Bruised Knuckles and Empty Lies

Chapter 3

Alex's POV

 "Who the fuck did you tell?" he growled, his face two inches from mine. I turned my head so I wouldn't have to smell the alcohol and tobacco on his breath. "Who?"

"No one, I swear!" I insisted. Tears started welling up in my eyes, and he knew my tough-guy facade had fallen. My response was met with a punch to my gut, leaving me coughing and gasping for breath. Dave grabbed the front of my shirt and slammed me against the wall.

"Who?!" My heart sped up and I had to look anywhere but at him to keep my nerves under control. That gave me a quick slap to the side of my head. "Look at me, dammit! Who'd you tell?" When I didn't answer, he slipped off his belt and held it up, ready to strike.

"Okay wait, wait!" I cried as I held my hands up to shield my face. "It was Morgan. Agent Morgan. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

"Sorry doesn't cut it," he growled, ripping me away from the wall and yanking me into the hallway. My eyes went wide as he opened up the closet door.

"Wait stop, please," I begged as I dug my heels into the floor and grabbed onto him. Tears flooded down my cheeks and my breath sped up exponentially.

"David!" Maribeth snapped, causing us to both freeze. "I have my prayer group in an hour, and she is expected to be there. She will get ready now."

He took one look at me before throwing me to the ground and storming off like an angry toddler, probably to grab a beer. Maribeth walked around me and into the dining room to get the table set, leaving me shaking and gasping for breath on the ground. I had to get up, but I was frozen in place. Come on, Alex, don't feel. Don't feel. I took a deep breath and blocked out any emotions that I felt right now, forcing myself to stand up. I numbly climbed the stairs and went into my room to grab my Sunday dress. Saying it was the absolute ugliest piece of shit ever is an understatement. This long sleeved, knee-length dress was black with flowers on it and fit like a paper bag. I'm almost positive it used to be Jessie's.

Jessie was my foster sister here, but she aged out a few months back. She was on the taller side and average weight, so this dress hung baggy on my petite frame. Last I heard, Jessie planned on moving to her hometown in Colorado, but I haven't heard from her since she left the house. Maybe it's better that way. She's not tied down here, and although we lived together for a year and a half, we were only close when we had to be. I just hope she made it okay.

I grabbed my dress, underwear, and a towel and headed for the bathroom so I could take a quick shower. Even though the water was only lukewarm, it still stung.

I changed into my dress and put my still damp hair into a bun to get it out of the way and pretend to be the nice, modest girl Maribeth wanted me to be. The water washed away the blood from my split lip, so it almost looked normal. When I returned to my room, making sure to drop my towel in the hamper, I saw my makeup bag lying on my bed. I didn't have a mirror in my room because Maribeth thinks it "promotes vanity" or some other bullshit, so I sat on the ground and propped up my phone on my bed with the camera facing me as a makeshift mirror.

Once I was satisfied with my makeup, I checked the time and saw I still had about ten minutes to spare, which unfortunately meant I had to help set up. I slipped on a pair of black boots and made my way downstairs as slowly as I could manage. Thankfully, I wouldn't have to worry about Dave for the next few hours. Whenever the church ladies would come for Sunday brunch, their husbands would go out golfing. I was just dreading my post prayer group "therapy" session.

Maribeth's eyes instantly met mine when I walked into the kitchen.

"Oh, good, bring the sandwich platter into the dining room, will you?" she said as she continued chopping up vegetables. I crossed the room and grabbed the platter.