I couldn’t be that lucky.
The door opens easily, and I step inside into the dimly lit foyer. The air is heavy, the tension nearly palpable even though I don’t see anyone there.
“Hello?” I call out, reluctant to draw attention to myself but unsure of where my mother is. I frown, noticing that the house is messier than usual. There are beer cans all over the coffee table, and there’s a subtle smell in the air that seems to be coming from the kitchen. I head over to it, grimacing at the stacks of dirty dishes.
That’s strange.
I head deeper into the house, keeping my steps loud so I don’t startle my mother. But I don’t see her, and when I knock on the bedroom door, there’s nothing.
Maybe she’s napping, but a deep sense of unease fills me as I knockagain.
Nothing.
“I’m coming in,” I say, then I push the door open.
No one’s inside.
The covers on the bed are thrown back instead of being as tidy as usual, and alarm bells start to ring in my mind.
I grab my phone from my pocket and call her number.
This number is no longer in service.
What the fuck?
What’s going on?
I open up the closet, but it’s half empty. I only see my father’s clothes.
My mother is gone.
Before I can really register that fact, my dad’s voice sounds from the doorway to the bedroom.
“So you finally had the balls to show back up. I didn’t think you’d man up and show.”
He’s holding a beer in one hand, but he’s not drunk. He likes his control too much to let himself get lost in drinking too much. What he does, he does deliberately.
He takes a sip from the can of cheap beer.
My father is about as tall as I am, with a strong jaw and wide nose. I inherited a lot of my looks from him, which means I spend a lot of time avoiding the mirror unless I’m in the mood to punch something. His shirt is disheveled, but it’s not from lack of care. It’s from whatever he was doing prior to coming home.
I try to remind myself that I’m an adult, not a child, and that I don’t have to take his shit.
Except I do, because he’s paying for everything. I’m at his mercy when it comes to my future. I’d thought about throwing in with the Bouchards after I graduated, but that’s off the table now.
I exhale slowly, trying to decide the best way to handle this.
And failing.
“You made it pretty clear that I didn’t have a choice,” I snap at him, my handsclenching into fists at my sides.
He chuckles harshly. “Yeah? And you’re still that much of a pushover?”
He’s goading me. I know that. He wants a reaction from me, and I’m trying my hardest not to rise to the bait.
“I wanted to see my family for Christmas,” I say, even though we both know that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Bullshit,” he says with another drink of beer.
