I ignore him and move around his beer belly, walking toward my bedroom door while praying he stays in the kitchen and leaves me alone. Hell, maybe he’ll even be distracted by the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter.
A girl can dream, can’t she?
“Don’t you walk away from me!” he booms. “Where have you been?”
And here I was…so close.
Turning toward him, I take a deep breath, channeling my inner pre-school teacher. “I already told you, I was showering?—”
“I meant before,” he spits. “Did you already spend it? Where is it?”
My brows pull. “What are you talking?—”
His hand hits out of nowhere, and my head snaps to one side, surprising the hell out of me. As I hold my cheek, I screech, “What the hell?”
His mouth moves to an inch from the side of my face. “Do you have any idea how much money you cost me?” he screams.
My eardrums ring, but I smooth my blindsided anger into a look of indifference because if I show him anything else, it’ll only provoke him more. “What are you talking about?” I repeat. I keep my voice calm and controlled, but I’m honestly lost. Don’t get me wrong. I know he was looking for my money, but how did Imake himlose anything?
“The haunted house.” Spittle hits my cheek, but I don’t move a muscle as I continue cradling the opposite side. “You cost me another grand, you little shit!”
So that’s what this is about. The haunted house. He made a bet, lost, and is pissed about it. Ignoring my throbbing cheek, I slowly lower my hand to my side. “Listen, I’m sorry you lost, but?—”
He reaches for my bag. “You owe me?—”
I rip the bag out of his grasp, finally snapping as the last of my restraint, along with the shock from being slapped out of nowhere, morphs into a maniacal laugh. “I’m sorry, I oweyou? Are you kidding me right now?” The man has seriously lost his mind. “You went through my room and stole my entire savings, and you’re saying I oweyouall because you made a lousy bet and lost?”
A closed fist is all I recognize before my head snaps back and hits my bedroom door. The double whammy leaves the room spinning, and I don’t even know where to touch. Where to cradle. Where to check for blood. Then again, maybe I don't need to. A metallic tang floods my mouth. It’s familiar yet foreign. Like a childhood meal, long forgotten. It delivers memories. Not many. Only a few key ones. Like the night my mom left. Or the time he spent their savings on the NHL finals and lost, so he came home and took it out on us.
“I didn’t lose!” he screams, yanking me out of my memories. “You cheated! If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve walked away with another two grand, you stupid bitch!” He reaches for my bag again, but I shove him back with all of my strength, and he stumbles into the kitchen counter.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” I seethe.
“It’s in there, isn’t it!” His fingers fumble with the strap until they turn into an iron grip around the nylon.
“Let go!” I lift my knee, aiming for his crotch, but he twists his hips at the last second, and all I connect with is the inside of his thigh.
Dammit!
“You fucking bitch, it’s mine!”
I tug on my backpack, refusing to let him steal from me another time, as I kick at him again, desperate to make contact. To make him go away. To make him leave me alone.
“Give me the fucking bag!” Knuckles to temple, he hits me again, and I cry out in pain.
With a crack, my knees hit the floor, and my hands follow suit, slapping against the linoleum while black threatens to steal my vision and little stars swallow my periphery. I haven’t seen him like this in years. Years. But it doesn’t matter. All it takes is a single punch to bring every memory back. Hell, they hit with a vengeance. One after another, in a cacophony of pain and resentment and unwavering hatred for the man I call my father.
Glaring up at him, I seethe, “Give it back.”
“Stay down,” he warns. I start to stand, but he kicks my stomach, and the force of his blow knocks me into the cabinets with an angry crash. Shit. My lungs scream for oxygen, though I can’t seem to gulp any in. All I can do is curl into a ball. “I said stay down,” he growls. Tears well in my eyes, and I bring my knees to my chest, trying to breathe through the pain, but it feels impossible. The man’s wearing boots for shit’s sake.Shit!His heavy breathing cuts through the eerie silence as he stands over me, daring me to defy him again.
I won’t. I’m not stupid. I know when to pick my battles. And this time? This time I lost.Hard.
Satisfied I won’t move, he rocks back on his heels, the floor groaning beneath his weight. It’s followed by the sound of my bag’s zipper, but I don’t bother opening my eyes to confirm my suspicion. Rustling sounds after, then the familiar thunk as my bag lands on the ground beside me. He found it. The envelope. I don’t have to see it to know it’s true. He took it. My life savings. My luck. My freakinghope. He took it all. And it’s crazy. Because I didn’t think I could hate him more than I did when I realized he stole my money the first time, but I do. I hate him so much. So. Freaking. Much.
His unsteady footsteps make the house shake as he stumbles back and collapses onto the couch. “Fucking bitch.”
Fucking asshole!I want to shout back, but I dig my teeth into my tongue until all I taste is blood. I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
