The dream gripped her throat like a snake.
Lily struggled in the straw, her limbs tangled in the thin blanket as the phantom hands of her father clawed down her back. In the dream, she was a child again—silent, terrified, bleeding.
Her brother's laughter echoed behind him, a display of cruelty that was overwhelming. The sound of the whip cracked loudly. The feel of cold stone against her knees.
His voice, low and merciless: ‘You’re not even worth the pain.’
She woke with a start, soaked in sweat, her breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob. Her chest heaved. Her wrists ached as if they were still bound. Moonlight cut through the slats of the shack like silver blades, and the night air inside was stifling.
The abuses she had gone through, were repeated all over again. Her body shivered, the memories so vivid, her scars so fresh, and her skin was aching as if everything had just happened all over again.
She couldn’t stay.
