Dante's Second Chance

Annabelle has had it.

She was ready to make a break for it even if it killed her.

She was sure it would kill her anyway or at least someone else would suffer for it.

“I am sorry, Mum,” she whispered in the dark.

She knew her mother would never understand why she had done it.

Just as she didn’t believe her when Annabelle told her what he was doing.

She never had. And Annabelle had finally realised that she never will.

Her mother's dream man could do no wrong.

This was her only chance, and they would never escape if she didn’t take it.

She couldn’t do anything for her mother, but she could do something for Cathy.

Her breath caught in her throat when she heard the heavy footsteps nearing the door of the room she once shared with her sister.

He was the one who told her mother she needed her separate room now.

"She is a big girl now and deserves her privacy."

Like always, her mother agreed with him.

Then the nightmares had started.

Subtly at first.

Then it got worse

She started sweating as terror wanted to envelop her.

Images of many other nights like this came to her mind and she started shivering.

The shuffling feet got closer.

She knew he was doing it on purpose.

The bastard.

On other nights he had tried to be sneaky about it, but not tonight.

Tonight, he was sure that no one would be around to disturb him.

He believed she was all his, and she knew he would torment her with the fear of his approach even before he entered.

Over the years, she had learned that the fear turned him on more than any other thing.

He loved to see her trembling body just as much as he loved to ruin it.

Annabelle flinched as he kicked the door open.

A whimper escaped her before she could stop herself.

She bit her lips hard to stop her trembling body from giving her away.

She couldn’t afford to fail now.

She had spent months planning this.

Failing now would spell doom for her.

And then for Cathy.

Still, bitter tears squeezed out of her tightly shut eyes as the stench of alcohol reached her long before she felt his shadow over her.

“What is this? Are you pretending to sleep, brat? Are you shy now, baby girl? I thought we were long past this,” he added with a cruel chuckle.

She flinched as his ringed knuckle grazed her cheek so roughly that it left a sting on her olive-toned skin.

“That’s what I thought,” he said as he bent down and slurped at her face with his rough, alcohol-soaked tongue.

Annabelle shuddered visibly and that got him angry.

The sudden slap made the metal frames of her worn bed squeak loudly in the room.

The sound was like a gong in her tortured head.

She expected the hit. She always expected it.

Yet when it came, the pain was always worse than the last.

He hardly hit her face when her mom was around. Not that it would have made a difference, but he seemed bent on keeping up appearances.

But today, no one was there to hear her, even if she cried out loud.

He gave her another slap and Annabelle merely groaned through gritted teeth to avoid crying out.

He grunted and smashed the bottle in his hand against the headboard.

The piece of bottle stung as it pierced her back, yet she didn’t cry out.

“Please, don't ask me to strip,” she prayed with everything in her.

Not because she had not done it before, but because that would blow her cover.

Please, please, please. She pleaded to whatever powers were listening to her at that moment.

She heard the sound of his belt unbuckling in the silence.

She tensed as the belt switched in the air. The sharp crack as it landed on her back sent reeling pain into her brain.

“He is going to kill you.”

The realisation dawned on her like a revelation.

For a moment, her battered soul almost welcomed the end.

Death would mean it was over and done.

But almost immediately, Cathy's face showed vibrantly in her mind.

The cheerful face so vivid that she blinked in the darkened room filled her despair.

"No, I can't let him do this to me. Not now," her momentarily cowered mind reared its head.

She must finish what she had started these past months.

He wouldn't be winning tonight. If she didn't die first.

There was a difference to the beating this time. He always gets to business after roughing her around for a while.

He always said he wouldn't want her to lose her strength for the duty she was to perform.

At first, all he would do to keep her quiet was to threaten to go to Cathy’s room.

Then he started using his hands on her, even while bruising her body.

As the belt came down on her again, Annabelle knew she was done for this time.

This was different.

Yet she was afraid to do what she had planned to do all along.

She was sure he would kill her before she got the chance.

Then she would never be able to save Cathy from this hell.

“If only your godforsaken mother was any good,” he grunted a moment later.

Annabelle’s screaming nerves almost made her not notice the sound of the belt dropping.

He climbed the bed immediately.

“You know what to do, you whore. Strip before I get here. Yet you always make me say it. That was your punishment. You will know better next time.”

He dragged her downward, making the pieces of the bottle on the bed pierce her arms.

Annabelle could feel blood ooze out of her arms as he roughly flipped her over.

The pain of the shard in her back launched her upwards as she automatically brought out the hand she had under the cover.

Before Tad Whitaker could react, Annabelle stabbed him in the chest with the toxin-coated knife.