Chapter 2: CHAPTER TWO

Gabriel Foster was the kind of man everyone feared but no one stopped. Even as a kid, he was violent. He beat people up for no reason, and no one dared to cross him. But staying out of his way wasn’t enough. Trouble always found you. I was still in elementary school when it happened. A neighbor’s chickens were healthier than his. That was all it took. One night, he stormed into their house with a kitchen knife—and when the sun rose, a man was dead. He went to prison for over ten years. But last year, he came back. And nothing had changed. He spent his days drinking, gambling, and chasing women. If he was in a bad mood, he’d beat someone bloody just to feel better. Everyone said he just had a bad temper. But no one knew the truth— He was born like this. A sickness ran in his blood, something that made him violent, aggressive, completely out of control. And because everyone feared him, he only got worse. He started harassing the community women. The children. And today—He had come for me. A man like him should have been locked away. He should have been reported, arrested, thrown in prison where he belonged. Instead, he walked free—and no one dared to stop him. Not even my mother. "Where do you think you’re going?" My mother shoved my hands away as if my touch disgusted her. "Aren’t you ashamed enough?" My stomach twisted. "Mom—what do you mean? I didn’t do anything wrong! He—he’s the one who—" "And what will people say if you go to the police? You’ll be the talk of the community! How will you ever show your face again?" I stared at her. I knew my mother cared about reputation. That she let people walk all over her. But this? "This isn’t my fault!"* My voice cracked. *"Why should I be the one to suffer?" She didn’t flinch. "Because if you hadn’t seduced him, he never would have—" Her words were a knife, twisting deep into my chest. I felt my courage drain away. The fight leave my body. She didn’t believe me. She never would. I let her drag me inside. Let her shove me into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Let her grab the showerhead and turn on the water. "Wash up," she ordered. "Now." The hot spray burned my skin. I jerked back, gripping my arms. The bruises, the scratches—they were the only proof I had left. If I washed them away, there would be nothing. "Mom, please," I sobbed. "Take me to the police station. I don’t care if I lose my reputation—I want him to pay!" But my mother’s hands only tightened. "You’re the disgrace," she spat. "Don’t drag me down with you." She pressed me under the stream, forcing me to scrub away the evidence. The boiling water scalded my wounds. I screamed. I struggled. But she only held me tighter. "I sent you to school to study, not to whore yourself out!" she shouted. "If I had known you’d turn out like this—” Her nails dug into my skin. "—I would have drowned you the day you were born!" *********