Autor: I didn't have time to upload the chapter yesterday, and since I have trauma from authors who skip a day of a chapter, I don't want them to develop that trauma too.
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Two years had passed since Carrie began living in the same house as Liam. At first, she didn't want to separate from him at all; she clung to his arm tightly whenever night fell, as if letting go could somehow bring back everything she had lived through. Sometimes, when Liam turned off the bedroom light, she would instinctively reach for his hand, trembling. She slept leaning against his shoulder, breathing fast, as if afraid he might disappear the moment she closed her eyes.
With time—and with a patience that even surprised Liam—he managed to help Carrie become more independent. He spoke to her in a calm voice, left a lamp on for her, and sat in the doorway until she finally fell asleep. The first night Carrie agreed to sleep alone, even though she clung to a pillow like a shield, was a small victory. Liam ruffled her hair with a proud smile, and she lowered her gaze, shy but content.
Her training progressed impressively. Good nutrition and Liam's constant support gradually transformed Carrie, both physically and mentally. She no longer walked hunched over or avoided eye contact; now she kept her back straight, breathed deeply before speaking, and even raised an eyebrow whenever someone tried to intimidate her. At first she had several issues with bullying in high school because of the news about her mother in Juniper Hill; every whisper behind her made her tense up and clench her fists, but Liam taught her to handle those situations on her own.
Over time, she grew more confident, and small problems like that no longer bothered her. If someone crossed the line… well, a single, well-placed punch—direct and unhesitating—was enough to set things straight. That was Liam's teaching method: if someone doesn't understand with words, then you make them understand with fists. Carrie found herself liking that philosophy; she couldn't deny that it worked.
Although there was one girl who didn't understand even after being punched. Carrie remembered perfectly how that girl kept glaring at her with hatred, even after receiving a clear warning. It didn't take long before she asked her boyfriend and his friends for help.
One afternoon, as Carrie was walking home alone, she stopped when she heard footsteps behind her. Her stomach tightened. When she turned, she saw the three boys and the girl watching her like she was prey. Carrie swallowed, stepped back, and raised her fists just as Liam had taught her.
She dodged the first blows well; she even managed to land a clean punch to one boy's jaw, making him stumble. But in the end… she was still just a fourteen-year-old girl against several older, heavier teenagers.
One grabbed her arm while another shoved her into a wall. The air was knocked out of her lungs at once. She tried to defend herself, she screamed, scratched, kicked, but they quickly overwhelmed her. The blows fell without rhythm or mercy. Her vision blurred after they threw her to the ground; everything became fuzzy, and the taste of blood warmed her mouth as she breathed in ragged gasps.
She managed to take down one of them, and after that… all she could do was endure the beating.
Carrie slowly regained awareness, feeling dust stuck to her cheek and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. The asphalt beneath her palms was cold, as if trying to remind her that despite all her progress, she was still human. A fourteen-year-old girl, alone against a group.
The punches had been fast, clumsy, full of misdirected teenage rage. Her technique was there, the training too—but the difference in strength and numbers overwhelmed her.
She pushed herself up with difficulty, leaning against a wall. Her breathing shook more from frustration than pain.
"Liam… he's going to kill me," she thought, even though she knew that wasn't true. But she also knew how much he insisted she defend herself, how much he believed in her progress. Failing that expectation hurt more than any bruise.
The walk home felt endless. Every step sent a spike of pain through her ribs or legs, but she stayed on her feet—stubborn, proud. She didn't want to arrive crying. She didn't want Liam to see her broken.
Liam was in the living room watching TV—he'd somehow picked up this habit over the years, usually watching the news.
He turned his head, ready to greet her… until he saw her.
His expression vanished instantly.
"What happened?" he asked, with that restrained voice he only used when he was seconds away from losing control.
Carrie, standing in the doorway, lowered her gaze. She didn't want to look weak, but she couldn't lie either.
"They all came together…" she muttered. "I couldn't handle all of them."
Liam approached silently—not with anger toward her, but with a tense calm that made her swallow hard. He took her shoulders and inspected every bruise and scrape with careful hands.
"I told you that if there are too many, you just have to run. Running isn't cowardice—it's intelligence. Run one day so you can win the next," Liam said. "Remember that."
Those simple words were enough to break her. The tears she had held back on the way home finally slipped out.
Liam held her firmly, the same way he always did when her fears threatened to drag her back into that small dark closet from her childhood. That place no longer existed. Not while he was here.
After a few minutes, once Carrie's breathing had calmed, Liam spoke again.
"Tell me who it was."
She hesitated. She lowered her eyes, clenched her fingers against her pants, and swallowed before speaking.
"A girl from my class… her boyfriend and his friends," she murmured, her voice tense but steady.
Liam stared at her in silence. His eyes narrowed slightly. Hearing those names in his mind—the same ones he remembered from the movie—he felt a cold, calculated idea form instantly. He exhaled slowly, controlling the urge to react immediately.
At first, he had planned on giving them a moderate lesson, nothing more than necessary… but once he knew exactly who they were, that idea died instantly. He wouldn't show mercy.
He stepped closer to Carrie and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. Although still sore, she lifted her gaze, expecting an explosive reaction; instead, Liam spoke with a calm so dangerous the air itself seemed to tighten.
"Tomorrow," he said without raising his voice, "when no one is listening, you're going to tell your classmate that we'll be waiting in the afternoon… at the burnt-down canteen."
Carrie blinked in surprise. Liam continued:
"Tell her your friend is going to beat all of them."
He didn't say it with anger or drama. He said it like stating a simple, unavoidable fact.
Carrie opened her mouth to respond, but Liam lifted a finger, signaling her to wait.
"Don't worry. Don't hesitate. They're going to show up no matter what," he added as he walked to turn off the dining room lights. "I know them better than they know themselves."
Carrie watched him. She noticed how he rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment, as if mentally organizing every detail. Then he walked down the hallway with firm, confident steps.
Her stomach tightened—not with fear, but something else. Protection. Certainty. And maybe a little adrenaline.
Liam turned back before disappearing down the hall.
"Tomorrow's a good day to put things in their place, Carrie."
And he left, with the strange sense lingering in the air that what was about to happen was already decided.
The next day, Liam and Carrie waited outside the burnt-down canteen. The place was deserted and silent, its charred walls and empty windows like open mouths. A cold breeze rustled the dry leaves around their feet.
Liam crossed his arms, eyeing the path the group would have to take. His expression was completely different from the one Carrie saw at home: hard, cold, calculating.
Carrie felt a shiver—not of fear toward him, but because of the certainty of what was about to happen.
"Carrie," Liam said without looking at her, as if analyzing the terrain in his head, "I'm going to be honest with you. Today… they're not leaving here alive."
His tone was flat, without doubt or hesitation.
"Today you're going to see my cruelest side."
Carrie gripped her coat tightly, swallowing hard. Her breathing trembled a little—not out of fear of Liam, but from the mix of worry, anger, and nerves. She remembered the pain, the hits, the metallic taste of blood when they left her on the ground.
Her heart beat fast, but she still stepped closer to him.
"Liam…" she whispered softly, "I don't want anything to happen to you."
Liam finally turned to her. His expression didn't soften, but his eyes did. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Nothing's going to happen to me. And nothing's going to happen to you."He paused."They chose to bother you. They chose to hurt someone important to me."
Carrie lowered her gaze at those words, feeling a mix of embarrassment and comfort. Liam could be harsh, but with her… he was different.
The crunch of footsteps over dry leaves interrupted them.
The attackers appeared in the distance, laughing among themselves, unaware of what awaited them.
Liam released Carrie's shoulder and stepped forward.
His muscles tensed, his body preparing by instinct.
His gaze turned sharp and cold as steel.