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“Can’t talk now, you fucking mute.”
Troy sighs from his place on the couch like he’s used to her outbursts. He’s indifferent as he zips his pants. “Not cool, Candy. Give her the phone.”
“Why? So she can insult me? Well, I have a few things to say to her.” She studies the screen to figure out the layout, then types random curse words. She glances at Troy. “What’s her name?”
He rubs his forehead. “Paige.”
My phone says,
Tears sting my eyes. I don’t care what Candy thinks, but it hurts that my voice is saying those words.
Troy stands. “Candy, what’s wrong with you? Give her the phone.”
She runs into the kitchen. “No. Fuck her. Are you here all day thinking about that whore? Have you been cheating on me?”
“I told you, Candy, we’re not exclusive. But no. Not with Paige. She’s with Brody.”
I stare at the scratches on my arm. Little beads of blood appear along the jagged white lines. I can only sit here silently as they argue, body heavy and swimming from the alcohol.
Better off dead.
I’m not with Brody. I’m not with anyone. I’m alone.
I clench my fists, sucking all my tears back into my body. My muscles tense. She took my voice and now she’s taunting me with it. You can’t do that. You can’t take my voice. That’s all I have. It’s not fair to take away my right to talk. I don’t have any other rights, but I can speak. I have a voice. My voice is one right you can’t take away.
Not fair. Not. Not. Not. Not. Not.
I scream at Candy with all I have. Both of them flinch and stare at me. I stumble to the kitchen and slam into the fridge, grabbing the handle for balance. The entire room is spinning, but I have to get the one right I have. My voice.
“Oh, bitch thinks she can fight?” Candy taunts, dangling my phone in the air. “Come on, then. Fight me.”
Troy looks curious to watch us battle, so he steps out of the kitchen.
I scream at her again and try to grab my phone, but she dodges, bumping the kitchen table. Her hip knocks an empty glass to the floor. It shatters near my feet.
She snarls. “Yeah, scream at me again, bitch. See what I do.”
I scream again and lunge for my phone. She shoves my shoulder. Hard. The world is too unstable, my body too clumsy, and I slam into the tile, into the glass. Pain shoots up my arm. A two-inch shard sticks out of the skin on my forearm. Blood streams into the crook of my elbow.
“You’re done,” Troy yells at her. “Give me the phone and clean this shit up.”
Get away. I have to get away. When it becomes violent, it will keep being violent. I have to get to my room to minimize injuries. Avoid death.
Troy squats next to me, but I don’t know what he wants. He could choke me. I know he chokes Candy. He could hit me. Choke me. Call me a cunt for screaming and crying. If I don’t get away, he’ll kill me.
I crawl out of the kitchen because I don’t know if I can stand. I crawl all the way to my room and slam the door. Lock the door. Shove weights against the door. Shove everything I can against the door.
My arm burns, so I pull the shard out. Blood spills onto the floor, and I cry because I’ve ruined Brody’s carpet. I’ll have to pay for that, but I can’t. I don’t have any money. I sold all of my inventory and made three hundred bucks, minus shipping costs, and that’s not enough for rent, so it’s not enough to replace the carpet. I can’t go back to my favorite thrift store because he’s looking for me. I can’t get a normal job because Mom controls my finances. I can’t drive because no one will teach me, and Mom controls that, too.
What can I do? Nothing. I’m useless.
I sit on the floor and rock and sob while my arm bleeds. I want to make money and I want to go places and I want to orgasm and fall in love and be an adult like everyone else. I want to work and have my own money and be an upstanding American citizen. I can’t. I want to pay for this carpet, but I can’t.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
I want to. Why can’t I? It’s unfair.
Troy knocks on the door. “Paige? You okay? Do you need to go to the hospital for stitches?”
