I delete it. Then I type something shorter.
Me: Four days down. Miss you.
This time I do send it. Even if he can’t answer right away, I need him to know.
The house is quiet except for the low murmur of the television downstairs. Dad’s probably watching the news and keeping one eye on the stairs to make sure I don’t sneak out. Mom’s probably folding laundry and worrying. And I’m up here losing my mind because the one person who makes me feel free is four days away on club business and I can’t even tell anyone how much I miss him.
My phone finally buzzes. I snatch it up so fast I almost drop it.
Tiny: Miss you too, Buttercup. Service has been shit but we’re heading back tomorrow. Can’t wait to see you.
Relief floods through me so strongly that my eyes sting. I hug the phone to my chest for a second before typing back.
Me: Tomorrow feels too far. Be safe getting home. I’ll try to sneak a few minutes after my shift if I can.
Tiny: I’ll make it work. Hang in there for me.
I smile despite everything. He’s coming back tomorrow. One more day of pretending. One more day of this aching frustration.
But knowing he’s on his way home makes it a little easier to breathe for now.
The house is quiet when I get home, but the silence feels heavy. I walk in, hang up my cardigan, and head straight to the kitchen without saying much. Dinner is the same as always—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans—but tonight I barely taste any of it. I only speak when Dad asks me a direct question, and even then my answers are short and careful. Mom keeps glancing at me like she wants to say something but never does. I just push food around my plate and wait for it to be over.
Afterward I clear the table and do the dishes without being asked. The warm water and the repetitive motion help a little, but my mind is still spinning. I finish up, dry my hands, and head upstairs for a shower. The hot water feels good on my skin, but it doesn’t wash away the frustration that’s been building for weeks.
When I get back to my room and start changing into sweats, I reach for my phone on the nightstand where I always leave it.
It’s not there.
I freeze. I know I left it right on top of my notebook. I check under the pillow, under the bed, in my bag, on the dresser. Nothing. My heart starts pounding harder as I tear through the room, lifting clothes and moving books. It’s gone.
I pull on a hoodie and head downstairs, dread pooling in my stomach. Dad is sitting in his chair in the living room, and when I walk in he’s holding my phone in his hand. His face is red with anger.
“Looking for this?” he asks, voice low and sharp.
I stop in the doorway. “Dad… give it back.”
He stands up, gripping the phone so tight his knuckles whiten. “I told you to stop seeing that biker. I told you what would happen if you kept this up. And you’ve been lying to us, sneaking around, throwing your whole life away for some criminal.”
“Dad, stop—”
“No, you stop!” His voice rises into a shout. “You’re being a whore, Lucy. Running around with that trash, letting him touch you, ruining everything we’ve tried to build for you. You’re throwing your future away!”
The word hits me like a slap. Tears burn my eyes instantly. “I’m not! Tiny’s not trash. He’s good to me. He listens. He cares. You don’t even know him!”
“I know enough!” Dad yells back. “You’re nineteen years old and acting like a slut. If you’re going to keep this up, then you can move out. I won’t have it in my house.”
The words knock the air out of me. I stand there shaking, tears streaming down my face. “Fine,” I choke out. “I’ll go.”
I turn and run upstairs before he can say anything else. My hands are trembling as I grab my backpack and start throwing things in—clothes, toiletries, my school notebooks, anything I can reach. I shove my charger and a couple of books on top and zip it shut. My chest is heaving with sobs, but I don’t stop.
When I come back downstairs with the bag over my shoulder, Dad’s waiting by the door.
“You’re not taking the car,” he says coldly. “And you’re not taking the phone.”
I feel trapped. Completely trapped. I don’t have anywhere to go, no money for a hotel, no car, nothing. But I can’t stay here.
I step outside onto the porch and pull out the phone one last time before Dad can take it. My hands are shaking so badly it takes two tries to call Scarlett.
