It finally dawned on me that no one was actually on my side.
“I hate you,” I said to my mother, letting it go with my chin trembling. “I would rather live in the gutter than have him in our lives!”
I gestured to where I’d heard my sister chatting. “I know why she’d do this, but you’re supposed to protect me,” I told my mom. “He raped me!”
“He didn’t rape you,” my sister snapped back, pushing out of her chair. “We all saw the video. The whole world saw the video! You wanted him. You were in love with him.”
I shook my head. “Not him.”
I had never been in love with him. Not with Damon.
That damn video.
Tears spilled, and I couldn’t stop them. I folded my lips between my teeth to keep from sobbing. A video of us was leaked, he was sent to jail for statutory rape, because he was nineteen, and I was still a minor, but nearly everyone in this town took his side. He was a little richer, a lot more popular, and two of his friends went with him for their own misdeeds leaked on other videos, as well.
But he got the most time.
He was the only one convicted of a sex crime, and in everyone’s eyes this was a grave injustice, because their basketball star, golden boy only had sex with a willing girl who just happened to be a couple years shy of the legal age of consent. Big deal.
Hey, in some other states sixteen is old enough, isn’t it?
This is a technicality.
Did he even do anything wrong? How many of us were having sex at that age?
Don’t ruin his life. It’s not like he hurt her.
Hey, she seemed to love it well enough.
The backlash was sickening, and while other girls claimed he’d taken advantage of them, too, by the end of it, they’d all folded, and it ended up just becoming an example of how warped our justice system was when there were “actual” predators out there. I’d ruined a young man’s life. To-may-toes, to-mah-toes.
All they saw in that video was me willingly kissing him.
Touching him.
Holding him.
In their eyes, I’d wanted it, and he was ‘the man’. But they didn’t know what was really going on in that video. They didn’t know what he’d done to me to get what he wanted from me.
Footsteps approached, and I smelled my mother’s Chanel No. 5.
“Winter,” she said calmly. “Do you really think he needed to marry into this family to get anything he wanted? He could’ve easily threatened Ethan anyway to keep you in Thunder Bay and under his thumb. Or threatened us, your grandparents, or any other friends. No matter what, this was going to play out how they wanted, because they have the money and we have nothing anymore. Nothing.”
‘Because of my father’, I finished for her.
Yes, I knew. She wasn’t entirely wrong.
And in that moment, I hated my father, too. His crimes didn’t put us in this mess, because Damon would’ve eventually found another door if that one had been closed. I only hated him for leaving. Gabriel and Damon Torrance could do anything they wanted with us now. And given their reputations, I tried not to think about how bad this could get or I’d be sick.
“At least now,” my mother continued. “We have something to work for. A light at the end of the tunnel.”
The divorce settlement? Was she actually that stupid? Damon would get Ari pregnant, and there would be no way out after that!
“And what were you planning for us to do in the meantime?” I challenged. “As we wait for this year to pass?”
What would I do as she tried to wait this out, day after day, week after week?
“We survive,” she finally answered.
Survive.
Submit, you mean?
After a few moments, I left the room and made my way upstairs, shutting myself in my bedroom for the rest of the night with Mikhail. I fed him but forwent dinner myself, not hungry anyway, and I only left briefly to shower.
I couldn’t make my mother’s decisions for her, but she also couldn’t make my choices for me, and there was no way I’d do whatever it took to survive. I had my limits, and I wasn’t going back to that place with him.
If it even came to that.
But hopefully I’d find a way out of here before it did.
I blinked my eyes open in my bedroom hours later, my lids still way too heavy, but the air was chillier than usual.
Was it six yet? My alarm hadn’t gone off.
I reached over and hit the button on my bedside table, the male voice in the machine saying loud and clear, “Two-thirteen a.m.”
“Two-thirteen?” I breathed out, painfully awake now.
I closed my eyes again, hoping to fall back asleep, but my brain was already working and assessing. The night was silent outside. No rain or wind, but we would probably get snow in the next month. I allowed myself a moment to feel wistful for it, but the weight of all our troubles descended again, and I wanted time to slow down, not speed up.
I loved wintertime, though. And not because of my name. It was just a festive period, and happy things made me happy. I always decorated my room, because I could still feel the lights and the garland, hear the music from the snow globes, and smell the scent of pine. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to decorate this year. My pride was planted firmly, and I refused to make the best of this. Hopefully I wouldn’t be around for it anyway.
Turning on my side, I adjusted the pillow under my head and stretched my legs out under the sheets, feeling the space, smooth and cold.
Not warm.
Wait. Where’s…
“Mikhail?” I called out, popping my eyes open and my head up.
The dog slept at my feet, but he wasn’t on the bed. I listened for the jingle of his collar as it did when he rose to answer me, but there was nothing.
“Here, boy.” And I clicked my tongue a few times, calling him.
He couldn’t have gotten out. I locked the door.
Then I noticed the scent of something buttery and sweet, and I sat up, throwing the covers off. My heart picked up pace. She didn’t, I groaned to myself.
I made my way over to my desk, my fingers grazing a ceramic pot with what smelled like tea and a small dish with a flaky croissant. My mother had broken in to leave me food.
Christ.
I walked over, finding my door open, thanks to her. Really, it was probably useless to lock it. If Damon lost the master key to all the rooms, he could, you know, just kick it down, but still… I couldn’t not lock it, so...
I stuck my head into the hallway. “Mikhail?” I whispered.
Nothing.
I pinched my brows together. It wasn’t like him not to respond, and there was no way to get outside without someone to open the door for him.
“Mikhail?” I whisper-yelled a little louder.
I stepped out of the room and slipped quietly into the hallway, the floorboards creaking just a little under my weight.
I rested my left hand on the bannister as I followed it around, the only sound being the tinkling of the crystals on the chandelier above as the draft seeped through the old house. Carpets laid softly under my feet, and the grandfather clock ahead of me and at the top of the stairs ticked steadily, the small noise amplifying how eerily quiet the house was in the middle of the night.
I would’ve heard him bark or growl or felt his sudden movement in bed at least if something made him nervous, right? He was always alert. No one was here now except my mother, sister, and me.
Trailing down the stairs, I held onto the railing with both hands as I took each step, and then I let go, walking carefully to the front door. I checked all the locks, making sure they were twisted into position.
And then I heard a little whine to my right.
“Mikhail?” I turned my head toward the sitting room.
Walking over, I took small steps and reached the rug, feeling him rush up to me, his wet nose hitting my knee.
“Hey, where did you go?” I teased, reaching down to pet him. “What…”
The scent of a cigarette hit me, and I trailed off, my face falling.
My stomach sank, and I stood up straight, my chest rising and falling, steady but quick.
He’d had my dog.
“Don’t touch him again,” I bit out.