Dollface

Part 53

I: No Simon, please....I still need you....
S: I'll do what's best.

My head leans on his shoulder and I mumble into his neck, my shaking hands gripping the hem of his shirt.

I: No you're not, you're not at all.

I breathe in the fresh scent of his cologne, the familiar scent that keeps my shaking body on tenterhooks.

I: Why do you ever think that's best?

He stays silent, rubbing his hands up and down my arms comfortingly, the brief moment of calm lasting only a few seconds before we hear cars screeching outside. There are a few heavy bangs on the front door, followed by loud voices. They've broken down the door, is all I could make out.

I: No. I won't let them kill you.

My arms desperately hold on to him, refusing to let go as he runs a hand through my hair and kisses the top of my head.

S: Okay.

He whispers, not believing me one bit, but he doesn't fight me. Instead, he successfully manages to take my hand and lead me down the stairs where I see my father.

I'm shocked at how neutral his face is, not to mention he looks well fed and healthy, my lips part and my eyes widen as I see the room surrounded by men as my father finally sets his eyes on our hands, Simom is about to leave.

My eyes glance at my father, his eyes like mine are focused on nothing in particular except the heavy rings on his right hand as he runs his fingers over them.

A heavy sigh then leaves his lips as he looks at Simon.

D: Isa, please, come and stand by Marco.

My father speaks quietly and frighteningly calmly. It takes me a moment to realize he's talking to me. I'm more scared than ever. I look at Simon next to me almost pleadingly, wanting him to run away or protect himself. But he just stands there, facing away from me, silent as a statue.

My heart sinks as I move to stand behind Marco, my arms clinging to me to hold something.

D: Is Adam here? Because if he is, I'd like to argue with him too.
S: No.

Simon said quietly, remaining stubborn. In return, my father nods and runs his hand through his hair. My heart is pounding in my chest the whole time and I feel like I'm suffocating in the thick tension that now fills the room.

D: Oh, what a pity, I would have loved it if he had watched the show or maybe participated in it himself. I don't remember why you called me. You wanted to give my daughter back? Is that it?
S: Yes.
D: Hmm, and what does that get you?

My father asks rather sarcastically, taking a few slow steps towards Simon.

S: She'll be safe without me.

Simon answers, his head straight and pristine as always, but when my father's fist makes contact with it, my breath catches and I cover my mouth with my hand. Simom's head snaps to the side and he grabs his jaw. But other than that, he doesn't react.

D: She should be safe with you!

My father growls and slams his fist into Simon's face, my eyes burning with tears again as I watch him spit blood from his reddening lips in horror.

D: I trusted you!

He snaps, aiming for his stomach, Simon leans forward, keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut, I feel my heart tearing as my dad kicks him in the same spot until Simon falls to his knees.

D: You betrayed me. You made me look like a fool, and I hate that you're my son. I can't believe you're making me do this.

My dad curls his tongue in shame before grunting as he punches Simom in the face again. I gasp as I see the bloody mess in his mouth after my dad repeatedly punches him.

Simon coughs, a loud throaty scream leaving his bloody lips as my dad kicks him in the stomach again as hard as he can, the scream that left his mouth made me cry. I can't stand to see this anymore. A sick feeling in my stomach keeps turning to the point I think I'm going to throw up.

When I think things can't get any worse, my father turns to one of his men and is handed a gun. Simon has one hand on the ground to help him stand and is moaning in agony.

The pain inside me becomes too much when I hear the familiar click of a gun being cocked and my voice involuntarily screams.

I: NO! STOP!

I scream loudly in front of all the men watching and throw myself forward only for Marco to hold me.

D: Don't get involved darling.

My father warns me.

I: Please stop hurting him.

I sobbed helplessly and let out a piercing scream as my father pointed the gun at Simon's head.

I: NO DAD STOP!! PLEASE!!!! NO DON'T DO THAT!!
D: Isabell, obey me. If you can't watch, close your eyes.

I think, and I think fast because I know he'll pull the trigger anyway and I can't let him do that.

I: You can't kill him Dad!!!

I scream, tears staining my burning cheeks.

D: Get them out of here.

My father demands angrily and I feel Marco trying to pull me away as I struggle.

I: He could help you!! If you really want revenge, he's the only one who knows where Adam is! If you kill him, you won't secure anything!

There is absolute silence.

I: You can't ensure that Adam stops killing me or that any of the others try to find me. You can't kill Simon. His life is beneficial to you.

It feels like a century passes in silence, a century in which my father doesn't pull the trigger but lowers the gun.

D: This is not what I imagined, darling.

He kneels in front of Simon and raises his battered face with the gun point under his chin.

D: This damn piece of trash must be something for me to use.

And with that, he stands up and leaves the room, calling all his men after him, not even caring about his daughter who he hasn't seen in months.

Marco stays with me, still holding me as I shove him.

I: Let me go.
M: I'm sorry, but I was ordered to keep you away from him.

I wince and struggle in his hold. Simon is still breathing heavily, almost choking on his own blood. When I step on Marco's foot, he groans and I take the opportunity to get away from him. I do it with a hard jerk and immediately rush towards Simon.

I kneel in front of him, gently cupping his face and urging him to look up, and when he does, I get a clear view of his broken face. The blood that ran from his nose, the blood on his split lips, the swollen cheekbone, and the pained look in his bruised eyes. Everything is as painful to see as it is to feel.

I run my hand through his hair, tears streaming from my eyes.

I: You bastard.