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My crush never went away. Instead, it just grew into the inescapable ache I feel even now as I pull my shoes off at my apartment door. With as busy as I am, it’s a wonder I even have the time to think about him. I know I probably shouldn’t, he’s my best friend’s father, after all. At this point, I can’t help it. Pining for him is as natural to me as breathing.
I didn’t expect to see him today, but I’m glad I did. He looked tired from his trip, which makes me worry a little. When he asked me about my scholarship out of the blue like that … I don’t know. I wish I’d handled it better. How am I supposed to tell him, the perfect man, the present father, that my own dad is a deadbeat that can’t take care of himself?
I sigh as I shrug off my jacket and pad further into my tiny apartment. I plop down on the couch and stare blankly intospace. Even if I turned on the TV or listened to music, the only think I’d have in my mind’s eye is Brock.
It’s just—he’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. He’s kind and self-assured. He works incredibly hard for his company and takes pride in taking care of his staff members. Not to mention he’s attractive. I feel like he hasn’t aged at all since Olivia and I first became friends.
What would a life be like with a man even half as perfect as him?
I shift on the lumpy couch, wondering what it would take to get him to think of me as more than just his daughter’s best friend. No one my age, or even close to it, has ever appealed to me. I don’t want a man that’s only half as perfect as Brock is, and no one else compares. I only want him.
In my heart, I know that it’d never work. I’m too young, to naïve, even with all of the struggles I’ve faced so far. Instead of going to parties and art galleries and museums, I’m working at a glorified grocery store. Instead of going to college and making something of myself, I’m making sure the bills get paid so that we don’t lose this shitty little apartment.
My eyes drift shut and my dingy apartment drifts away. Just once I’d like to be able to tell Brock how I feel, show him that just because I’m not cultured or college-educated I’m just as worthy of his attention as any other woman.
Before I can slip into a daydream, the apartment door flies open.
Flustered, I jump up and see my dad stumbling into the apartment. My dad gives me a wild look as sweat beads on his brow. He slams the door shut behind him before throwing the deadbolt.
“Get a bag together, Felicia,” he barks, eyes darting around the room. “Go stay with that friend of yours for the night.”
“What? Dad, I have to open the store tomorrow,” I protest as I watch him fumble with his jacket, searching through the pockets for something. He’s always a little manic, but this is new, even for him. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t go to work. They know—” He stops himself and takes a deep breath. “It’s probably better if you don’t know more than that.”
My brow furrows. Is he in trouble again? He told me that he’d left his old job working for some minor player in organized crime. But now I’m wondering if he lied to me. Again. “What do you mean? Dad, have you started drinking again? How much have you had?”
“I haven’t had a drop, sweetie. Now go pack a bag before—”
There’s a loud banging on the door, and then it shudders in the frame, as if whoever’s outside just kicked it hard.
My father scrambles away from the door, his face blanching white as a sheet as he steps in front of me. As if he can whatever’s come knocking from hurting me. “Felicia, do as I said, then take the fire escape out.”
My heart starts to race as I hear disgruntled shouting from the other side of the door. Before I can even think of running to my room, the old door finally flies open. The deadbolt giving way under the force of the banging sends splinters flying everywhere.
Suddenly, three massive men push their way inside, looking at my father sinisterly as they survey our little apartment with distaste.
One of them steps forward, giving my father a wicked smirk. “Did you really think you could outrun us, Ron?”
Before my father can answer, one of the other men steps forward and grabs him by the collar and slamming him into the nearest wall. My father huffs in pain, the wind clearly knocked out of him.
I’m rooted to the spot, so scared I can’t hardly think.
“Scrubs like you don’t just walk away, man. Not with what you owe the boss,” the third man says as he watches my dad fight to catch his breath. He’s not an especially small guy, but next to these thugs, he looks tiny and weak.
“We hate to have to make an example of you, and in front of your little girl, too, but goons like you gotta know what happens when they cross the wrong people.”
“W-wait!” I finally sputter. I have to dosomething. “Whatever he did, whatever he owes you, I can pay for it!”
I can’t. I’m just as broke as my dad. But they don’t know that, right?
“We’re way, way beyond a little thing like you being able to pay off his debt, sweetheart,” says the first man. He looks like he might be the leader, so I turn my full attention to him as he gives me a once over. “Pretty little girls like you ain’t good for anything but one thing.”
“That’s my daughter, you prick,” my father spits.
The man holding him slams him against the wall and he wheezes weakly as the air is pushed from his lungs again. I watch in horror as the third man pulls a knife out and thumbs the edge to check its sharpness. Dad’s eyes bulge at the sight of the blade.
“Felicia, get the fuck out of here,” he coughs.
