A Bird in Flight | ✔︎

Chapter sixteen: The eyes of the Devil

Callan

I CLENCH MY EYES SHUT as the leather belt snaps across the square of my back for what feels like the millionth time. My knuckles are white from my grip on the back of the chair. Breathing deeply through my nostrils, I swallow back a sob as the skin blazes white-hot. My father whips the strap across my shoulder blades twice more, not giving me enough time to brace myself for the pain.

"Holy shit!" I hiss as the burning intensifies.

"Do you want the buckle end, you little shit?" he snarls. "You keep on complaining and whimpering like a pussy and that's exactly where you're heading."

I crawl into the sanctuary of my mind, desperate to escape the pain and hopelessness reality brings. Detaching myself from the moment to survive it. I consume memories of Ensley Steed. The warmth of her lips against mine. The softness of her skin against my rough touch. The careless, crooked smile and the ignorance of her beauty hooded and shadowed from her pain.

Hands gripping my shoulders, his voice brushing past my ear, "You humiliated me, degraded me and nearly exposed our secret, " he whispers, finally stopping throwing the heavy leather belt down on my back. My stomach rolls as I smell the liquor on his hot breath. "You were a bad boy, Callan. And bad boys deserve to be punished."

My breath catches as he circles around slowly, stopping right in front of me. His green eyes harden as he doubles the strap over his hands and pulls it taut.

I flinch, tightening the grip on the chair as I raise my eyes to meet his. And then the elastic band snaps.

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me?" he roars, spit flying from his mouth, his whole body quivering with rage. "You were a disgrace tonight! You put this entire family's reputation at risk! Making us out as some parents who can't control their son! Did I raise you with such disrespect, Callan? Did I teach you to swear or talk about inappropriate subjects or interrupt people? Answer me or I swear to God I will press your ugly face against the stovetop and made it a hell lot prettier!"

"Fuck you!"

He lashes out with the belt, whipping me across the face with the harsh leather. Jagged flashes of light cross my vision and I nearly fall to my knees from the pain. "If you don't shut that Goddamn mouth of yours I will snap your fucking arm in half you fuckwit!" he bellows. He strikes out again. The belt cuts into my cheek and already a red weal has begun to stand out on my cheekbone.

"Language!" I straighten up, wincing as the skin of my back is stretched and pulled. I put my hand to my mouth in mock surprise. "And now I wonder where I got my vocabulary from?"

He snatches the chair from underneath me and hurls it against the wall. It shatters a vase balancing on a shelf. His emerald eyes are blazing with incomprehensible rage as he draws closer to me, tilting up my chin with his fingertips. I flinch away from his touch despite my best intentions.

"Clearly you are just asking for me to beat some manners into you," he snarls. "I'm done with this attitude! You don't think I'm taking this seriously, do you? Want me to bring your mother in and show her how serious I am?"

Rage. White-hot rage explodes in my chest, boiling the blood beneath my skin and burning every nerve in my body. Pushing aside all consequences from my mind I holler back, "You fucking wait, you bastard, I'll have you behind bars one day! I'll scream all the shit you've done to Mom and me in the middle of the Goddamn streets! Don't you dare touch her!"

"No, you won't. You won't tell anyone." Jesus, he sounds so fucking confident.

"Try me," I sneer.