“Brooke? Brooke. Brooke!”

Hands curl around my shoulders, shaking me. My teeth rattle, my head swings—wait, no, it doesn’t. The hands are gentle. Just a light pressure on my shoulder.

“Beagchaithnini sneachta, Brooke.”

The gentle Irish whisper brings me back to the present. Stormy eyes stare into mine. “Are you okay?”

I clear my throat. “Fine. I’m fine.” I turn out of his arms and continue to walk.

Landon grabs my arm, stopping me. “You’re not fine. That was real fear in your eyes.”

“I just felt a little dizzy. Perhaps we should head back, and I should rest.”

“Brooke,” Landon says my name in a stern, commanding voice. I know I cannot walk away without answering his question when he used that voice. So, I give him a nibble.

“You can’t see my old pieces.”

“Why?”

“Because I burnt them.”

His eyes widen in shock, and I use the opportunity to walk away.

*****

“What do you have there, girl?” my father’s voice boomed.

“N-n-nothing, sir,” I stammered as I slid my sketchbook back into my backpack. My father thought it would be funny to trip me when I came home, causing me to spill the contents of my backpack.

“Don’t you lie to me, young lady!”

He reached out and ripped the backpack off my shoulder, snapping the strap, yanking my shoulder painfully. I clutched my shoulder while my dad flipped through my sketchbook. I knew it was pointless to try and stop him, so I sat silently as he hummed.

He started a slow cackle that formed low in his belly and snowballed from there.

“You think you can draw? Huh. You think anybody would buy these pieces of shit,” He sneered. “Answer me, girl!”

“N-n-no, s-s-sir. I just…”

“You just what? Thought you could make something of your useless self. Make no mistake, girl. You’re useless to this world. You just better hope that a man will marry your ugly ass someday. Then maybe you will at least be good for something. Laying on your back.” His last statement he seemed to find extremely humorous.

After his laughter settled, he grabbed me by my hair, still holding my sketchbook. “Do you have any more of these abominations?”

He did not wait for me to respond as he dragged me to my room. He started throwing draws open, finding every hidden piece of art, as well as all my art supplies. After that, he dragged me to the backyard. He placed all my art in the fireplace and handed me the box of matches.

“Burn them!”

Tears streamed down my face. I wanted to beg, to kick and scream.

“I said burn them girl!” He struck my face.

With trembling fingers, I lit the match. The flame seemed taunt me as it danced. I tossed it in and sobbed as my only joy in life burned before me.

*****

I wake with a start, a sob stuck in my throat. I can feel an arm on my shoulder. Everything is blurry. My glasses. I need my glasses.