16. Maya
16
MAYA
“ E xactly what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Dammit. The sound of Dad’s sharp, cold voice freezes me in place as I finish zipping one of my suitcases. I crammed everything I could in there, and now I’m thinking I might need more than just the couple of bags I figured I’d be taking with me. I don’t plan on coming back, and I’m afraid Dad will throw out anything I leave behind.
Sadly, that indecision slowed me down. I was hoping to be out of here before he got home from work. I figured I’d leave a note or something—either way, I’m not prepared for this, searching wildly for a response while my heart thumps against my ribs.
“Answer me,” he insists, his voice like the crack of a whip. “Where do you think you’re going? What’s all of this?”
I am an adult. It’s time to start acting like one.
Turning slowly, I find him standing in the open doorway. It’s not easy to force myself to ignore the way his fists clench at his sides. Everything about him screams anger; he is barely holding back. “I told you, Dad. I’m going to leave. I’ll be staying with my friend for a little while until I figure something out. This is what I have to do.” I’m actually proud of myself for getting all of that out in a firm voice.
Not that it matters. He lifts his lip in a sneer before snarling, “I told you that is not going to happen. What is it going to take to get through to you?” Lunging into the room, he takes one of my packed suitcases and unzips it before I can react.
“No! Please!” I beg, but he doesn’t hear me, too busy taking out handfuls of clothes and throwing them around the room. Dresses, bras, panties, it doesn’t matter. He puts his hands on all of it before strewing items everywhere.
And while he does, he screams, “This is where you live! This is where you stay! You are going nowhere!” He whirls on me, his eyes full of hatred, and all I can do is fall back a step. He’s going to hit me. I know it. My whole body tenses in preparation before I back up another step, and another, looking around for something to defend myself with. What am I going to use, a pillow?
“Listen to me,” he grits out, narrowing his eyes into slits while his face goes a dark shade of red. “You are not going anywhere. You are staying here even if I have to lock you in.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “In fact, that’s not a bad idea. I have things to do tonight, but you’re staying right here.”
Again, he’s too fast for me. By the time I realize what he’s thinking, he is already taking my purse from my dresser and reaching inside to pull out my keys. “You won’t be needing these tonight.”
“Dad! Are you insane?” He ignores my question, marching from the room. Finally, my shock wears off so I can run behind him, fresh panic blooming in my chest and spreading through me. “Don’t do this!”
“Don’t go getting any ideas,” he warns, jogging down the stairs, grumbling to himself with every step he takes. “If I get back here tonight, and you aren’t here, I will have the police on your ass so fast, you won’t know what hit you. I don’t care what I have to tell them. I’ll tell them you stole my car or money if I have to. They’ll find you, and they’ll bring you back, and if you think things are bad now? Wait and see what happens.”
“You can’t do this!”
“I can do whatever I want because this is my home. You are my daughter, and I make the rules.” Pocketing my keys, he adds, “If any of the doors in this house open and close, I’ll know about it. If you so much as open the first-floor windows, I’ll get an alert once I’ve set the alarm. You’re not going anywhere.”
There’s nothing for me to do but stand and watch him leave with my keys. The lock clicks into place from outside before a faint beeping sound tells me he armed the alarm.
I’m trapped. I have no doubt if he found out I left, he would do exactly what he threatened. The town’s police force would be out looking for me, and who would they believe?
At least I still have my phone. I’m not completely cut off from the world. My hands shaking, I send Wren a text.
Me: Dad locked me in. Can’t leave tonight. I’ll think of something.
Right now, all I can think about is finding a way to blunt the pressure threatening to make me explode. I have to do something, anything, to make it go away. It’s going to kill me. He’ll come home, and I’ll be lying in pieces on the tile floor, having exploded. That might mean something if I thought he would actually care.
Instead, I go straight to his study and grab a bottle at random from the bar cart he keeps in there. Bourbon. That will do it. I have the bottle uncapped before I’m out of the room, raising it to my lips as I walk down the hall. It burns its way down my throat, but I welcome the sensation. I want it to hurt. It means I’m still capable of feeling something besides the crushing pressure.
What am I going to do? If I’m not careful, he won’t let me go to school anymore for fear of me running away. For a second, I consider a lawyer, but I don’t have money for that, and it’s not like I can prove he’s forced me into anything. They would probably dismiss it as yet another ungrateful brat wanting to turn her back on somebody who’s only ever taken care of her. He would definitely paint me that way.
Another slug of bourbon makes it easier to take another. Soon, I’m stumbling around as I gather the clothes Dad tossed across the room. I refuse to put them back in the closet, though. They return to the suitcase because I am going to leave. No matter what it takes, I’m getting out of here. Somehow.
It’s still not enough. Music blares from my laptop, filling the room with a hard, pounding beat. By the time I resort to cutting my thigh again, my vision is a little blurry, and my blood flows more freely because of everything I drank. It’s almost hypnotic, the way it flows down my inner thigh, painting my pale skin red. I watch without caring much, almost like I’m observing something happening to somebody else. I’m that far removed from reality. I’m numb still.
By now, Wren has texted me a few times in concern.
Me: I’ll be fine. We’ll figure something out.
Because she doesn’t need to know what a wreck I am.
Then, as an afterthought, I add another message.
Me: Do you have Tucker’s number?
Right away, she texts me back.
Wren: Do you think it’s a good idea to reach out to him?
The question makes me grind my teeth. I love her, but I don’t need her advice right now and don’t remember asking for it, anyway.
Me: Please, just give it to me . It takes way too long to type that short message now that the bourbon is catching up to me. Maybe I should’ve eaten something, but then, who cares? I deserve to get good and wasted after everything that’s happened today.
It takes her a minute or two to get back to me, but she does send me his number. Then sends a follow up.
Wren: Please, just take it easy tonight . We’ll figure this out. But don’t make any big decisions.
I’m not sure what she thinks I’ll do. Maybe she figures I’m suicidal. Maybe I am, since I’m actually considering calling Tucker, of all people. Even as drunk as I am now, I wonder if this is a good move.
But I need to feel something, and he is the only one who’s made that happen in as long as I can remember.
That’s why I make the call, dropping onto the foot of my bed, remembering what happened here. There’s wariness in his voice when he answers. “Yeah? Who is this?”
“It’s Maya. Don’t hang up,” I add before he can end the call. “I’m in trouble.”
“And I’m supposed to care because…?”
“Because it’s so easy for you to climb in my window. I’m trapped in my house.”
“Give me a break,” he groans. “Trapped in your house. What are you, a princess in a fairy tale?”
“Do you think I would call you if I wasn’t serious? My dad found me packing.” I’m slurring my words, but I can’t help it, no matter how hard I try. “He took my keys and set the alarm. He’ll know if I leave, and he’ll send the cops after me. I’m stuck here. I don’t know what else to do.”
After pausing for a beat, he murmurs, “Sounds like you’ve been doing some drinking.”
“Yeah, so? I’ve also done some bleeding.” Looking down, I find the blood has congealed.
He can’t come up with such a quick response to that one. All I hear is a heavy sigh on the other end of the call. “What do you want?” he eventually asks in a flatter voice than before. Almost defeated.
“I don’t even know,” I admit. “I guess I want you to come over. I’m sitting here alone, and I don’t know what to do, and?—”
“Fine, fine. You don’t need to tell me everything again.” He groans, muttering to himself, while I chew on my lip and wait for him to make up his mind. “I’ll be over. Just stay where you are, in your room, and wait for me. And don’t cut yourself again,” he adds. “Don’t do anything.”
He ends the call, but before he does, I catch him mumbling something about going too far. Like he almost cares, which I know he doesn’t. I’m not that drunk.
Somehow, I manage to clean myself up and put on my pajamas, though it takes longer than it should with me stumbling around and losing my balance when I try to find the leg holes in my shorts. I’m just pulling them up when a car crunches on the gravel in the driveway that runs next to the house, under my window.
I open it, looking down and wishing I hadn’t when wooziness takes hold of me. I have to grab onto the windowsill for balance as I watch Tucker climb out of his truck. “He’s not going to send the cops here, is he?” he asks, looking up at me once he finds me watching.
“I don’t think so. He won’t know this window opened.”
“I would tell you I could help you climb down, but you’d probably break your neck.” He’s probably right—as it is, he’s doubling in front of me, and my head is spinning. I have to lean back into the room and sit on the bed with my feet on the floor until the room stops spinning. By the time it does, he’s climbing through, breathing only a little harder than before.
“Thank you for coming.” Even to my drunk ears, that sounds like a lame thing to say, but it feels like I should thank him. “I… I don’t know what to do.”
Scrubbing a hand over his hair, he eyes my suitcases. “You should’ve waited until you knew he was gone,” he mutters, shaking his head, sliding his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “You need to be smarter.”
Obviously, since I had made the move of calling him in the first place. “If you’re going to give me shit, you can leave,” I decide, flopping back on the bed and regretting it when my head spins again. “Ouch.”
“Damn. How much of this did you drink?” He picks up the bottle I left on my dresser, now only a third of the way full. I turn my head to the side to watch him take a deep gulp straight from it before he smacks his lips. “Not bad. He’s got decent taste.”
“Oh, and you’re an expert?”
“You get pretty mouthy when you drink.” Taking another sip, he caps the bottle and sets it down. “I go out of my way to come over here and risk my neck climbing through your window, and all you can do is give me an attitude.”
“I can give you something else.” Whoops. It’s like the filter between my brain and my mouth dissolved.
Something dangerous sparks behind his eyes, and I wonder if I made a mistake. But no, the whole point of this was to finally feel something. He made me feel the other day. I want that again. He can’t pretend he doesn’t want it, too, especially once I notice the way he stirs in his shorts.
Besides, it’s too late now to worry about mistakes. He’s already crossing the room, staring down at me without blinking. My breath comes quicker the closer he gets to where I’m lying here, waiting for him, my nipples going hard under my thin T-shirt. Even if my mind doesn’t know what to think, my body does, and right now my body is getting hotter. Flushed. Wet.
I want him. My god, I really do. I want him so much. I actually reach out, longing to draw him into my arms because I know he’ll help me forget. I won’t have to think of anything but what we’re doing, what he’s doing to me.
My heart’s ready to burst out of my chest by the time he steps between my spread knees, his hands running over my bare legs before he lowers himself over me. I smell the bourbon on his breath, or maybe that’s my breath hanging between us. His eyes search my face as he draws near, so close our noses almost touch. What is he looking for? I don’t think I could be much more obvious about how much I want this.
And then I taste smoky bourbon on his lips when our mouths meet. Instantly, heat explodes, an inferno that only leaves me craving more.
“Stay with me,” he rasps between deep kisses, dipping his tongue into my mouth, stirring a fresh fire in my core. I want to tell them I am with him. I am fully in this moment, but I’m too lost. There’s too much sensation, it feels too good.
Besides, my brain is moving too slowly. I want to tell him how good it feels when he touches me, when his hand slides up my thigh and under my shorts to fondle my ass. Yet all I can do is moan into his mouth, surrendering fully to him. There’s no other choice. I couldn’t fight him even if I wanted to, and I do not want to.
Even if it’s a little too easy to drift off when I close my eyes. It’s not like I’m trying to. I want to stay awake. I want to be present for this, but my eyelids are so heavy. I want to be fully here so I can feel his hardened dick moving against me, so I can hear his soft grunts as he humps me through our clothes while his hand slides under my shirt, cupping my boob. “Yes…” I managed to whisper, arching my back and spreading my legs wider. I want to give myself to him because he knows just what I need.
If only I didn’t also want so much to sleep.