens the hatch.

“Here, Belle.” Izzie, late as ever, presses a cold wet cloth into my hand.

To my surprise, my father doesn’t snatch it away.

He picks me up and tosses my body over his shoulder, carrying me down the steps. Dropping me onto a stack of quilts, he glares at me.

“I meant what I said about never forgiving you for this.”

I’ll never be sorry for this.

He looks at me as if he’s heard my thought, as if he’s tempted to slap me again.

Shaking his head, he storms up the steps and slams the door shut.

The sickening sound of the lock twisting echoes through the basement, and I finally break into sobs because no one can see me now.

No one will probably see me for a very long time.

The last time I disappointed my father, he left me down here for three months.

From the disgusted look in his eyes, I have a feeling I may not see the sun for an entire year …

Seven Months Later…

In a Faraway Land

Belle

“Breakfast is served.” My father tosses a slice of burnt toast down the steps. “You can use the same butter I gave you yesterday.”

A swarm of spiders stakes a claim over the bread before I can grab it, and I hold back a groan. Today marks the sixteenth day in a row that I’ve missed breakfast, and I’ll have to wait until dinner for another meal.

Although I have a small plot of red apples growing on the ledge of a covered window, it will only last me another week.

If I’m lucky.

“I didn’t hear a ‘Thank you,’ Belle!” he bellows. “Is that your way of saying you don’t want any more food today?”

“No, Father.” I force my voice to sound sweet. “Thank you very much for breakfast.”

I await to hear the lock sliding into the door, the usual “I can’t believe you ruined us” that follows, but the top step begins to creak under his weight.