No, no, no!
Swirling around, I see the man who made my life a living hell.
“It’s Uncle Henry, sweetheart,” George coos as he moves toward me.
“No. Stay away from me,” I yell at him as I take a couple of steps back while panic laces my body. I hear George’s sadistic chuckling off in the distance.
“You’ve grown up into a beautiful woman, Eloise,” he says as his creepy eyes roam over my body.
I want to hurl.
Literally be physically ill, right here, right now.
“Leave me alone, you sick man,” I shout.
“The family misses you, sweetheart. You need to come back home,” he states.
“Leave me the fuck alone. I hate you. I fucking hate you. You ruined my life,” I scream and stumble as I try to get away quickly from these two pieces of shit they call men.
“You seem to be doing well for yourself,” my uncle spits back.
I turn on my heel and run toward the main house.
I have to get out of here.
I have to get away.
The panic attack I know is coming is creeping up fast through my body, and its sharp claws are starting to dig into my throat, constricting it, making it harder and harder to breathe.
I must get away from this place.
From these vile people.
From my past.
I’m sorry, Alistair, but your family is crazy, and I can’t be around them.
How cruel do you have to be to bring someone’s monster back into their life?
No, I can’t do it anymore.
I escaped this life.
I willnotbe dragged back here again.
Reaching the door, I rush down the corridor, up the grand staircase, and into Alistair’s bedroom. Looking down at my beautiful dress, it’s covered in mud and ripped. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and my face is pale, my eyes are rimmed with red, and my body is shaking. Quickly, I remove my clothes and jump into the shower, scrubbing myself until I am almost bleeding.
I have an innate need to get that man’s eyes off me.
Grabbing some leggings and a top, I throw them on. Then I grab the rest of my stuff in the cupboard and pack my bag.
Seeing the notepaper on the desk, I quickly scribble out a note for Alistair—I don’t want him to worry. Tears run down my cheeks as I say goodbye to him.
But I value myself more.
I will not be subjected to that kind of terror ever again.
I stuff my dress into the bottom drawer of the closet—I don’t want to see that thing ever again.
And without a second glance, I’m gone.