Not My Hero

Chapter 7BRIEThe slap against the back of my head sends me stumbling forward, and I slam into the counter.

“You’re just like her!” Mom shouts. I hunch my shoulders, keeping my body turned sideways.

Since my mother got home, she’s been ranting about Kingsley Hunt living the life she should’ve had.

“It should’ve been me,” she cries again. “Because of her, he ruined me instead of marrying me.”

She’s referring to Mason Chargill. When my mother tried to drown Kingsley, she got sentenced to probation for what she did, and Mason Chargill exposed my grandfather for fraud. My mother was shunned from the wealthy circle she belonged to and lost her social status. Mason and Kingsley got married, and from what I can tell, they’re happy.

Unlike Mom.

“Just looking at you exhausts me to my core,” She cries furiously. “You should’ve colored your hair like I told you to.” My mother moves, and I flinch, but instead of hitting me again, she goes to open a drawer. When she pulls out a pair of scissors, fear prickles over my skin. I begin to shake my head, and the instant she takes a step toward me, I dart away and run for the safety of my room.

My heartbeat explodes into a frantic pounding.

“Get back here!” I feel her fingers claw at my back, and my body lurches forward. I take the stairs two at a time, and dashing into my room, I slam the door shut behind me.

There’s a bang against it, and the doorknob wiggles. “Open this goddamn door!” Mom screams, shoving hard against it.

I grab hold of the knob and hold on tight while using all my strength to keep her from coming in.

Another thud has me crying, “Stop!” I suck in an anguished breath. “Please.” She continues to hammer against the door, and I whimper, “Stop.”

I struggle to keep her out and have to push my body against the door every time she manages to bump it open.

“If it’s the last thing I do, I will cut your hair,” she hysterically rages. “Open the door!”

Desperation and terror make me hold out until she stabs at the door with the scissors. The blades break through the wood, and it has me recoiling. I run to the windows on the other side of my bed, but before I can try to escape, the door slams open, and my mother storms into the room. A whack to the back of my head makes me crash against the windows. She hits me again, and grabbing hold of my shoulders, she shoves me to the floor.

I try to scramble free, but she crouches over me, pressing her knee into my stomach. All I can see is her venomous face and the scissors gleaming right above me.

Terror shudders through me, and it feels as if my blood is being chilled.

I try to grab hold of her arms, crying, “No, Mommy.”

“Hold still!” When I keep struggling, the back of her hand strikes across my cheek. “I swear I’ll stab you if you keep fighting me.” The threat sends shockwaves through me.

She grabs a fistful of hair, and I hear the blades crunch close to my ear. “This is your fault. If you had gone to the hairdresser, I wouldn’t have to cut this shit off myself.”

Hopelessness, unlike anything I’ve felt before, fills every part of me. A broken cry tears out of me, and I bring my arms up to try and shield myself, but it only earns me more wild smacks from my mother. My arms burn and ache from the slaps, but I manage to cover my face with my hands.

Make it stop. Please!

With each snip, it feels as if the world closes in on me, suffocating me. There’s a sharp pain above my ear when the scissors dig into my skin. As she continues to cut my hair, the blades nick and gash at my scalp.

It feels like endless hours of torture pass before Mom finally gets up, leaving me lying amongst heaps of hair. I drag myself into a sitting position and cover the cut above my ear with a trembling hand, feeling utterly distressed and terrified.

Mom walks to the door but then stops, and it makes me cringe into the corner between the bedside table and the wall. She glances at me, abhorrence making her look evil. Reaching a hand to the door, her pointer finger circles one of the holes she stabbed into it. “It’s just wood and hair.” Her gaze turns back to me, and then she lets out an irritated huff. “You’re so goddamn dramatic. If I were going to kill you, I certainly wouldn’t do it here. I’m not about to make a mess in my house.”

She takes a step toward me again, and it makes my muscles tighten painfully. My body shakes violently with horror, and I cover my head with my arms.