March

Hailey holds her breath as the bed shifts next to her, wincing slightly as her ribs protest. She's gotten used to waking up sore, with barely any sleep. At this point, she can make it through the day on autopilot. So when the bathroom door clicks shut, she carefully rolls out of the bed, minding her bruised ribs. She's pretty sure none are broken, but she can't say the same about her wrist. It's swollen and a mottled purple and it throbs just looking at it.

Casey will be mad. She'll have to go to a doctor and get it looked at and like always, it will be her fault. It starts the unfortunate cycle of her life all over again. Hailey tries her best to be good. That's what he wants from her—to be a good girl. It's always the same thing. Casey gets mad—insanely jealous, for no reason, and Hailey somehow always deserves his wrath.

It wasn't always this way. When she first met Casey, Hailey had thought she won the jackpot. He was sweet and charming. Always smiling—wanting to take care of her. It was nice—at first.

Within three months of dating him, it started to feel a lot more like he wanted to control her. The more she tried to regain some of her freedom, the tighter his hold on it became. She wanted out, but he had other plans.

That was the very first time he struck her. Hailey had been shocked. It didn't register with her right away that the burning sting on her left cheek was caused by Casey's hand. One second she was telling him they were over, and the next, she'd been gripping her face, leaning against the wall, furiously blinking back tears.

While her response had been delayed, his was immediate. Casey had dropped to his knees, begging her forgiveness.

"It was an accident—I didn't mean to hit you—Don't leave me—"

She isn't stupid. She knew it was all a show. No one ever just 'accidently' strikes another person like that. She was leaving. There was nothing that Casey could have said or done that would have made it okay.

Or so she thought—because five months later she's still here.

Growing up, Hailey had never understood how a woman could possibly choose to stay with someone who hurts them. Why would they choose to be treated less than? Why had she stayed?

Basic need. He needed her—He wanted her—He loved her. So she stayed. For the very first time, someone wanted her—someone loved her, and that's how easy it had been. She couldn't escape now no matter how hard she tried. He would kill her—has tried twice now when she's made the attempt to run.

Hailey hadn't tried to leave last night though, and while sometimes, Casey almost has her believing that she really is at fault for him putting his hands on her, she knows without a doubt that she had done nothing wrong this time. How could it possibly be her fault that he was passed over for a promotion? Except for the salon and grocery store, Hailey was rarely let out of the house by herself.

"Did you put ice on it?" Casey's voice sounds from the far side of the kitchen causing Hailey to flinch. He hates when she does that. He always gets angry when she can't control her body's reaction to danger.

"Don't be afraid of me, dove." Casey closes in behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder, carefully wrapping his arms around her waist.

Her body tenses slightly at his closeness and the nickname. She's not his dove. She's not his wounded little bird—okay maybe she's wounded, but it's his fault. Christ—she fucking hates him—hates that she got herself into this mess.

Casey turns her in his arms, knocking her wrist against his stomach in the process and she lets out a whimper of pain.

"You've got to be kidding me. What the hell is this?" Casey lifts her injured arm and has to swallow back the urge to vomit at the pain the movement causes.

"It's—It's nothing. I just tripped." Hailey learned a long time ago to take responsibility for any injury he caused. "Casey don't—I think it's broken." She tries to pull her arm free but he holds tight, pressing harder into the bruised skin.

"Why can't you just be my good girl? Huh?" His free arm comes up, tucking strands of her light brown hair behind her ear. He thought her naturally blonde hair made her look cheap, so he suggested that she go a little darker. She thought he was looking out for her—making sure she would be taken seriously on job interviews. She hadn't seen it as controlling until it was too late. How could she have been so stupid?

"Do you think I enjoy hurting you?" Hailey tries but fails to keep the shiver that runs through her, hidden. He does—enjoy hitting her, that is. He gets off on her pain—always has. Even now, she can feel the outline of his erection pressing against her hip. Fucking sicko

"It was my fault…" The words are so practiced, she doesn't even have to think—they just drone out. "Can I please go have it looked at?"

"Have what looked at?"

The new voice has her pulse stuttering and her breath quickening. If there was one person she hated more than Casey, it was his father—Ronald fucking Booth.

"Hey dad. I didn't hear you come in." Casey steps away from Hailey, not even trying to hide the fact that she was injured at all.

"What did you do this time?" Ronald—or Ronnie for friends and family—looks between Hailey's arm and his son.

"She ugh—"

"I tripped, sir—I mean—Ronnie." He liked when she called him Ronnie. He liked a lot of things about her—too much. There was always a reason for his hands to touch her—his body to be pressed close to hers—his eyes to linger. Unlike his son Casey, who didn't really scare Hailey, more like worried—Ronnie terrified her. His pale blue eyes were flat—dead.

"You tripped, did you?" Ronnie moves closer to her, carefully examining her wrist. "Tsk, tsk—you should know better by now than to make him mad, little one."

To an outsider, his gentle voice would be taken as caring—concerned, but to Hailey, it makes her stomach turn. She tries to ignore the way his fingers graze the underside of her bicep.

Early on when Casey had continued to hit her, Hailey had naively believed that his father could help her—and then she had met him. If she was going to get out of this situation, she would have to find a way to do it herself.


"Well, it's broken." The doctor flicks on the light so the x-ray of her wrist can be seen. She listens as they go over the basics of getting and wearing a cast. Even with all the times Casey has struck her, this is surprisingly her first injury that would require a cast. She's definitely not looking forward to wearing one for upwards of eight weeks.

It takes another two hours to have the cast put on and get cleared to leave the hospital. She chose black for the cast, hoping to hide the dirt it will inevitably collect over the coming weeks.

"Ready?" Ronnie had taken Hailey to the hospital while Casey went into the office. He couldn't be bothered to deal with the injury he inflicted. Thankfully, Hailey had spent most of her time at the hospital surrounded by staff and in private procedure rooms. Ronnie hadn't been permitted to follow her back—it was a welcome reprieve.

"All set." She struggles a little with fitting the cast inside her jacket sleeve but manages to get it before Ronnie can step in. She's not so lucky in the car.

"I got it." Ronnie speaks, leaning into her space in the front of the car, his arm pressing against her chest as he reaches for the seatbelt. There's no room for her to move back and when she tries to take the buckle from his hand with her left hand, he pushes it away. "Don't be difficult, little one."

His breath hits her cheek and she can smell the chew pouch he favors. It makes her want to gag. It seems to take him forever to snap the buckle in place. When the clicking sound hits her ears, she thinks it's over—wrong.

"What did you tell them?" The hand that had been holding the seat belt brushes her cheek, turning her head so she has to look him in the eye.

"Nothing. I—I told them I fell." Months of practice had prepared her for that moment—for lying. She'd done it with ease. She had responded with a 'no' to every single question that hinted at her being abused. And there were a lot. It certainly didn't help that Casey's finger marks could clearly be seen around her wrist. The staff gave her pitying looks with one even slipping a card for a shelter in her hand. It's in her back pocket now—just in case. If she ever does manage to escape her nightmare, she'll need somewhere to go until she can get back on her feet.

"Perfect."

One second she was relaxing at his praise, and the next she was sucking in a painful gasp as he roughly gripped the back of her hair.

"You know what would happen if you told anyone, Hailey." He's excited—and now she knows where Casey gets it. His breathing is more of a pant, and his eyes keep dropping to her lips—lower. "Now, give us a kiss."

She's trembling—with rage, but also fear. He's crazy. Actually crazy, but she can tell by the look in his eyes that he isn't playing. It's not the first time he's asked her to kiss him, but he'd been drunk all the other times and Casey had been right there—laughing about it. She was sure he was joking. Not this time though.

"Don't make me say it again…" He lets the threat hang there, waiting for her to do as she's told.

She lets out a slow breath, trying to hide the fact that she might throw up at any second. The second her lips touch his cheek, he lets her go.

And he laughs. He fucking laughs at her.

"That will do—for now, little one." Ronnie's laugh slows to a low chuckle as he finally starts the car.

Dread settles heavy in her stomach as they get closer to the house. She can't take much more of this.