Chapter 2 - The Scald and the Slap
The liquid didn’t just spill; Denise flicked her wrist with calculated precision.
The near-boiling chicken broth, fresh off the gas range and hovering just below a rolling bubble, splashed directly across my bare thighs and down my shins. The shock hit my nervous system before the pain did—a split-second of cold disbelief followed by a roaring, incandescent fire that seemed to melt through the top layers of my skin.
I let out an involuntary scream, dropping the dishtowel in my hands and stumbling backward against the marble island. My legs were instantly mottled crimson, blistering patches bubbling up along my quadriceps.
“Oh, look at that!” Denise gasped, her voice dripping with artificial innocence. She set the empty ceramic bowl down on the polished wood with a loud clack. “Look what you made me do, jumping around like a wild animal! You startled me, Elena!”
Tears blurred my vision as the agony pulsed in heavy, sickening waves. I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white, trembling so violently that my teeth clicked together. “You threw it on me,” I choked out, reaching instinctively for my phone on the breakfast bar to dial 911. “You just burned me on purpose!”
Before my fingers could unlock the screen, a hand clamped down over my wrist like a vice.
Ryan yanked my arm back, twisting it until my shoulder popped with a dull ache. He snatched my phone and shoved it into his pajama pocket.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ryan snarled into my face, his breath smelling of stale morning sleep. “Are you out of your mind, screaming at my mother like that?”
“Ryan, she scalded me!” I sobbed, pointing down at my blistered flesh. “Look at my legs! I need an ambulance, I need ice, call for help!”
Instead of looking at the weeping blisters rising on my skin, Ryan’s eyes hardened into cold slits. “You disrespected her the second she walked into this apartment. You shoved your attitude in her face, you made garbage food, and now you’re accusing a sixty-two-year-old woman of assaulting you because you’re clumsy?”
“She did it on purpose!” I cried out.
*Crack.*
The impact was so sudden and vicious that my head snapped sideways. The sound of the slap echoed through the open-concept living room. Pain exploded across my cheekbone, hot and sharp, ringing in my ears.
“You shut your mouth,” Ryan hissed, stepping into my space, his chest pressed against mine, his fist clenched at his side. “You do not call my mother a liar in front of me. You’re going to stand right there, look her in the eyes, and apologize for your pathetic tantrum.”
“I’m... not... apologizing,” I wheezed through bloody lips.
*Crack.*
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The backhand caught the other side of my face, knocking me against the edge of the kitchen counter. My vision swam with dark spots.
“Apologize,” Ryan ordered, raising his hand again, his face twisted into an ugly, triumphant sneer. “Apologize to my mother right now, or you won't like what happens next.”
