My first crush (COMPLETED)√

Chapter 43: Daddy's girl

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There was blood everywhere.

So much red it felt unreal, like my eyes were lying to me. My body refused to move. My legs wouldn't respond. I just stood there, frozen, as tears streamed down my face without permission. I felt hollow—drained of strength, of breath, of hope. Giving up felt easier than breathing.

"Oh my God... what have I done?" his voice broke, shaking. "Carly, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I was at the bar and—oh my God." His hands trembled as he hovered over her. "Carly, please stay with me. Stay with me! Open your eyes! Please! What have I done?!"

His words meant nothing to me.

This is where my own voice comes in—because someone needs to say it.

Men...
They hurt you, destroy you, break you into pieces, and then suddenly they're sorry. Or worse—they expect forgiveness just because they regret getting caught. Sorry doesn't erase blood. Sorry doesn't heal bruises. Sorry doesn't undo fear. To hell with their apologies. To hell with every excuse wrapped in guilt.

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Stephen didn't hold back.

He beat him until he was left groaning on the floor, broken and bleeding. I called the ambulance with shaking hands, then the police. Everything after that blurred together—sirens, flashing lights, people shouting.

At the hospital, our parents arrived, panic written all over their faces.

"I'm going to kill him!" Carly's dad roared, his voice echoing through the hallway.

A nurse rushed over, trying to calm him down, but everyone knew Mr. Wilson too well. Once he made a vow like that, he meant it.

"Honey, calm down," Carly's mom pleaded softly. "She's resting now."

Then his eyes turned to me—sharp, accusing.

"Sharon! Where were you when this happened, huh?!"

The words hit me harder than a slap.

What the hell?
Was I her keeper? Her shadow? Her bodyguard?

He didn't even look at me like this when I came home broken myself.

"I was—" my voice cracked. "You told me— I'm not the big sister here!" I snapped, the pain finally spilling over. "Why is it always me?!"

Before anyone could respond, Carly stirred.

"Dad... Mom... Sharon?" her voice was weak.

"Sweetheart, it's okay," Mom said quickly, rushing to her side. "Just rest."

"I'm sorry," Carly whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Why are you sorry?" her dad growled. "That brat is going to pay."

"He didn't mean to, Dad," Carly said softly. "Please... don't do anything."

She knew what those words could trigger. The last boy who bullied her in eighth grade never fully recovered from her father's rage.

"I won't," he said after a pause. "Besides, he's already in prison."

Stephen walked in then.

"Sharon," he called gently.

"I'll be leaving now," he said to my parents. "Good day, sir. I believe Sharon has already told you about us."

"Yes," Mr. Wilson replied, his gaze lingering on me.

"Stephen, thank you," Carly said, breaking the tension.

"He deserved it."

Stephen nodded. "Good night, ma'am."

He kissed my forehead lightly and left. The room felt heavier after he was gone—thick with things unsaid.

Carly cleared her throat. "So... can I get discharged? Staying here makes me sick."

"Are you sure?" Mom asked.

"Yeah."

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Mr. Wilson's phone rang.

"I need to take this," he said, stepping outside.

His voice dropped the moment he answered.

"Is it done?"

A pause.

"It's done, boss."