“Yeah,” I said, smiling sardonically. “I should’ve known better, honestly.”
“No you shouldn’t have. You were a fucking child.”
“No, you don’t understand. He drilled it into my fucking skull every damn hour of every day of my life that no one was to be trusted but myself. He wanted and needed me to be a loner because he said that’s what made a good leader. Someone who didn’t rely on anyone else.
“And so when my uncle pulled up outside of my school, I initially turned him down. I told him that my father would be there to pick me up, just like he always was. But my uncle had told me he was in an accident and that I needed to get in the car so he could take me to the hospital to see him.
“When I refused again—” I glanced over at Scarlet to gauge her reaction. She was still intently listening to me, so I continued. “When I refused again, he walked me over to my teacher and confirmed with her that he was allowed to pick me up that day. What was I supposed to do? I had two adults telling me that it was okay. Sure, my uncle was part of the family, so he knew the kind of shit my dad would pull on me, so he couldn’t be completely trusted.
“But my teacher?” I scoffed. “She was on the outside! She was supposed to be the one variable that I could count on.” I shook my head as the memory resurfaced.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice quiet and calm as her hand made its way back to my leg. She squeezed it affectionally, urging me to go on.
“He drove me a block down the road before shoving a cloth over my face. I fought and fought until I couldn’t anymore. Looking back, I know now that it was chloroform, but at the time, I had genuinely thought he was killing me—that I was suffocating to death.”
My stomach turned as I remembered the feeling.
“I woke up in a basement somewhere, in piss-soaked jeans and my body bound so tightly by rope that I could barely breathe, let alone move.”
“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, her grip on my leg getting even tighter.
“And that’s when my father walked in.”