Kitty grabbed a fistful of my hair and slapped me across the face, seven, eight times.
"Juliana Henson, did I give you permission to get comfortable? You've been stuck to Darren like a parasite since we were kids."
"You actually conned him into visiting your dead parents on OUR anniversary? Do those pathetic ghosts of yours even deserve it?"
"Today I'm going to teach you what it means to know your place."
Kicks rained down on my body. Cigarette butts were ground into my arms, each one blistering the skin. My clothes were torn open, and they took photo after photo.
Someone kicked a phone within reach. My hand trembled as I stretched toward it and pressed the speed dial for my emergency contact.
That spot had always belonged to Darren.
The line was busy.
A second later, Kitty's phone rang.
She glanced at me, smiled, and deliberately hit speakerphone.
Darren's cool, detached voice filled the air.
"Where are you?"
Kitty was so spoiled she didn't even bother hiding it. She whined, "Blowing off steam. She got me dragged in by the cops and stole you away from me. I had to get a little payback."
The dull thud of boots connecting with flesh must have carried through the speaker. Darren went silent for a few seconds.
"Didn't I come back to spend the anniversary with you? Jules has a weak constitution. Tell your people to show some restraint."
"That's enough. If someone actually dies, not even the Sullivans and the Farleys combined can protect you."
His tone was cold, but Kitty sounded delighted.
"Okay, okay, I know you're worried about me~"
"Be a good boy and wait for me at the hotel. I'm on my way. Friendly reminder: my lingerie today is very sexy~"
She admired the intimate photos of me she'd just taken, then tipped my chin up with the toe of her shoe.
"Juliana Henson. Some things you think you have? You never had them at all."
"Learn your place. Stop clinging to Darren, and maybe I'll let you play Mrs. Farley a little while longer. Understand?"
"Anyway, I'm done wasting my breath on you. Darren's waiting for me."
The world went silent. I lay curled in the snow.
Through the haze, a memory surfaced: the year I turned eighteen, when Darren had insisted on programming his number as my emergency contact.
"Jules, sometimes in an emergency, you only get the chance to dial one number. There's no time to call the police."