Chapter 21 Violet
VIOLET
Idon’t talk to him after the carnival. At all.
It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Lexie is waiting for me at the exit.
She’d already lost their own event and came to cheer me on.
When I told her about the Carrie room, she about crapped her pants.
Then again, so did I. But the strangest part?
It was the envelope of cash Jagger handed to me afterward.
His hair was wet and his clothes were different but dry, his facepaint as on-point as before, and the creepy mask he’d used to sneak in was absent.
It’s as if it never happened at all. As if I imagined it entirely.
Imagined him entirely. Hell, he barely even looked me in the eye as he handed over my winnings.
Winnings I wouldn’t have earned without his help.
I wonder if anyone else noticed. How Jagger didn’t say anything to me.
Only handed off the envelope, then went on his merry way, distracted by a pretty brunette in a low-cut top.
To be fair, she was pretty. I’d probably be distracted, too, if I swung that way. Besides, it meant nothing. Right?
Right.
Refusing to let it get me down, I drop Lexie off at The Body Shop and head home, but not until promising to buy her a margarita next weekend at The Pelican to celebrate.
It’s for the best. Now that the adrenaline has left my body, I’m absolutely exhausted.
I need to shower off the pigs’ blood in my hair and get some rest so I can wake up early tomorrow and pack my things.
Why? Because tomorrow, I move into my new apartment with a new roommate, and a shiny new laptop that’ll probably cost more than my car.
The idea is exhilarating and scary and…gah!
Talk about a high. Add in my lack of sperm donor when I walk through the front door, and I’m officially on cloud nine.
It takes four shampoo cycles until the water finally runs clear in the shower. Once I’m finished, I towel off, then change into a pair of sweats, grab my things, and head to my bedroom. When I hear someone through the closed door, I stop short.
What the hell?
My nerves spike as I reach for the handle, twisting it slowly. The creak from the hinges is a dead giveaway, but my dad’s too drunk to notice. Instead, he keeps digging through my things like a seasoned junkie.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand.
His head snaps toward me. “Where is it?”
“What?”
The man charges toward me like a raging bull, and I back up until my ass hits the edge of the kitchen counter a few steps away.
“Where have you been?” my dad growls.
So much for it being a perfect night.
I force a smile in an attempt to placate him.
It doesn’t take a genius to piece together what he was searching for.
Too bad I learned my lesson the first time.
Like I’d leave that much cash unattended in my room.
Yeah, not happening. Not ever again. My grip on my backpack strap tightens as it hangs from my shoulder.
“Just finished showering.” I shift my backpack a little higher onto my shoulder. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight?” He cackles. “Nah, I’m not done talking to you yet.”
I ignore him and move around his beer belly, walking toward my bedroom door while praying he stays in the kitchen and leaves me alone. Hell, maybe he’ll even be distracted by the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter.
A girl can dream, can’t she?
“Don’t you walk away from me!” he booms. “Where have you been?”
And here I was…so close.
Turning toward him, I take a deep breath, channeling my inner pre-school teacher. “I already told you, I was showering—”
“I meant before,” he spits. “Did you already spend it? Where is it?”
My brows pull. “What are you talking—”
His hand hits out of nowhere, and my head snaps to one side, surprising the hell out of me. As I hold my cheek, I screech, “What the hell?”
His mouth moves to an inch from the side of my face. “Do you have any idea how much money you cost me?” he screams.
My eardrums ring, but I smooth my blindsided anger into a look of indifference because if I show him anything else, it’ll only provoke him more.
“What are you talking about?” I repeat. I keep my voice calm and controlled, but I’m honestly lost. Don’t get me wrong.
I know he was looking for my money, but how did I make him lose anything?
“The haunted house.” Spittle hits my cheek, but I don’t move a muscle as I continue cradling the opposite side. “You cost me another grand, you little shit!”
So that’s what this is about. The haunted house. He made a bet, lost, and is pissed about it. Ignoring my throbbing cheek, I slowly lower my hand to my side. “Listen, I’m sorry you lost, but—”
He reaches for my bag. “You owe me—”
I rip the bag out of his grasp, finally snapping as the last of my restraint, along with the shock from being slapped out of nowhere, morphs into a maniacal laugh.
“I’m sorry, I owe you? Are you kidding me right now?
” The man has seriously lost his mind. “You went through my room and stole my entire savings, and you’re saying I owe you all because you made a lousy bet and lost? ”
A closed fist is all I recognize before my head snaps back and hits my bedroom door.
The double whammy leaves the room spinning, and I don’t even know where to touch.
Where to cradle. Where to check for blood.
Then again, maybe I don't need to. A metallic tang floods my mouth. It’s familiar yet foreign.
Like a childhood meal, long forgotten. It delivers memories.
Not many. Only a few key ones. Like the night my mom left.
Or the time he spent their savings on the NHL finals and lost, so he came home and took it out on us.
“I didn’t lose!” he screams, yanking me out of my memories. “You cheated! If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve walked away with another two grand, you stupid bitch!” He reaches for my bag again, but I shove him back with all of my strength, and he stumbles into the kitchen counter.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” I seethe.
“It’s in there, isn’t it!” His fingers fumble with the strap until they turn into an iron grip around the nylon.
“Let go!” I lift my knee, aiming for his crotch, but he twists his hips at the last second, and all I connect with is the inside of his thigh.
Dammit!
“You fucking bitch, it’s mine!”
I tug on my backpack, refusing to let him steal from me another time, as I kick at him again, desperate to make contact. To make him go away. To make him leave me alone.
“Give me the fucking bag!” Knuckles to temple, he hits me again, and I cry out in pain.
With a crack, my knees hit the floor, and my hands follow suit, slapping against the linoleum while black threatens to steal my vision and little stars swallow my periphery.
I haven’t seen him like this in years. Years.
But it doesn’t matter. All it takes is a single punch to bring every memory back.
Hell, they hit with a vengeance. One after another, in a cacophony of pain and resentment and unwavering hatred for the man I call my father.
Glaring up at him, I seethe, “Give it back.”
“Stay down,” he warns. I start to stand, but he kicks my stomach, and the force of his blow knocks me into the cabinets with an angry crash.
Shit. My lungs scream for oxygen, though I can’t seem to gulp any in.
All I can do is curl into a ball. “I said stay down,” he growls.
Tears well in my eyes, and I bring my knees to my chest, trying to breathe through the pain, but it feels impossible.
The man’s wearing boots for shit’s sake.
Shit! His heavy breathing cuts through the eerie silence as he stands over me, daring me to defy him again.
I won’t. I’m not stupid. I know when to pick my battles. And this time? This time I lost. Hard.
Satisfied I won’t move, he rocks back on his heels, the floor groaning beneath his weight.
It’s followed by the sound of my bag’s zipper, but I don’t bother opening my eyes to confirm my suspicion.
Rustling sounds after, then the familiar thunk as my bag lands on the ground beside me.
He found it. The envelope. I don’t have to see it to know it’s true.
He took it. My life savings. My luck. My freaking hope.
He took it all. And it’s crazy. Because I didn’t think I could hate him more than I did when I realized he stole my money the first time, but I do. I hate him so much. So. Freaking. Much.
His unsteady footsteps make the house shake as he stumbles back and collapses onto the couch. “Fucking bitch.”
Fucking asshole! I want to shout back, but I dig my teeth into my tongue until all I taste is blood. I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
“Should’ve just given it to me,” he mutters to himself. The crack of a bottle opening cuts off his mumbling. Or maybe it’s the buzzing in my ears drowning out his barely coherent justification of his actions while his daughter is curled up on the kitchen floor.
Shit, I think I have a broken a rib. Maybe it’s only bruised? Not that it matters. All I know is, I can’t breathe.
I can’t freaking breathe!
I part my throbbing lips to keep from choking on the blood clogging my throat from my bloody nose, but it’s hard.
Hard to breathe. Hard to comprehend exactly what just happened or how the light at the end of the tunnel I’d glimpsed until running into my dad has officially been snuffed out.
Like some messed-up carousel, I play the last two minutes over and over again, well aware it won’t help anything.
What’s to be done? I can’t go back in time.
I can’t keep myself from walking into this house or opening my stupid mouth from saying the wrong thing or at the very least, leaving the money with Lexie or locked in my car or…
anywhere. I thought he’d be asleep or passed out or on a binger or…
anywhere. If I could’ve just made it one more day.
One. More. Day.
I don’t know how long I stay on the floor, watching him through the strands of my blonde hair covering my face, but I don’t dare move. Or even tuck it behind my ear on the off-chance it triggers him in some way, and he comes back to hit me all over again.
“Gotta piss,” he mumbles under his breath. I doubt he’s talking to me, but a small part of me appreciates the heads-up. On wobbly legs, he stands, stumbling to the bathroom with the envelope of cash in his grubby hand.
There goes my laptop.
Keeping my breathing slow and controlled and as quiet as possible despite my screaming side, I shift to my knees, peeking over the edge of the counter where my keys are. The metal is cold in my palm when I grab them and squeeze tight, letting the teeth bite into my skin.
Come on. Move. I gotta move. With one hand on my sore ribs and the other clasping my keys, I stand on shaky legs and walk toward the door as quietly as I can.
When I make it outside, I climb inside my car, lock the doors, and twist the ignition.
It turns over, and I swear I might have a full-on breakdown until it finally groans to life.
The sound is like music to my ears, and I wipe at my cheeks, erasing the lone tear that somehow slipped past my defenses.
Okay. It’s going to be okay. I just need to…
I need to clear my head. I need to come up with a game plan.
I need to…I need to call someone. Okay. I can do that.
Shifting to one butt cheek, I pull out my phone from my back pocket, then dial Lexie’s number.
I’m sure she’s still at work. I’m sure it’s no use. But I don’t have anyone else to call.
“Hey, this is Lexie. Leave me a message. Or don’t. Actually, yeah. Definitely don’t leave me a message. Let’s be real. I won’t check it anyway. Text me. Byeeee!”
I hang up before the familiar beep has a chance to come through the speaker and let my head fall forward.
Okay. Plan B. I need a Plan B. Obviously, I can’t stay here.
I don’t have the keys to my new place yet.
I’m not supposed to pick them up until tomorrow, so it’s not even an option.
My bottom lip wobbles, but I take another shallow breath, lifting my head toward the ceiling.
I had one more night. One more night under the same roof with the asshole, and he just had to screw it up.
He fucking had to. I slam my hand against the steering wheel and squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the oxygen from my lungs as I search for a solution.
One that doesn’t involve breaking into my friend’s house so I can sleep on her couch when I already know her brother’s using it for the time being.
Okay, technically, he’s sleeping in the second room and the couch is free, but the idea of facing Ethan alone?
Yeah, I’ve already been stupid enough for one evening.
Okay. It’ll be fine. Everything’s fine. I just need to find a place to stay and…a sob escapes me as I bend forward and rest my head on the steering wheel.
Where the hell am I supposed to go?