You Have Me

Ch.11

"Hello Bethany. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

My father was always a large man, with a built physic. But now he was thinner, and I don't mean he's been dieting thinner. His raven hair was now greying and thinning noticeably. His facial hair only held specks of black. My eyes trailed down to his hands. They were still abnormally large and they looked like they had never been moisturized (I used to think he'd purposely tried to get his skin to be as hard as possible, just to cause more damage) his face held no warmth, despite the smile he had plastered on it. This man was my nightmare, the way clowns, spiders, and heights were other people's. But I loved him. It was a cruel joke, because despite everything I still loved him. Even though I knew he'd never love me back.

"Are you finished?" The disdain that was dripping from his voice was worse than a gun shot. It has the power to shake me to my very core, especially now, as I look up from the kitchen floor. I have been on my hands and knees with a pink toothbrush for three hours, scrubbing the white tiles. I wasn't allowed the luxury of gloves. No, not this time. This time the only supplies I was given were the toothbrush and a large bottle of bleach.

Not a single doubt in my mind existed as to whether this floor was clean or not.

"Yes sir." I sigh, knowing that if I called my father dad, I'd only anger him further.

"Is it? Is it, really? Would you eat off of it?" His voice was just above a sneer. It was cold and uninviting. The disgust that he held for me was too strong to be concealed. Even if he tried.

"Yes sir. It's clean, I'm sure." There were days where I was sure my life was worse than any orphanage, would ever be. But I was comforted by the idea that, when I would die, I'd be going to heaven, because I had already spent my time in hell. My father had his nice days where the most I'd get was a shove or a light slap. But even on those days his hate was always on the surface, surrounding us. It was awful. Depressing and completely cruel.

"Fine." He walks away with his nose in the air. His work shoes clacking against the floor. And as he walks away my body sags with relief. My hands are red and throbbing.

Even though I had to mix the bleach with water to take away the acidic bite and smell so that I could clean the house, hours of using it made the water nearly useless in the mixture.

"It has." My breath catches in my already dry throat as he takes a step forward. I don't even have to look to know Harry's ready to attack. His security team already sensing the hostility as they eye us carefully. My eyes are wide and my thoughts are frantic. With each step forward I can feel my heart beat painfully. And when he's right in front of me all I want to do is connect my knee with his manhood and runaway. But I act too slow because his arms are around me in a instant. A gasp leaving my mouth. Oh no, no, no.

Please no. Okay. No, 100 percent not okay.

Dread and sorrow fills me as I hear his familiar boots clanking their way back into the kitchen (what the fuck, was the point of cleaning this god damn floor, if he was just going to scruff it up) my father stands before me, looking down, and I've been in this situation enough times to know that I'm not supposed to look up. My heart drops and my stomach twist as mashed potatoes land on the floor in front of me, the high drop causing some of it to splatter onto my face. Corn and green beans land messily around me as grilled chicken falls into the white mush. I can hardly see my dinner anymore as tears clog my vision and my father snickers above me. “I expect this dinner to be eaten, young lady,” he warns and I nod, still not looking up.

“And clean the floor when you’ve finished...it’s a mess.”

"Get off me." I shove my father away and Harry stands in front of me. My father's face is puzzled and he's trying to pass off an innocent look. I hate this man. I hate him so much that if he were on fire and I had water, I'd probably drink it, with our eyes locked on each other. I can't begin to fathom how he was able to creat half of my sister.

Or me.

Lilly adored this man. She treated him like he walked on water, praises only leaving her lips. But it wasn't her fault. She was his princess. She could do no harm in his eyes. It had been the same with my mother. But I didn't care. I loved Lilly. I loved her so much. She was the only one that ever remembered my birthday, and sometimes when our parents were out she'd help me with my chores. She had a soft spot for me, and I would take all the abuse and emotional suffering if it meant she'd never see a glimpse of it.

"Beth it's me. It's daddy."

I hate that word. I hate it when it's used in the context referring to this man. It makes me feel small and terrified. I'm so shaken up that I begin to back up ,slipping from Harry's touch, without realizing it. He turns around perplexed as to why he couldn't feel me anymore. "Is there a problem?" Paul's voice rings from behind me. He looks up at Harry and studies his face. Paul's nodding weakly at Harry and when I see my father take a menacing step forward I turn and run into Paul's chest. My arms wrap around his waist because that's all I can reach. I can feel a hand on the back of my head and one on the middle of my back. "P-please" I whimper, my mouth covered by Paul's T-shirt. Why I ran to Paul? I don't know. I didn't even think about it. He drops a kiss on the top of my head. And leans his mouth close to my ear. "You're okay." He says quietly. "Harry." He says next, and I'm not really paying attention. My worst fear is standing in front of me. I'm ten times more afraid now than I ever was. And that's counting when I first woke up, surrounded by strangers. And oh, I'd take waking up, with this bloody amnesia, a hundred times over this. I'm clinging to Paul as if my life depended on it. And at the moment, it does. It really does. I'm so attached to Paul right now, that when Harry comes and tries to pry me off I turn and smack the life out of his face. And I'm really fucking horrified, because Harry's standing in front of me clutching his red cheek.

"Oh, fuck me! Harry, I'm so so-"

He doesn't even let me finish (or breathe for that matter) because in one speedy second his mouth is crushing mine. And okay, this- this I can totally do.

"Let's go." He says once he lets me breathe. And yes. Please, take me away. He tangles our fingers together and turns us toward the rest of the security team and his confused fans, and oh. Oh. They just saw me slap Harry. Okay. THEY just saw ME SLAP HARRY. Shit.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

"Wait, Bethany! We need to talk!"

"Ignore him." Harry says firmly and his hold tells me he's not going to let me turn back around. Even if I wanted to. And I don't.

"Bethany!" And fuck, I've had it. I'm tired, and I'm confused. My dad's here, and he wants me. He wants me? But I was told he didn't? And no, no more circles. "Bethany!"

"What!" I scream back turning around and stopping Harry. He groans my name quietly. But then straightens out because Paul's walking my father over to us. And okay, good. Back up. Having back up is good.

"We need to talk." He pleads with desperate eyes. There's something completely off about him. And I can't believe I didn't notice this before.

"About?"

"Privately. We need to talk privately."

He tries again and no. If I wasn't ready to speak to Lilly....Lilly who's my sister and the only member from my family that I've ever actually loved, what makes him think I'm going to talk with him. Him of all people.

"No. Tell me what you want now."

He sighs and shakes his head looking down. He looks tired and defeated. Yes. Good. Weakness. This man can be weak. "I'm dying." He mumbles in a quiet voice. My ears pick up on the word dying. But I'm too stupid to actually understand. Of fucking course I'm too stupid.

"W-what?"

He looks up at me with tears pooling his eyes. Tears? And oh, no. No. Anything but this.

"I'm dying."