Free One Hundred & Thirty-Six Scars (The Devil's Own, #1) by Amo Jones Page B

answered, “I don’t know his name. I just remember what he looked like. He moved into one of the empty rooms next to ours. He would’ve only been a few years older than I was, but he lived on his own…” I paused, taking a sip of my drink. “I was fourteen and I must’ve forgotten to shut the front door properly. Donald began one of his assaults on the living room sofa. I tried to do what I did every time it happened, shut myself off and let the tears rule over me. But this particular day, I was tired and my body was drained. I was tired of living and I had a pistol sitting under my bed waiting for the right time for me to pick it up to prove it. That day was the right time. I decided after he was done, I was going to blow my brains all over his bedroom walls.” I smiled through wiping the tears that were streaming down my face, and Phoebe clutched her shirt using it to wipe the flood of tears which were pouring out from her eyes.
    I continued, “He was halfway through when he pulled out his pocket knife to slice one of my inner thighs. It was what he liked to do. He’d done it every time… one slice for each time he stole a piece of me. The scars are there for life, to match the ones embedded in my soul. He laid the knife against my skin and my chest began to heave….” Pausing again, I swallowed past the bile that was beginning to rise in my throat from the memories. “I knew what kind of pain was coming, but I rested in the fact that this would be the last time I’d have to endure it because I was done. I closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting for that sting to come over my thigh and the blood to trickle down over my other one hundred and thirty six-scars, but it never came. Instead, I felt the weight of him being pulled off me. The shadow his body created over my shut lids now shone with light. When I heard the sound of a fist connecting with skin, I shot up off the sofa and widened my eyes. I stood and ran to the front door, slamming it shut. I looked to my savior to see his massive frame standing over Donald. He wore a dark hoodie and loose jeans. I told him to stop, which he did. I looked down to Donald, who was stock still on the ground. I walked to the man who saved me… who was so huge, Phoebe. He was massive, tall and built like a house, and he would’ve only been a couple years older than I was. He was like a human killing machine. He turned his head toward me, and I’ll never forget those eyes. They were empty, dead, and absolutely lethal. He said, ‘I’ve been watching you. I had an inkling that something was happening, but no proof.’ Or something along those lines. He walked to me, took hold of the throw blanket that was on the sofa and covered me up before he walked back to Donald. ‘Let me finish him,’ were the four little words he said to me, there was probably more that he said, but I can’t really remember. With a nod of my head, it was done. I don’t even know what he did with the body. He told me to gather all my shit and stay in his room. When he didn’t come back, I found out I had an aunt. She didn’t know about me until I showed up on her doorstep, and I never saw him again. I dreamt of him every night.” I blew out a deep breath, taking a large gulp of my drink and giving Phoebe a small smile. She hadn’t moved.
    “Fuck, Meadow. I have no words. I’m feeling a churn of emotions right now and I’m not sure how I feel. I just want to turn back the clock and take you. My dad would have loved you.”
    I smiled, placing my glass on the coffee table. “Me too. I don’t know why we’re given the lives we’re given, but I like to think there’s always a deeper reason.”
    Pheobe stood from her spot on the sofa and walked to me, plopping down and pulling me into a warm embrace. “I’m so sorry, Meadow. My heart aches for you.”
    I pull back, wiping my eyes and smile. “Thank you.”
    “I wonder who the boy was?” she asked, sitting on the sofa.
    “I tried