Chapter 20 Hope
HOPE
It’s late in the evening when I come home.
Marie and I studied at the library, where I helped her with the upcoming quizzes, specifically the chemistry one.
We started off after school ended and the next time we lifted our heads, the sky was dark and I knew I had to be home. Or it wouldn’t end well for me.
For nearly a week, things had been too quiet at home.
Dad and I hadn’t crossed path. Mom seemed to handle him. She said she’d talked to him and what happened before won’t happen again.
Of course, I didn’t believe her.
I’d be a fool to believe her.
He had crossed a line and there was no going back now. He wasn’t going to stop hurting me, no matter now. The switch had flipped and now I was his target.
Why me?
I keep asking myself this question, but the answer is nowhere to be found.
We were never close, and I didn’t love him, but at least he never raised his hand on me. He let me go. I was spared. Every single time.
Until now.
Ever since he’d come back, for some strange reason, I was on his radar.
A week had gone by and things had been going smoothly. Fear was lingering like a quiet rattle snake waiting to attack me. The anticipation made it worse, because I knew he’d hurt me. All I could do was wait.
Marie wanted to spend more time together but I told her that I had to be home because of the curfew. She didn’t say much, just stared at me with helpless, sad eyes that said I don’t want you to go home. I didn’t want to go home either.
But it didn’t matter what I wanted.
I’d always come home.
I had nowhere else to go.
Marie drives me home despite my reluctance for her to go anywhere near my father. She insists that she can’t have me walking streets at night.
Waving her goodbye, I wait for her to drive away before I step inside.
The second I close the door, tingles race down my spine as I take in the eerie silence and the lurking shadows. Except for the light in the kitchen, that falls like a dim beam into the hallway, it’s pitch dark everywhere and too quiet. The complete opposite of what my home is most of the times.
I hate the quiet more than the commotion. At least when the TV is playing I know he is home, or if the noises are coming from the kitchen I can let myself sneak upstairs without getting noticed.
But this is bad, because I don’t know what to expect.
Going from room to room I look for Dad but he’s nowhere to be found—which is a good thing. It means I don’t have to deal with him.
Since I ate with Marie on our way, I make my way upstairs instead of the kitchen, my heart thrums in distress despite the fact that he isn’t home but for some reason it can’t settle down.
When I reach upstairs, I see the door to my room is half open. I never leave my door open.
Chills freeze my spine and I straighten like a rod.
In panic, I move forward, push open the door and stand in the doorway as my hands tremble at the door knob.
What I see inside makes me let out a loud gasp.
The mattress on my iron bed is hanging off the edge, exposing the surface underneath where I stashed the money from the sales.
All that money, it’s gone.
Every single penny.
No bills lay around, that I know I put there.
Something drops dead into my stomach. A weight so heavy that it sinks deep, tearing apart everything in its way as it hits the ground.
Time stills.
A freeze, cold and sharp, climbs up my body rooting me to my place. I can hardly move a muscle.
Money. My money. All of my money.
It’s gone.
All gone.
Not a dime is left in its place—the spot I know where I left it.
Oh my God.
It’s not there.
Air escapes my lungs as panic starts building up in the pit of my stomach.
Footsteps creak on the floorboards and a figure comes into my line of vision. The fact there was someone in my room, and I didn’t notice, makes sweat gather at the nape of my neck.
Dad turns his head and looks at me. His hands are full with wads of cash that belong to me. Money that I worked hard for so I could buy books. I spent hours, days and weeks to make those bracelets.
First, he tore down my books and now he has my money.
I can’t breathe.
Why can’t I breathe?
“You lied to me,” he says slowly, in a tone that is deadly serious. “And not just once.”
I gulp hard.
“You mind telling me, how you got all this cash?” he asks, his eyes narrowed on me.
I just stare at him like a statue.
I can’t move.
Not because I’m scared, but because I’m deeply upset over losing another thing that was important to me.
I was planning on buying books—the ones he ripped apart in front of me and felt no ounce of regret over.
I was also looking forward to pay for food and buy things for the people who are important to me and do so much for me.
Now I’m back to square one.
But it’s not that it hurts me. It’s the fact that he now knows about it and I can’t hide it from him anymore.
Dad whips the wad against his palm in a tight slap and asks, “I asked you a fucking question.”
I shudder at the raise of his voice.
“I…I…” No words come to my mind.
It’s a couple of hundreds. Not a lot of money. But I don’t work and he knows we don’t have money to spare.
Dad walks in my direction and I quickly back up to escape him, but my back hits the wall and he corners me.
“That boy gave you all this money, isn’t it? The one who put his hands on me like a fucking delinquent.”
“No!”
“I know it’s his money.” He asserts.
“It isn’t.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then explain this.” He whips those bills against my cheek in a sharp slap that makes my head turn. The burning sensation lights up under my skin and numbness tingles my senses.
“You’re just like your mother. Hanging out boys who are nothing but trouble and doing God knows what with them.” He spits out. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know how this amount of money comes about. I just didn’t expect it from my own daughter.”
A wild mix of anger and disgust swirls in his dark eyes.
“I didn’t do it,” I mumble.
His eyebrows dip. “I don’t believe you.”
Raising his hand, he wraps it around my throat. “I told you to stay away from that boy but you didn’t listen.”
Tears build up in my eyes, and I put my hands on his as I try to pry them away.
“I told you I’d punish you if you won’t listen to me.”
“Please…” I croak out.
“Tell me. Tell me exactly how you made this money when your mother is working day and night and you’re whoring around town with that boy.”
I try to shake my head but his hold is too tight.
“I found all this money under your bed. Is that what you’ve been up to for the past months when I was gone. Your mother working and you inviting boys up to your room.”
“No…” I utter.
“You took advantage of her trust. You tried to hurt Mae.” At once his eyes turn darker. “I will kill you. Do you hear me? I will kill you if I see any boy around you ever again.”
He squeezes tighter and I feel like I’m about to die.
Staring deep into my eyes he says, “You are a mistake. You’ve always been.”
With that he lets go of me and walks out of my room.
I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath.
His words keep replaying in my head.
You are a mistake. You’ve always been.
What did he mean by that?
How am I mistake?
Those are probably words that he meant in the heat of the anger to hurt me, but something inside me says that’s not true. That he meant what he said.
Shaking my head, I lock my door and set my mattress on the bed. I search for nooks and corners hoping to find a single bill, but find none. He took every single penny that I made in the past few months.
Like a maniac I keep searching, because I refuse to believe that I was stupid enough to keep all my earning under my bed. I should’ve thought better.
Tears wet my face and I start sobbing when I realize that I have nothing.
First my books and now my money.
What’s next. The people I care about?
That thought alone makes me weep harder.
I feel so lost and scared.
When is it going to end?