The Family Origin

Chapter Sixteen: MAISIE POV

 Clara and I had finished cleaning the kitchen when Miles stormed in. He said nothing, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the stairs. I glanced over at Clara to see her hands covering her mouth. Joseph was sitting at the table and drumming his fingers on the wood.

I struggled to keep up with Miles's wide strides as he dragged me into our bedroom. He did not let go of me until he slammed the door shut. He let out a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. My heart was pounding as I watched him stretch and roll his shoulders. He refused to look at me as he tried to shake off the tension in his muscles.

What happened? Miles seemed fine during dinner. He could have been upset, but I did not notice because I was so focused on eating. My hunger made the meal the most delicious food I have ever eaten.

"You're a whore," he said.

My eyes widened. Instead of an insult, it sounded like one of his blunt statements. Although I had grown used to the bizarre comments, this one was shocking.

"What?" I asked.

"You didn't tell me," he said. "Dad just told me."

I bit down on my lip. Of course, Joseph told him about my past. I could not avoid it forever. A shiver ran up my spine, and I crossed my arms over my chest.

How do I respond? My past was embarrassing, but I could not lie. Joseph knew the truth.

Miles was breathing heavily, and his hands opened and closed into fists. I had seen many men grow angry, but it usually involved alcohol clouding their judgment.

"I never wanted to do it," I said. My voice was low because it would crack and break if I spoke louder. "I had to do it to survive."

Miles grabbed the back of his neck. He rolled his head from side to side. More stress and tension were building in his body, and he was fighting to control it. How close was he to exploding? A lump was growing in my throat as I was hit with a wave of nausea. Silently, I prayed I did not vomit my dinner all over the floor.

Miles swore before he brought his fist down on the dresser. It was a miracle that the wood did not split from the force. I gasped and tightened my fingers into my bicep. Seeing men in a drunken rage always made me nervous. Miles' huge size made his anger terrifying.

"I'm sorry," I said.

My voice betrayed me and came out high-pitched and cracked. Thankfully, I did not burst into tears. I needed to keep some composure and not crumple in fear. Men always prayed on weakness.

Miles turned to face me. His jaw was hard as he gritted his teeth. He kept his hands balled into tight fists. His brows were furrowed in confusion.

"Sorry?" he asked.

His voice was drenched in anger. I trembled at the thought of being the outlet for his rage. The terrible nights with Amos flashed through my mind.

"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry I didn't say-"

"Maise." He cut me off. "I'm not mad at you."

I gasped and took a step back. The words may have been slightly comforting, but his voice was still loud and filled with anger. I wanted to stand strong and not crumple, but I backed up as he approached. My back collided with the wall. It was impossible to look at his scowl as he came too close, so I focused on my feet.

"Maisie."

His voice was not as loud, but it remained cold. My breathing was rapid and shallow, causing my chest to tighten. I was teetering on the edge of panic, but I could not control myself. I jumped when he slammed his hand against the wall. His hand was only inches away from my head. I closed my eyes, and I softly muttered prayers to myself.