DISCLAIMER:
This book contains mature subject matter and triggering topics that may not be suitable for every reader.
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"What is it that I always tell you, Winona? You'll always come back to me. A bird never forgets its home."
Winona Horton ha...
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July 2010 • • •
Winona bit down on her lip to prevent a hiss from escaping as Harry dabbed the small cut on her cheek.
The morning had not been kind to her. Nugget, one of her beloved hens, had accidentally pecked her, leaving behind a bleeding wound that Harry had given her hell about. Despite his gentle ministrations, Winona couldn't sit still. Her mind was wandering, chasing down different paths and tangents.
She couldn't stop thinking about the boy from last night, the one Harry had shooed away. He had appeared out of nowhere, tall with long blonde hair, and about her age. Winona had never seen him before, and yet he had managed to pique her curiosity. She wished she had learned his name, or at least had the chance to ask him why he was wandering around at night.
After Harry had scared the boy off, Winona had gone home with him, changed her clothes, and eaten dinner. She had tried to go to bed, but her mind was too restless. Sunday was a relief in some ways, as she didn't have to take her medication and endure the muscle stiffness that came with it. But the boy remained in her thoughts, an enigmatic puzzle that she couldn't stop trying to solve.
"Winona, stop moving!" Harry was fed up with her fidgeting. He grabbed the back of her neck so she couldn't move and applied the rubbing alcohol.
"That hurts! Stop it!" She slapped his hand away and drew back, clutching her cheek. "I said I'm okay. I don't need your help."
Harry's eyes hardened as he met her defiant gaze. He let out a low growl before grabbing her injured hand and dragging her out of the bathroom.
"That's it! You've been behaving like a damn child since yesterday and I've had it! If you think acting this way will do you any favours, you're about to find out how wrong you are!"
"No, Mr. Meyer, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to raise my voice, I swear. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry!" Her eyes and throat began to burn, her fear layering on thick.
Harry's grip on her arm was unyielding as he dragged her down the staircase and past the living room. She tried to keep up with his long strides, but her feet felt like they were glued to the ground. As they approached the one door at the end of the hall, Winona's knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, clutching onto his leg.
It was the basement.
"I don't want to go down there!" Winona's body trembled with fear as she cowered against him, tears streaming down her face like a waterfall. She could feel the weight of Harry's stern gaze piercing through her, the redness of his face palpable. Her breaths came out in ragged gasps, and her chest heaved as if she had been running for miles. "Please. Please don't make me go down there. I said I was sorry. I won't talk back, I promise."
"I think I've been too lenient with you, Winona. You're taking me for granted." For a moment, Harry's face softened, and he looked down at her with a hint of compassion. But it quickly hardened again, and he wrenched his leg free from her grasp. "You're acting exactly like your momma. She was always this way—agitated and fidgety and snarky. I hated it. Especially since all I ever did was take care of you, darling. Isn't that right? Haven't I always taken care of you?"
