Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nico
All day on Friday, the library is about as quiet as it’s been in the two weeks since I started working there, and the last few hours of my shift are blissfully uneventful, just like the rest of the week after that fucking awful day on Tuesday.
Caitlin is still working on something at the circulation desk when it’s time for me to go, and I force a smile and an awkward wave as I leave.
“Have a great weekend. See you Monday!” she says, grinning up at me.
I manage a nod in response and then make the words come. “You too. See you Monday.”
A moment later, I’m out the door, walking across the parking lot, staring at my car as my hand slips down into my pocket to grasp my wallet.
I’ve got exactly five hundred dollars in it, the wad of twenty-dollar bills barely fitting.
I had to borrow forty bucks from Alex, since my paycheck was a little less than I expected.
But I’m okay with that. I think.
He didn’t bat an eye when I asked earlier on my lunch break. He just pulled his wallet out, fished out the two twenties, and handed them to me with a smile. Then he went back to scarfing down his sandwich as though it weren’t a big deal.
And maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not a big deal. I’ll pay him back next Friday, and after that, I’ll save every penny I can so this whole moving-to-California thing can have some chance to work.
I unlock the door and slip into the driver’s seat, pushing thoughts of California out of my mind.
I’m still scared to think about it much.
There are too many what-ifs, too many chances for everything to fail, and I have enough on my plate tonight.
Or at least, one really big thing that I’m terrified of.
I can already feel my chest tightening as I start up my car and back out of the parking spot, and by the time I’m on the road, headed to my mom’s house, my fingers are starting to go numb.
Maybe I shouldn’t have convinced Alex to go to Omaha after all.
He was reluctant, kept insisting he should go to my mom’s with me.
But I didn’t want that—both because I didn’t want him to see her awful side, especially if she decides to be awful to him, and because I didn’t want him to miss out on something I knew he wanted to do.
Being my best friend or my boyfriend, if that’s what he is, shouldn’t mean he has to give up doing things he loves because of my anxiety.
So I’m by myself. And I’m fucking terrified.
It’s a short drive, but it feels long—every second drawn out to its fullest. By the time I’m close, I’m uncomfortably cold and I can’t feel my fingertips anymore.
And when I turn down the long driveway and the house comes into view, my heart fucking stops in my chest. I slam the brakes on, and the car grinds to a halt, dust billowing up around me.
Fucking hell.
A light-blue pickup truck sits in front of the house. Patrick’s light-blue pickup truck.
My mom’s car isn’t there.
A pain rips through my head, and I close my eyes and force myself to breathe.
I was scared enough coming here knowing I was going to have to face her. The prospect of facing him, though . . .
My throat feels so tight, like it’s closing on me, and I choke out a sob as I force my eyes back open and stare toward the house.
Maybe she’s on her way home now. Maybe she just got held up at work for a bit—that used to happen all the time, after all. That’s it. It has to be.
Any minute, she’ll come down the driveway behind me. Then we can just exchange money for car title in the driveway, even. I won’t have to step foot in the house with him.
I sit there, my foot still pressed hard into the brake pedal, my car shuddering as the engine adjusts and idles. Several minutes pass. Then several more. And I know she’s not coming. Something deep down inside tells me that.
It’s intentional, too. I’m not sure how I know, but I know.
My hands regrip the steering wheel, and I lift my eyes back to the house. With a nauseating swoop of my stomach, I see the curtains covering the front windows move. I can’t see inside. I can’t see him. But I can feel that he’s watching me.
I’m going to vomit.
Holding tightly to the steering wheel, I jerk my foot off the brake, and the car lurches forward.
I look ahead now, straight to the end of the driveway, and I force a breath and then another.
I’m nearly hyperventilating by the time I park, and I shut off the engine, shove my keys into my pocket, and thrust the door open, desperate for fresh air.
But the heat outside doesn’t feel fresh, and so I’m left gasping for breath as I stumble to my feet and close the car door behind me.
Fuck.
I move, though I’m not sure how. The numbness in my fingers is starting to work its way up my arms, and the stabbing pain in my head is shooting down my neck and back now.
This isn’t right.
I shouldn’t be here.
My feet keep moving until I reach the porch, then my hand lifts up to knock, even though I’m screaming silently at myself to not fucking knock. I should turn around and leave. I should meet my mom in some public place. Not meet Patrick here. Alone.
This is a fucking bad idea.
I knock anyway, and there’s an immediate noise from inside the house. Something slamming. Then footsteps. Heavy, angry footsteps coming toward me. I shiver and pitch backward, almost tripping over my own feet.
Then he’s there, standing in the open doorway, a furious scowl on his face, his eyes glaring at me. There’s rage in them. Rage I can feel. And it’s all directed at me.
A ghost pain jolts through me, my shoulder feels like I’m being ripped backwards, and all the air leaves my lungs as though he’s slammed me back into a wall.
He hasn’t moved, but his scowl turns into a sneer, and the numbness returns to my fingers.
“You little shit. I can’t believe you came. Cind said you’d be by.”
He’s obviously been drinking. The smell of alcohol wafts off of him, sour as it hits my nose. I stumble back another step, and he just laughs cruelly as I grasp the porch railing.
“What’s the matter, you scared of me or somethin’?
” he taunts, shaking his head, and then lets out a malicious laugh.
“Don’t worry, I’m not fucking stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.
” I’m not entirely sure what he means, but then he turns and motions for me to follow him into the house. “Let’s get this over with.”
I try, but I can’t move from my spot. My brain is screaming absolutely fucking not, and I’m shaking and lightheaded. I only barely manage to push myself away from the railing and take a step toward the front door after another few seconds.
Each shaky step is even harder than the last, and when I’m finally inside the doorway, Patrick is all the way in the kitchen already, sitting at the table.
Several empty beer bottles and one that looks about half empty are scattered on the table’s surface, and the place smells stale, like the same waft of air I got earlier.
“You got all the money?”
I force an exhale and nod, stuffing my hand into my pocket to pull out my wallet.
Then I make myself move again as I take out the stack of twenties.
The unfamiliar feel of the wad of cash helps distract me just enough that I’m able to keep my feet going all the way to the kitchen. I stop when I’m a few feet away.
My heart’s hammering, and I clench my jaw to keep it from shaking as I reach out with the money. Somehow, I make words happen. “Here. It’s f-five hundred.”
Patrick’s eyes narrow, and the sneer on his face sharpens as he glances at me, then at the money in my hand. “The car’s twelve hundred now. Cind said she told you earlier this week.”
“N-no. No, it’s only five—”
The chair scrapes dangerously fast along the floor as Patrick pushes back and stands up, glaring at me.
“The fuck you trying to pull, you little shit? You sayin’ your mom’s lying?”
“N-no, I just—”
He turns and takes a step toward me, and my stomach drops. I back up, still clutching the cash in one hand and my wallet in the other.
“You little fucking shit. I can’t fucking believe this. Coming here, wastin’ my time.” He’s stalking toward me, hot fury making his face red, and I can’t move or speak or even breathe.
The front door feels impossibly far away, and everything around me is buzzing with a painful haze. It’s suddenly dark, and I don’t even realize I’ve screwed my eyes shut until I feel a hot breath near my ear.
“You broke into my house, refused to leave, threatened me,” he hisses. “It’s self-defense. And your momma’s not here to save your skinny little ass this time.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“No, please. I-I’ll leave. I’ll—”
A rough hand slams right into the middle of my chest and shoves me backward hard, and I stumble and trip and fall, the money dropping from my hand and scattering all over the floor.
I try to catch myself, but my back smacks into the solid corner of the entryway to the kitchen, pain lancing through my chest and all the way down into my toes.
I’m suddenly on the ground, curled up on my side, unable to breathe.
I try pushing myself away, but the wall behind me stops me.
And he’s right there, bearing down on me. Laughing. An angry, disgusted, drunken laugh that sends a shock of icy fear through me.
He grabs my arm and yanks me up to my feet, pain ripping through my shoulder. His voice spits with anger and resentment. “You’ve got thirty seconds to pick this shit up and get the fuck out,” he says, squeezing my arm harder before releasing me. “And leave the car key.”
I scramble as soon as I’m free, dropping back to my knees to start gathering up my money and wallet.
The pain in my shoulder comes in nauseating waves every time I move, but I ignore it as I rush to stuff the money into the pockets of my slacks.
My fingers have gone numb again, and I’m clumsy and keep dropping the bills.
I’m not even sure I get them all before Patrick’s voice cuts in, cold and menacing.
“Time’s up. Give me the key and get out.”
I want to scream at him that it’s my car, but any flicker of defiance I might have is snuffed out the second he steps toward me.
I flinch back, pushing myself away from him with one hand while I fish for my keys through a messy wad of twenty-dollar bills with the other.
Several of the bills fall back out of my pocket to the floor, and I hastily scoop them up, then stand, still backing away from him.
“H-here,” I stammer, fumbling with the key ring. My vision’s so blurry I can’t see for fuck, so I struggle for too many goddamn seconds to free the car’s key from my key ring. It falls to the ground, and I don’t bother picking it up to hand to him. I fucking can’t.
I need out.
Shaking, I spin around and force my feet to move, Patrick’s awful laughter chasing me out the front door.