Ian came forward, lips curling in a feline smile. He raised his hand up and I bowed my head and concentrated on the ground, expecting the blow.
It wasn't the first time I was going to be beaten As a child, I learned to control my tears because the only joy they gain was to see me cry. They would gang up on me and beat me up for being the weakest, yelling at me to fight back. My efforts were meager compared to theirs so I just stopped trying. I would bleed but the tears eventually stopped coming.
I would take this darn beating with honour, than plead to be released.
I waited and waited, then I looked up.
Ian was frozen in motion, his face was drawn with such hate, fingers were balled into fists, teeth was clenched, brows were drawn, legs were wide but he didn't move, didn't even blink.
