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I’ve never seen him act like this, especially not when I’m angry. Usually, he’s falling over himself in sorrow the second the sides of my mouth turn down into a frown. Now, he’s tearing apart my bedroom in search of my cellphone.
Why?
“Aha!” he says triumphantly, grabbing the phone off my bed and holding it up like it’s contraband.
“That’s mine! What are you doing?” I swipe at my phone, but he holds it too high for me to reach.
“You can have this back when you stop being such a brat and start acting like an adult. I don’t want you texting any guys and bringing them around here. You’re going to marry Danya.”
“Are you insane?” I step back and put my hands on my hips. “I don’t have to listen to you, and I certainly don’t have to marry Danya. I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, but you need to get a grip on reality and realize that you can’t bully me into marrying some asshole I don’t even know. I don’t know what you stand to get out of it, but it’s weird and I want you to stop.”
He shakes his head, tucking my phone into his back pocket. “Sorry, Taylor. The world doesn’t work like you think it does. Men do business, and girls like you behave themselves and try not to cause problems. Unfortunately, you’re causing an awful lot of problems tonight, and there will be consequences for that.”
He must have lost his goddamn mind. I’m having trouble believing that he’s even saying this shit to me right now, considering that just last week he was groveling at my feet for buying me a purse in the wrong shade of taupe.
If he wasn’t my father, I’d slap him.
I fold my arms tightly, clenching my jaw so hard that my teeth squeak. “Get out of my room. Now.”
“Not before you listen to what I have to say,” he replies, walking to the door and closing it.
He turns around and looks at me in a way I’ve never seen him look before. It’s like he’s sizing me up, trying to figure out how difficult it would be to forcibly drag me out of my room and into Danya’s car.
“This is fucked up,” I mutter.
“No,you’refucked up, and I’ll tell you why,” he says, wagging his finger at me. “You are living under my roof, spending my money, and eating my food. You have absolutely zero right to talk to me or my guests the way you just did, and if I hear another nasty word out of your ungrateful mouth, I’m going to take away everything you own and put you out on the street. How long would you last out there, Taylor? You have no skills, no common sense, no nothing!”
My jaw drops, and I scramble to find a response that adequately sums up my disgust. I may be living under his roof, but I deserve respect just like anyone else, and I’ll rot in hell before I allow him to threaten me like this.
“I told you to get out of my room,” I say, lowering my voice to keep myself from screaming. “And I mean it.”
“You meanmyroom,” he says, his lips turning up in a wicked grin. “Everything here is mine, and that includes you.”
“Fuck off!” I shout, picking up a pillow from my bed and hurling it at him.
He swats it away, charging toward me and pushing me so hard that I stumble back, hitting my head on my bedframe. Panic rushes into my chest as my head throbs from the blow, and tears flow from my eyes.
“What the fuck?” I say, my voice cracking under stress.
“Get up, you ungrateful bitch,” he growls, grabbing my hair and yanking it.
“Ow, get off me!” I cry, throwing my feet out into his shins.
He buckles from the blow long enough for me to get to my feet, but then he’s all over me again, grabbing my hair and tugging me around like I’m a dog on a leash. “Get over here, stupid bitch,” he snarls, spit flying from his mouth into my face.
“Dad, stop!”
He backhands me so hard that stars dance across my vision and my ears ring. I collapse onto the floor, and all I can hear is him panting above me as blood rushes to my cheeks. I’m partially numb from the wine, but I can still feel the swell of my cheek from where he hit me.
This feels like a bad dream, but the pain tells me it’s real.
The room is spinning around me, and it only comes to a stop when my father nudges me with his foot. “Get up and stop being so dramatic. I didn’t hit you that hard,” he says, sounding worried for the first time all night.
Good. I want him to think he’s killed me. He deserves to feel guilty after what he just did.
“You’re fine,” he says, nudging me harder. “Stand up.”
I try to remain still, but when he kicks me in the ribs, I curl up tighter.
