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At last, he puts down the bottle and faces me. “You’re not doing anything but what I tell you. Do you understand me?”
I take a step back. My dad has never looked at me like this. His brown eyes look tired but dead serious. I open my mouth.
“Dolly. He’s being charged with attempted murder. He’s seventeen.” He lets that hang in the air.
“That is why I need to testify.” I go to him almost pleading. “Daddy, I love him. Don’t you even care what happened to me? Why would you let Edge go down for saving me?”
He takes another swig as my mom rubs my arm in a lame attempt at comfort.
“You have no idea what’s at stake. We don’t involve the police in our business. Ideally Edge should have killed the piece of shit then ran. That’s the code. Don’t Get Caught.”
I blink at him and look at my mom who is back to drying the same stupid plate.
“Are you criticizing him? Like…” I rub my forehead looking around our small kitchen. “Like are you trying to say that he did something wrong by saving me?” My voice rises.
Still holding the bottle, he walks past me and sits in his leather La-Z-Boy. I look at mom, but she stares at that same plate.
“What is happening?” I throw my hands up and march into the living room. “Dad?”
He flips on the TV with the remote. “Dolly, I’ve had maybe four hours of sleep in the last two days. You will not testify or talk to the police or Edge. He will serve his time. If you want him to live, you’ll listen to me.”
I kind of drop onto the couch not even caring that my back feels like it’s bleeding from all the movement.
“I can’t not see him. He needs me.” It comes out in a jumbled rush. My mind is spinning and I don’t feel good. “Wait… are you saying that me seeing him could get him hurt?” It sounds so foreign, almost surreal.
“Jesus Christ, are you stupid? That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he sneers, and my eyes sting at his horrible words.
“Fucking Edge needs to survive, stay on his toes. He’s got to be mean.” His eyes remain glued to the TV and his voice sounds as if he’s talking about the weather.
I prepare to stand, and only then do his eyes break from the TV. “When he comes out… if you still want him, I’ll allow it.” Then he turns back to the news.
I nod even though he’s not looking. “So, you’re going to let him go to jail? You can’t help him?”
I don’t even know why I’m asking this. I know the answer. They’d rather he take the heat as a minor than bring any trouble, police interest to the club.
“We have people who will protect him.” He turns up the volume and I guess that’s my cue to leave. Numb, I drag myself to my bedroom. I don’t bother turning on the light and lower myself onto the bed and close my eyes.
“Baby?” Hmm cinnamon and smoke fill my nose as I stretch and reach for him.
“I love you.” He smiles and, in the light, I can see the tiny number of old freckles on his face; they’re disappearing with age. His skin is tan, and his turquoise eyes are filled with love.
“I love you,” I say again. He frowns, and I sit up but his tan hand reaches for my throat.
“No,” I try to yell, but nothing comes out. When I blink, the beautiful auburn hair is gone, vanished, and the face above me is… it can’t be… “No,” I scream, but the rapist applies more pressure as I scratch and scream again for him. Only Edge can save me. Where did he go?
I open my mouth to scream again—
“Dolly. Wake up!” I bolt up, my heart racing, my throat sore as I claw at it trying to remove his hand.
“Dolly, it’s us. Stop.” My dad stands in my bedroom, a knife in his hand. My mom is on the bed shaking me.
“Mom?” I turn and look around my room.
“It was a dream, sweetheart.” My mom, who never looks concerned, is biting her lip as she pulls the sweaty strands of my hair off my forehead.
“Jesus Christ, I thought someone was in here.” My dad lets out a breath, then bellows, “What the hell is wrong with you? Look at your neck.”
I look down at my hands. They’re covered in blood.
“Oh my God, Shark, what do we do?”
My dad grabs my chin, forcing me to look up as he examines my neck. I’m starting to feel the pain now.
“Take her to get more therapy.” He looks at me and I look at him, and if I wasn’t still panting, my eyes watering a little, I swear I’d see fear, pity, maybe even rage in his face.
