Clad
"Go on, read the words aloud."
The voice boomed through the abandoned basement.
A tremor racked my small frame.
"READ THE DAMN WORDS, THEODORE! FUCK—FUCK, YOU MADE ME DO IT NOW! YOU MADE ME BE AS THE UNSCRUPULOUS WOMAN YOU CAME FROM!"
"I—I..." I couldn't speak.
How could a seven-year-old boy speak up to a man whose very presence made the air too thick to breathe?
"You what?" he snarled.
"Kneel. Right now."
His voice cut through the air like steel.
Instinct made me look up — a mistake. My eyes locked with his, pleading, begging.
I knew what came next.
I always knew.
Three months. That's how long it had been since this began. Two years since I moved into his house — the grand estate, the polished perfection, the family that never saw me as one of their own.
Snap.
The crack of the lash snapped me out of my thoughts. I dropped my eyes to the floor instantly.
