Elena's POV
Crash!!!
The plate shatters against the floor, and the wall trembles.
Elena freezes. Her jaw tightens. Her heart thunders like a drum in her ears, so loud she's sure he can hear it from the other room.
Stay still. Stay quiet. Maybe he'll pass out.
She presses herself into the corner of her bedroom, every muscle locked, every breath held. Her eyes fix on the staggering shadow that fills her doorway. He stands there, swaying, a dark silhouette against the dim light of the living room.
Then the smell hits her.
Alcohol. Stale and sour, the kind that lives in cheap bottles and emptier men. It reaches her before he does, crawling into her room like a warning she's learned to read too well.
She curls her fingers into fists. Her nails dig into her palms, sharp and grounding. She tries to control her fear, but her body doesn't listen. Her hands shake. Her knees threaten to buckle.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Her father's voice cuts through the dark.
"Elena."
Low and dangerous. The sound makes the world shrink until only he exists in it. Only his voice. Only his shadow. Only the steps he takes toward her.
Each step echoes. Each step threatens to erase everything she's worked for. Every bruised memory floods back the first time he hit her, the first time he took her money, the first time she realized the father who loved her was gone forever. Every dollar taken by force. Every sleepless night spent listening for his key in the door.
She forces herself to stay still.
One wrong move, she thinks. One wrong move and a familiar palm lands on the nape of her neck.
"Caught you."
His breath brushes her ear. Hot. Sour. Terrifying.
He grabs her arm and drags her out of the corner. His grip is iron. He doesn't slow down, doesn't care that her legs can't keep up. She stumbles behind him like a rag doll, her feet catching on the floor, her shoulder screaming where he yanks her.
"Dad…"
He throws her into the living room.
She hits the floor. Her palms scrape against the cheap carpet. Pain shoots up her wrists. She looks up at him, and the mockery on his face makes her stomach turn.
He stands over her, breathing hard, eyes glassy with drink and something darker.
Her hands tremble. Her throat tightens until no sound can escape. Tears prick her eyes, burning, begging to fall, but she refuses. She will not cry. Not in front of him. Not again.
"Where is it?" he demands.
"Where's what?"
He kicks her. Not hard enough to break bones, but hard enough to remind her who's in charge.
"Don't play stupid with me, girl. The money. I know you've been saving."
Her bag. The money. Eight months of tips, of skipped meals, of saying no to everything so she could say yes to her future.
"It's for school." Her voice comes out small. She hates how small it sounds. "I got a scholarship. Tomorrow is the last day to pay the acceptance fee."
He laughs. The sound has no humor in it, just cruelty, just whiskey, just the ghost of the man he used to be.
"School?" He spits the word. "You think you deserve school? You think you deserve anything good?"
"Please, Dad. I'll work hard. I'll give you money from my job. Just let me have this. Please."
She's begging. She hates begging. But the money is all she has. All she's worked for. All she's hoped for.
He grabs her by the hair and yanks her up.
"You don't deserve anything." His face is inches from hers. She can see the broken veins in his nose, the yellow in his eyes, the man she once loved buried somewhere beneath the monster. "I'm in this shit hole because of you. Every single day because of you."
The blame comes again. It always comes.
"If only you didn't force your mother out that night," he snarls. "If you'd just waited for me to come home like a good girl, she'd still be here. She'd still be alive."
The words hit her harder than his fists ever could.
Her mother. Her birthday. The cake she'd begged for. The trip her mother took was because Elena asked. The accident that stole everything.
"I was seven." The words rip out of her before she can stop them. She's shouting now, tears finally falling. "I was seven years old, Dad! Seven!"
He hits her.
Her head snaps sideways. Pain explodes across her cheek. She tastes blood.
"You don't get to shout at me!" He hits her again. "You don't get to talk back!"
She falls. Curls into herself. Her bag is still there, somehow still clutched in her hand. She holds it against her chest like a shield.
He looms over her. Grabs her clothes. Tears them.
"Give me the money."
"No."
He hits her again. And again.
"Give it!"
"No!"
She coughs. Blood spatters on the floor. Somewhere inside her, a voice screams get up get up get up, but her body won't move. Won't fight. Won't do anything but hold the bag.
"You think school will save you?" He's panting now, tired from hurting her. "You think anything will save you? You're nothing. You're less than nothing. You killed your mother and you'll die with nothing, just like she did."
The words should break her. They've broken her before. A thousand times before.
But something different happens this time.
Something inside her snaps.
Not breaks snaps. Like a rubber band pulled too tight finally releasing.
She thinks of her colleagues at the diner. What they told her after the loan shark came looking. Run, Elena. Get out. He'll kill you one day.
She thinks of Ethan. Always telling her to leave. Always offering her a place to stay. Always looking at her with eyes that say more than words ever could.
She looks at the door. Measures the distance. Five steps. Maybe six.
He's still talking. Still blaming. Still hitting.
"If only you'd been patient that day. If only you'd waited for me. Your mother would be…"
"My mother would be ashamed of you."
The words leave her mouth before she can stop them.
He freezes.
For one terrible second, they just look at each other. She sees something flicker in his eyes, surprise, maybe. Or hurt. Or rage so deep it has no bottom.
Then he lunges.
And Elena runs.
She's out the door before he can grab her. Down the stairs, three at a time, her body screaming, her lungs burning, her bag pressed against her chest like a lifeline. His voice chases her screaming her name, screaming curses, screaming everything she's tried to forget.
She doesn't stop.
She runs until the stairs end, until the building door slams behind her, until she's on the street with rain about to fall and no idea where to go.
She runs like a mad dog being chased.
Because she is.
Elena's eyes are on the clouds.
She doesn't know where she's going. Her legs move on their own, carrying her forward through streets she doesn't recognize. The rain has stopped, but everything is wet. Everything glows under streetlights.
Her body screams.
Every step sends pain shooting through her ribs. Her lip is split. Her cheekbone throbs. Blood stains her clothes, her shirt torn, her skin bruised, her hands shaking so badly she can barely hold the bag.
But she holds it.
She always holds it.
Keep walking, she tells herself. Just keep walking. Find somewhere safe. Call Ethan. Pay the money tomorrow. Survive.
Her vision blurs. She blinks hard, forces herself to focus. The street stretches ahead, empty and dark. No cars. No people. Just her and the pain and the bag.
She slows down. Just for a moment. Just to breathe.
Then she feels it.
A heavy hand slams into her stomach.
She flies backward. Hits the ground. Her head cracks against the pavement, and for a second the world goes white. Then the pain comes, sharp, burning, everywhere.
She coughs. Blood spills from her lips.
Her eyes blur. She blinks, tries to focus, tries to see who.
A pair of shoes steps into her vision. Expensive shoes. Familiar shoes.
She looks up.
Mr. Raymond.
He stands over her, grinning down like a cat playing with something wounded. Behind him, two of his men wait. The same men who took her money earlier. The same men who left her bleeding on the sidewalk.
No. No, no, no…..
"Well, well, well." Mr. Raymond's voice is smooth. Dangerous. Amused. "Look what I found."
Elena tries to move. Tries to crawl away. Her body won't obey.
He crouches beside her. Tilts his head, studying her like she's something interesting.
"You avoided me at the cafe this morning." He clicks his tongue. "That wasn't nice, Elena. I came all that way to talk to you, and you hid in the back like a little mouse."
She can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but stare up at him.
"Did you think I wouldn't find you?" He laughs softly. "I always find what I'm looking for."
One of his men steps forward. Grabs her hair. Lifts her head.
She gasps. Pain explodes across her scalp.
Mr. Raymond examines her. Takes in her torn clothes, her bruised face, the blood drying on her skin.
"Ah." He nods slowly. "Ran away from Daddy, huh? Looks like he wasn't happy about it."
His men laugh. The sound is ugly.
"Please…" Her voice cracks. "Please, I don't have…"
"I know you don't have the money." He cuts her off. "Your father spent it. Gambled it. Lost it. That's not my problem."
"It's not my debt. I never took…"
"Your name is on the paper." His voice hardens. "That makes it your debt. That makes you mine until it's paid."
The man holding her hair raises his fist. Ready to hit her.
Mr. Raymond holds up a hand.
"No."
The man stops. Steps back.
Mr. Raymond leans closer. Close enough that Elena can smell his cologne. Expensive. Cruel.
"Elena is not in the mood tonight." He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "She's had a rough evening. We should let her rest."
He stands. Straightens his jacket. Looks down at her one last time.
"But I'll be back for my money." His voice is quiet. Certain. "Every penny. With interest. You understand?"
Elena says nothing. Can't say anything.
He turns. Walks away. His men follow, laughinghinghinghinghinghinghinghinghinghinghinghinghing softly among themselves.
Their footsteps fade.
Elena lies on the cold ground, staring at the clouds, and wonders if she's going to die here.
After a long moment, she moves.
Slowly. Painfully. She rolls onto her side. Pushes herself up on shaking arms. Her body screams, but she doesn't stop. Can't stop.
Her bag. Where's her bag?
She sees it. Three feet away. Fallen during the hit.
She crawls toward it. One hand. Then the other. Her knees scrape against the pavement. Blood smears behind her.
She reaches it. Grab it. Pull it against her chest.
Still here. The money is still here.
She doesn't know how. Doesn't care why. It's here. That's all that matters.
She stands. Wobbles. Catches herself against a lamppost.
Around her, the city continues. People laugh somewhere in the distance. A dog barks. Cars honk. Life goes on like she isn't falling apart.
She starts walking.
No direction. No destination. Just one foot in front of the other.
Her vision blurs. Her body shakes. Blood drips down her face, but she doesn't wipe it away. She just walks.
The sounds of the city fade. The laughter. The barking. The honking. Everything becomes distant, muffled, like she's underwater.
She doesn't notice the headlights.
Doesn't notice the car speeding toward her.
Doesn't notice anything except the bag in her hands. Tomorrow. She just has to make it to tomorrow.
The horn blares.
Loud. Desperate. Right on top of her.
She turns slowly, confused, her body heavy, her mind slow….
The light hits her face.
Bright. Blinding. Too bright to see.
She raises one hand. Squints. For a moment, she doesn't understand what's happening.
Then she feels it.
Her body lifts off the ground. Flies through the air. Lands hard.
The world goes dark for a second. Then comes back in pieces.
She's on the ground. Cold pavement against her cheek. Pain everywhere. So much pain she can't find where it starts or ends.
Her eyes flutter. She sees her bag. Close. So close.
She moves her hand. Drags it across the pavement. Inch by inch. Her fingers brush against the fabric.
Got it.
She holds on.
Someone is running toward her. Footsteps. Voices. A man's voice, desperate, calling for help.
She doesn't hear the words.
All she hears is Ethan.
Make sure you call me after you're done with the application tomorrow.
I will, she thinks. I promise. I will.
Her eyes close.
The last thing she feels is her hand, still holding the bag.