The cold metal of the cuffs pinched my skin as they tightened to the point of pain.

“Please,” I rasped, breathing erratically, my cheek pressed to the hood of the squad car as I got searched and read my rights.

I couldn’t hear a damn thing the cop was saying. I could only hear the high-pitched, terrified screaming coming from the car my body had just been dragged out of.

They were wailing—my girls. Both of them. Scared and needing me, not knowing what was happening. Their terror filled my ears.

I blinked, feeling wetness run down my face and drip onto the hood. Struggling to see clearly, I kept looking through that windshield at the back seat. My gaze fixated as I panted heavy breaths.

Every time one of them moved, I got a glimpse.

Blonde heads whipping about, red faces streaked with tears, and tiny hands reaching, seeking comfort and safety. Seeking me, and I couldn’t go to them. They needed to be told it was going to be okay. Somebody needed to tell them.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

A violent shudder tore through me.

I’d been cooperative up until this point, but now, fuck that. I thrashed against the hood, bucking back and cursing, spit flying out of my mouth as I tried with all my strength to get this prick off me so I could get up, because I needed to go. I needed to get to them and tell them I was sorry. They needed to know it was going to be okay. It was all going to be okay and they were safe, and I was never, ever going to hurt them like this again. I was never going to let anything hurt them. And I’d fucking kill anyone who tried.

The cop shoved me down, pressing on the back of my head and gripping my hair so tight, I sucked in a breath. He was saying stuff to me, but I couldn’t hear him.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

The screams grew louder and more desperate.

Rage blurred and spotted my vision. I fought harder, nothing stopping me, not even when I felt the blood dripping down my hands from the cuffs as they started tearing my skin off.

I fought knowing I shouldn’t be fighting, and not caring. I was getting to my girls.

“DADDY!”

“Fuck! Let me the fuck up!” I roared, struggling in his unrelenting grip. “Get off me! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!”

Pain shot up my side when I was struck below my ribs. I groaned, and my knees buckled, momentarily halting my efforts to get away. But the cop was sick of my shit and knew I wasn’t done. He threw his weight on top of me and slammed me forward, crushing me against the hood and draining the air from my lungs. I struggled to breathe.

“Please,” I croaked. “I gotta see them. They’re scared.”

The cuffs tightened, and my hands went numb.

I kept my eyes on that windshield as I was dragged off the car and thrown in the back seat. The cop said something to me before slamming the door shut. I didn’t hear him.

I heard their screams. Or maybe it was my own.

*  *  *

Gasping awake, I pitched forward and knocked over the can of soda by my leg, spilling it onto the wood floor I’d discovered after pulling up the carpet.

“Fuck!” I pulled off my shirt, not having a rag near me, and used that to clean up the mess before it soaked in and ruined the wood. Then I balled up the wet tee and tossed it across the room, rubbing at my face as I slumped against the wall.

I was used to the nightmares. Hell, I welcomed them. They were a good reminder of what I’d done and what I deserved to feel for the rest of my life. That regret was never leaving me. I wouldn’t let it.

My girls scared and screaming was the last memory I deserved to have of them.

But it wasn’t what they deserved.

I’d give them better. I’d make up for what I did. I’d give my girls everything I never had, and this time, I’d do it right.

Getting to my feet, I walked over to the tall lamp I’d stuck in the corner of the room and turned it on, giving me enough light to work.

It was pitch black outside. I knew it was late. I knew I could’ve stopped and called it a night. My shoulders and back ached, begging for relief, and that burning pain in my neck was still there, but I ignored it. I ignored everything. Even though I’d gotten a lot done already after getting home from work, there was still too much left to do. I needed to keep going.

I tied my hair back, grabbed the fraying edge of the carpet and pulled, ripping it clear off the floor.

I worked for hours, not sitting down again because I knew I’d fall asleep, and I hadn’t meant to the first time. Once I got all the carpet up in the living room, I moved on to something else. I patched holes in the drywall, then I got to work on the kitchen, taking out cabinets that were busted up or on the verge of breaking once you sat one fucking dish in them. I worked until I would catch my eyes closing and jerk awake while holding power tools, finally stopping then because I knew I was risking injury doing some of the shit I was doing without focus.

If I got hurt, I’d have stop, and I didn’t have time for that.

It was after three when I finally called it a night.

After cleaning up and showering, I went to my room. All the furniture I owned was in there: a mattress that sat on the floor and one of those old military trunks I kept all my clothes in. That was it. I didn’t even have a fucking bed.

Pulling on a pair of boxers, I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled up the contacts on my phone. There were two.

Nate and my ex, Val.

I hit dial, pushed my wet hair back, and pressed the phone to my ear, waiting for the greeting I always got no matter what fucking time I called her.

I understood why she never picked up. I was just hoping she was listening.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said, clearing the sleep from my voice. “Just wanted to let you know I got a place. A house. It ain’t much, but it’s better than the trailer. The girls will have a room and shit here, so…Look, it’s a fuckin’ dump now, but I’m fixing it up, and when it’s ready, I’d like the girls to see it. I’m really trying to do right by them this time. I want them to have what I didn’t. I want that more than I ever wanted anything, you know that, but I’m doin’ it right. It’s fuckin’ killing me, but I’m doing it, Val. Just think about letting me see them. Please. I’ll call when I have it ready. Just hear me out. That’s all I’m askin’.” I shook my head, nostrils flaring, so fucking angry with myself. “Christ, I know I don’t have any right to be askin’ shit from you, but I’m askin’ for them. I’m not doin’ this for me. I don’t deserve nothin’ anymore, I know that, just let me make this right. I’ll call when it’s ready. Please, just hear me out. I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

Ending the call, I fell back on the mattress and gripped the phone against my bare chest.

I could feel my heart slamming in suffering against my rib cage. I was panting, my skin breaking out in a sweat, my stomach rolling and twisting.

I worried she wouldn’t listen. I worried I’d never get the opportunity to fix my mistakes. I worried this was all for nothing. And I had no fucking right to worry about anything.

Feel like shit, because that’s what you are, and that’s all you’re ever going to be.

I could taste the sick creeping up the back of my throat. I tried swallowing it down. I tried not hearing the voice that never left my head, but it was all I could hear.

You think you’re special? she screamed. You ain’t nothing, boy! Just a stinking, piece of shit taking up space in my goddamned house! You ain’t nothing! You ain’t never gonna be nothing either! You hear me?

I hadn’t gotten around to pulling up the old carpet yet in my room. That was a good thing, since I never made it to the toilet.

Rolling over, I hung my head over the edge of the mattress and vomited on the floor.