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Grace's POV.
I snap back to reality when my dad grabs my neck and pushes it back to get a better view. Something twists in my stomach when I realise what it is that he's looking at.
This is not going to be a good thing; this is going to be a bad turning point.
I attempt to roll his hands off of my skin but he doesn't even blink at my movement.
"What is this?" He splits, his face very close to mine might I add. I look into his eyes and notice they're bigger and darker than usual. Some veins pop out on his neck due to the amount of rage he is refraining from escaping.
He saw the love bite Christian gave me this morning and he doesn't seem happy about it. Perhaps I can explain to him the whole situation before he gets off of his tracks and starts throwing things against the wall, and against me.
"Dad." I begin but he grabs a hold of my wrists and forces me to come closer so I can't escape. SHIT. And bye bye to the chance of explaining myself.
"Who did this to you? Did some bastard touch you?" You. I think but I don't say it, I'm not crazy.
To strangers, this may look like a speech a dad says to his daughter because he's worried about her and her reputation. Well my dad doesn't give a crap about what the others think, he's just jealous about me and he doesn't want anyone to touch me because he wants his to be the only pair of hands to have access to my body. He's a psychopath bastard.
"You let him fuck you, didn't you? I knew you were a whore!" I'm about to fire back that it wasn't my fault this time, but he slaps me hard on my left cheek, making my head turn on the other side. Then he pushes me off of the couch. I fall to the ground and try to stand up but he's already hovering over me, kicking me hard with his feet.
His right foot comes in contact with my stomach so many times that I don't even have the chance to breathe.
I feel my back tense, like it's full of needles that draw deeper in my skin every time he takes a new blow.
I can feel the heat and blood throb in my face, making the skin there turn red. He takes the collar of my jumper and lifts me from the ground, pushing me back onto the couch. I can't defend myself, how miserable is my life?
Once more, he grabs my hands and forces me to lie down on the couch, hovering over me.
"You're a slut. But don't worry, after I finish you, you won't dare to look at anyone again." I sigh and attempt to push him off of me. But I suddenly feel powerless.
I can sense his lower body pressing against mine. I really want to cry right now but I don't usually cry, I don't know if I even know how to.
A flash from the other night lingers in my mind. The night of the party where me and Harry were stuck together in a room. It is dark and I'm shaking and shivering, but Harry is looking at me calling my name, concerned. He pulls me into his embrace and I sob, then cry, wetting is shirt.
