Defiance
Gravel pooled in her mouth and she coughed, her throat turning from uncomfortable to raw in a second.
"Get up, shrimp! If you can't handle the way we play, then get out!"
Swiping at her face, ignoring the jagged pain spreading through her face and knees, she stood up. She flicked her curls out of her eyes, blue eyes glinting with something undiscovered—defiant. "You pushed me, you loser!" she yelled, her fists curling, her rage battling with the tears, a power overwhelming enough to keep them at bay.
The boy towered over her, at least two years her senior. "What did you say? You tripped on your own stupid feet!"
"I'm not stupid," she shouted, "You pushed me."
"No, I didn't," he said, "You're an idiot just like your mother."
Her anger burst the floodgates, and she shoved the boy in the chest. "Don't you talk about my mother like that!"
He sneered, his face warping. "Why not? It's all she deserves," he said, and as she lunged for him again, he caught her wrists and threw her to the ground. "And that's all you deserve." He nudged her with the toe of his boot as she sputtered, swallowing dirt. "Stay there, shrimp. Where you belong."
He'd hurled her so hard her world closed in and black dots danced in front of her eyes, and she had no breath to regain her footing, let alone her dignity. She stayed there, breathing in choking pants, but only a fraction of air getting in every time. The black dots came for her, lunging, hungry for her consciousness.
"Rikki!"
The voice sounded familiar. Rough, warm hands picked her up and cradled her. Warm breath kissed her cheeks, lips pressed against her hair.
"Sweetheart, what happened? You didn't play with those boys, did you?"
She wrapped her arms around him, the reason for the familiarity finally wiggling into her awareness. "I'm—sorry—Daddy—"
A hand petted her curls. "It's okay, honey. Let's go home, alright? Get you cleaned up."
After a few tries, with her father's help, she got onto her feet and walked with him back to their small apartment.
He sat her in a chair and tended to her scraped knees and her stinging face. He stared into her small blue eyes, his lips pulled tight—not quite a frown, but definitely disapproving. "Sweetheart, I think we need to talk about what happened,"
Her lower lip started trembling and she sniffed, blinking rapidly, determined to slap herself if her mouth didn't stop betraying her that second. "I don't think we should."
He squeezed her hands, his big rough ones enveloping her pale slight ones. "I told you those boys were dangerous, didn't I?"
She looked down at her blue strap sandals, her blonde curls swallowing her face. "Yes,"
"And you played with them anyway."
Her head dipped further. "Yes. I thought I was tough enough—I really did!" she said, her voice cracking.
He sighed, placing his fingers beneath her chin and angling her face from side to side. "You're plenty tough, honey. But you're still little. Those were very big boys. They could have seriously hurt you, Rikki," he looked down, taking far too long to apply a bandage to her knee. "And after your mother..."
"I'm sorry, Dad."
He stood up, tugging her off her chair and turning her around, seeing if there was a cut or bruise he'd missed. "I know you are," he said. He gave her one last glance and nodded. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "There. All better."
"Thank you," she said, bouncing on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek.
"You're welcome, sweetheart," he knelt once more, staring into her with a gaze so powerful that even at her young age, she knew she wouldn't be able to break away. "But you can't do that again. Those boys—they don't care. What they do to you. Your mother..."
He stopped, a choked sound blooming in his throat. She wrapped him in a hug. She knew. She understood.
"Don't worry," she whispered. "I won't. Promise."