Knust Pige

Knust Pige

Brandi Rae

200.0k Words / Completed
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Introduction

Jakes fingre dansede over mine brystvorter, klemte forsigtigt og fik mig til at stønne af nydelse. Han løftede min trøje og stirrede på mine hærdede brystvorter gennem min bh. Jeg spændte mig, og Jake satte sig op og rykkede tilbage på sengen, så jeg fik lidt plads.

"Undskyld, skat. Var det for meget?" Jeg kunne se bekymringen i hans øjne, mens jeg tog en dyb indånding.

"Jeg ville bare ikke have, at du skulle se alle mine ar," hviskede jeg, skamfuld over min mærkede krop.

**********
Emmy Nichols er vant til at overleve. Hun overlevede sin voldelige far i årevis, indtil han slog hende så voldsomt, at hun endte på hospitalet, og hendes far endelig blev arresteret. Nu er Emmy kastet ind i et liv, hun aldrig havde forventet. Nu har hun en mor, der ikke vil have hende, en politisk motiveret stedfar med forbindelser til den irske mafia, fire ældre stedsbrødre og deres bedste ven, som sværger at elske og beskytte hende. Så, en nat, falder alt fra hinanden, og Emmy føler, at hendes eneste mulighed er at flygte.

Når hendes stedsbrødre og deres bedste ven endelig finder hende, vil de så samle stumperne op og overbevise Emmy om, at de vil holde hende sikker, og at deres kærlighed vil holde dem sammen?
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About Author

Brandi Rae

Chapter 1

Det var tidlig aften, da jeg kom hjem efter at have arbejdet på mit sidste gruppeprojekt for året. Huset var mørkt, og hoveddøren, som begyndte at sætte sig fast, da en lækage i taget blev værre, gav altid en frygtelig skrigende lyd, når den blev åbnet. Da jeg vendte mig for at lukke den, bemærkede jeg en bunke post på det lille bord i gangen. Næsten alle var stemplet med en rød "Forfalden" eller "Sidste Advarsel" på forsiden af kuverten. Jeg sukkede og lagde posten tilbage, hvor jeg havde fundet den. Der var intet, jeg kunne gøre ved det alligevel, jeg havde hverken job eller penge.

Jeg var på vej mod mit værelse, da en skærende smerte pludselig skød gennem bagsiden af mit hoved, og jeg blev kastet tværs over stuen og ramte mit hoved på kanten af pejsen. Jeg skreg, da min far landede et hårdt spark mod min side. Jeg vidste bare, at det her ville blive slemt. Jeg ved ikke, hvor længe jeg var bevidstløs, men rummet omkring mig var mørkt og snurrede, så jeg lukkede øjnene igen. Jeg kunne lugte blod, opkast og brændt hud. Min far måtte have brændt mig med cigaretter igen. Jeg vågnede igen noget tid senere til lyden af råb, og støjen tvang mig til at prøve at bevæge mig, før min far opdagede mig og fortsatte den tæv, han var begyndt på. Jeg rullede om på siden, og smerte skød gennem mine ribben og højre arm. Mit ansigt var så forslået og hævet, at jeg knap kunne se ud af øjnene. Fantastisk, mine ribben måtte enten være revnet eller brækket igen, sammen med min arm, og jeg begyndte at mistænke, at min næse også var brækket. Jeg opgav at bevæge mig, da råbene kom tættere på, og jeg lukkede øjnene i håb om, at han ville tro, jeg stadig var besvimet og ignorere mig.

Min far løb ind i stuen med sved løbende ned ad ansigtet. Det havde været en varm dag, vi havde aldrig råd til aircondition, og ventilatorer kunne kun gøre så meget.

”Din dumme kælling, du har fået politiet til at komme,” råbte han, mens han hastede gennem stuen og ned ad gangen mod sit soveværelse.

Lyden af nærmende sirener blev højere, og jeg kunne høre brag fra min fars soveværelse. Det lød som om, han flyttede møbler for at barrikadere sig i sit værelse. Mit hoved føltes, som om det ville sprænges, da lyden af politisirener stoppede foran vores hus.

Der blev banket på hoveddøren, råb fra politiet, efterfulgt af lyden af døren, der blev sparket ind.

”For fanden,” stønnede jeg. Støjen fik mit hoved til at dunke, og en bølge af kvalme rullede gennem min mave. Der var lyden af flere fødder, der hurtigt kom ned ad gangen. Jeg lå helt stille i håb om, at de ikke ville falde over min forslåede krop, mens de skyndte sig ind i stuen.

”For pokker,” bandede en betjent, da han stoppede foran min ødelagte krop. Jeg kunne høre hans radio knitre, mens han råbte ordrer ind i den, bad om en ambulance og beskrev nogle af mine mere åbenlyse skader.

Der kom en masse larm fra bagsiden af huset, men jeg ignorerede det og forsøgte at fokusere på betjenten, der knælede ved siden af mig og forsigtigt greb fat i min arm.

”Frøken, frøken, kan du høre mig?” spurgte betjenten og lænede sig ind for at se på mit ansigt.

”Ambulancen er næsten her, bliv hos mig i et par minutter mere.” Han beroligede mig og strøg sin hånd hen over min pande for at fjerne noget hår fra mit ansigt.

Jeg stønnede og prøvede at fokusere på ham, men jeg havde så ondt, at jeg lukkede øjnene igen. Jeg må være besvimet, for da min hørelse pludselig vendte tilbage, var det til min fars stemme, der fortalte betjentene, at jeg var en dramatisk møgunge, der ikke ville tage sin straf, og at jeg var hans barn, og korporlig afstraffelse var lovligt. Hvis han ville slå mig, kunne han.

Hans stemme forsvandt, da betjentene trak ham udenfor og skubbede ham ind på bagsædet af en patruljevogn. Netop da kørte ambulancen op, og to paramedicinere løb op ad indkørslen med en båre.

Jeg husker ikke meget efter det, kun stemmer og bevægelse omkring mig, følelsen af en blodtryksmanchet på min gode arm, tal, der blev råbt op, og stikket og svien fra en IV-linje, der blev startet. Jeg besvimede, da de begyndte at flytte mig, medicinen virkede ikke hurtigt nok til at holde smerten væk.

Næste gang jeg vågnede, var jeg i et svagt oplyst rum, med lyden af forskellige monitorer i nærheden. Det gjorde stadig ondt at trække vejret dybt, men jeg kunne mærke, at mine ribben var blevet pakket ind, min brækkede arm var nu i en skinne og lå ved min side, og mit ansigt var blevet renset. Mit syn var klart nu, hvor blodet ikke længere dryppede ind i mine øjne. Jeg kiggede rundt og bemærkede en kvinde, der sad i en stol for enden af min seng.

Jeg stirrede på hende, forvirringen må have vist sig i mit ansigt, for hun lagde sin telefon fra sig og rejste sig. Da hun gik tættere på mig, sukkede hun, et udtryk af afsky forvred hendes perfekte ansigt. Jeg havde ingen idé om, hvem hun var, eller hvorfor hun var i mit værelse. Hun så ud til at være flere centimeter højere end mig, med perfekt stylet hår og omhyggeligt lagt makeup. Hendes tøj og sko var dyre, ligesom hendes diamantring.

”Undskyld, hvem er du?” hviskede jeg hæst. Kvinden sukkede igen, og hendes ansigtsudtryk viste tydeligt, at hun hellere ville være et andet sted.

”Jeg er din mor, Emilia,” snerrede hun, da hendes telefon begyndte at ringe. Hun rystede på hovedet og trak sig tilbage til sin stol, greb telefonen og trykkede på skærmen, mens hun hvæsede ind i telefonen.

”Jeg ved det ikke, Clint, hun vågnede lige, nej, hun bliver ikke præsentabel lige foreløbig, hun er et rod,” snerrede kvinden, der åbenbart er min længe forsvundne mor, ind i telefonen.

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