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“Your mother certainly was.” Dad laughed. “When you told her Shannon would mother your children.”
“Jesus Christ,” I whimpered. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“We couldn’t,” he replied. “You would only settle down for Shannon. You fell asleep in her arms.”
Ugh. Christ.
“I’m going to go get a coffee and check on that best friend of yours,” Dad announced as he rose from his chair. “But can you do me a favor? When your mother comes in later, can you put her nerves at ease?” Smirking, he added, “Some of the things you were ranting on about last night shook the poor woman.”
“I don’t remember a bleeding thing,” I groaned. “Everything’s all hazy.”
“You might not remember,” Dad chuckled as he walked over to the door and opened it. “But she’ll remember for the rest of her life.”
I waited until Dad had left the room before reaching for my phone.
My father.
My father.
Why the fuck was I hearing Shannon say those words? And why was my heart telling me it was vital?
Jesus, they must have knocked me out with some strong-ass Class A drugs.
Focus, Johnny. Remember.
I scrolled through my contacts with the intention of calling her to apologize, only to slump in dismay when I remembered that I didn’t have her number. And even if I did, I couldn’t call her. Because her father took her phone.
My father.
My father.
What was I missing here?
68Frustrated Fears
SHANNON
I didn’t want to go home. But I knew I had to.
I didn’t want to get beaten. But I knew I would.
In a messed-up way, I accepted my fate. I knew there was no other way out. Therefore, I wasn’t surprised when the first thing that greeted me when I stepped through the front door on Saturday evening was my father’s fist.
The force of the blow knocked the air clean out of my lungs, and I dropped to the hall floor on my hands and knees.
“I knew it!” Dad snarled as he towered above me, bleary-eyed and stinking of whiskey. “I fucking knew you were whoring around,” he roared. “I told your mother and she wouldn’t believe me.”
I didn’t have a chance to respond or defend myself before he reached down and fisted my hair, dragging me further into the house.
“Get off me,” I screamed, clawing at his hand as it painfully dug into my scalp. “Stop!”
This is it. This is the day you die.
“You’re a little tramp,” my father snarled, not stopping until we were in the kitchen.
He literally dragged me to my feet, only to fling me away like a rag doll. My face hit the corner of the kitchen table with a thud and I collapsed on the floor, landing hard on the cold kitchen tiles.
“Your cunting school called!” Dad roared, his words slurring as he closed the space between us. “Told me what your teacher caught ya doing, you dirty little whore!”
