Chapter 18
I creep through the house like a thief in the night to pack a quick lunch. School doesn’t open for another hour, but I’d rather sit on concrete stairs than have another run-in with the double dragons.
Yesterday morning was an epic disaster. Dinner was more tolerable, though Momma and Sheila hurled the occasional barb at each other.
I didn’t want to be there, but someone had to babysit the unpredictable woman who gave birth to me.
Keith and I were the unofficial referees, preventing their insults from escalating into a full-blown argument or worse, physical blows.
Deja was absent from the evening meal again, which was probably for the best. She and my aunt would’ve surely double-teamed my mother—and Loretta Kensley doesn’t back down from a fight, ever.
It doesn’t matter if the odds aren’t in her favor; if they’d gone after her, nothing could’ve stopped the inevitable. It would’ve been an all-out battle.
My grandmother was safely ensconced in her bedroom and didn’t witness her daughters’ uncivilized conduct. I devoured the orange chicken and rice despite the oppressive tension.
After dinner, I spent some quality time with my ailing grandma, watching television and telling her about getting the lead role in the school musical. Momma mostly ignored us and bemoaned how unfair life is, dragging the mood down like a wet towel.
At least the night ended on a positive note.
I applied for several jobs during advisory, and one listing in particular caught my attention—a housekeeping position at a gentleman’s club.
Twenty whopping bucks an hour. The rest were minimum wage gigs.
Not ideal for my short-term goals, but as I’ve said before, beggars can’t be choosers.
I’ll accept any offer of employment made to me, but luck was finally on my side. The HR assistant from the club called me, and we chatted for a few minutes. I never worked a day in my life, but answered each question with poised confidence and snagged myself an interview for tomorrow evening.
I got two more responses. My heart is set on the cleaning gig, but putting all my eggs in one basket isn’t smart.
I replied to both emails. Just waiting to see what happens next.
Earning an income and not relying on my father’s wallet will be a huge stepping stone toward independence.
Something I’ve craved for a very long time but was forbidden to do.
I stroll into the dark kitchen, clutching the gifted tote bag to my shoulder.
I’m not giving my despicable cousin the chance to toss it out.
Not to mention my purse and laptop are stowed inside.
I’m not letting it out of my sight for even a millisecond.
I stop dead in my tracks, confusion scrunching my eyebrows.
“Where the hell is my bread?”
I left it right there on the counter, next to the toaster oven.
I’m sure of it, but now it’s gone. I turn in a circle, my gaze quickly scanning over every surface.
Maybe Sheila moved it. I search the cabinets and pantry.
Nothing. A sinking feeling unfurls in my gut.
I jerk open the refrigerator and angry tears fill my eyes.
My lunch meat, cheese, mayonnaise, and sodas are gone too. Everything was tied in plastic bags.
Deja.
She threw it all out—I’m sure of it. I rip open the trash can, but my missing groceries aren’t there either. My fists clench.
I drop my bag and bolt upstairs, rage setting my legs on fire. That stupid bitch went way too far this time. I tear into her bedroom and yank the blanket off her.
Deja wakes with a startled shriek. “What the fuck?”
“You threw out my stuff!” I accuse.
She leaps to her feet and shoves me. “Get the fuck out of my room!”
I push her back. “You owe me money.”
“I’m not giving you shit, bitch,” she jeers, her spittle landing on my lips.
Before I can stop myself, my hand flies up and connects with her face, sending her silk bonnet tumbling to the floor. Damn. I’ve never hit another person in my life. Well, except for Nolan, but he doesn’t count.
For a split second, we’re frozen in stunned silence. Then she starts swinging on me. I mean really swinging. Beating my ass six ways from Sunday.
Adrenaline kicks in, and I latch onto her lace-front wig, yanking with all my might.
Light floods the room, then hard hands dig into my arms and yank me back. “Get away from her!”
“She came in here and attacked me for no reason,” Deja snivels, crocodile tears already rolling down her cheek. Sheila wraps an arm around her before turning her cold eyes on me.
Defending myself is useless, but I can’t just sit here and let her lie on me.
“That’s not true,” I began, pointing at the vile creature in human form. “She—”
“Save it,” my aunt sneers at me. “Don’t you ever come into my daughter’s bedroom again.”
“My hair,” Deja whines, digging her fingers into her scalp. “It’s lifting now.”
“No one will notice,” Sheila assures her. “I’ll have Mae fix it this weekend.”
Deja glares at me. “I don’t feel safe with her here.”
“Put your filthy hands on my daughter again, and you and your whore mother will find yourselves on the street.” I shudder at the pure loathing in her brown irises. “Do I make myself clear?”
I nod, my throat too thick with raw emotion to form a single syllable.
“Furthermore, I don’t house freeloaders.
Water costs. Electricity costs. Gas costs.
Food costs. Toiletries cost.” Sheila lifts a finger with each point made.
“You and your whore mother need to get jobs ASAP or it’s the streets for you both.
” An evil smile curves her lips. “And the streets are a cold place to be during the winter. Now get out.”
I hurry to the second level on trembling legs and lock myself in the bathroom. I stare at my reflection. I’m none the worse for wear. No bruising. Yet. Glossy eyes, wild hair, and a scratch along my chin are the only telltale signs of the fistfight.
I finger-comb my thick mane, putting the strands back in place before heading to my grandmother’s room. She and my mother are still bundled in bed. The fight didn’t wake them; thank goodness for small favors. I kneel beside my mother and lightly shake her shoulder.
“Momma, wake up.”
She grumbles and swats at me.
“Momma, we need to talk,” I say in an urgent whisper, shaking her harder. “It’s important.”
Her eyes pop open, a frown contorting her features. “What is so important that it couldn’t wait until later? It’s the ass crack of dawn.”
Dawn has come and gone, but that’s a moot point.
I gnaw on my bottom lip, tasting my cotton-candy-flavored lip gloss. She’s not going to like this one bit. “Momma, you have to look for a job.”
She sits up, scandalized. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
I can’t tell her what Sheila said; she’ll blow a gasket.
“We can’t stay here forever,” I say instead.
“And we won’t.” She lies back down and pulls the blanket over her shoulder. “Now go to school.”
“We need money to move out and support ourselves.”
Unless she plans to rob a bank, we need to find jobs like yesterday.
“I have a meeting at a matchmaking service today,” she states proudly, like she just landed a CEO position. “They only vet wealthy men. I’ll be married in less than six months.”
I blink. She can’t be serious! “But you’re already married.”
“I’ll get a divorce.”
“Momma, marriage is not the solution,” I say slowly. “There’s no guarantee someone will propose to you.”
Sheila will have kicked us out way before then.
She lets out an annoyed breath, rolling her eyes at me. “We’re going to be fine. I know how to catch a man’s attention.”
“But—”
“Enough,” she hisses and points at the door. “Go to school and don’t wake me up this early again.”
I’m fighting a losing battle. I blow out a long breath, then trudge down to the kitchen to grab my tote bag.
“Maybe living in a homeless shelter won’t be so bad,” I mutter, detouring to the basement.
Fortunately, I didn’t leave all my purchases in the kitchen.
I grab a pack of ramen noodles and drop it into my bag.
I’ll find a microwave at school. I hid everything else in a plastic bin.
My suitcase is left defenseless, though.
Deja could waltz down here anytime she pleases and wreak havoc.
I can’t have that. I gather my clothes and other belongings, meticulously stashing them too.
“There,” I say, satisfied.
I check the time on my cell phone—roughly forty minutes until school starts. I leave the Double Dragon’s Lair, taking the shortcut to school.
As I approach the building, a man sitting sideways on a motorcycle catches my attention.
His head jerks in my direction. I can’t make out his features.
The sun silhouettes his face, creating a halo around his golden shoulder-length tresses.
Is he watching me? Did Snake tell his club friends about our spat yesterday?
A flicker of unease settles deep in my belly.
I lower my gaze and keep walking, but as I near him, curiosity pushes me to steal a glance.
The world stutters to a stop.
My breath freezes in my lungs.
It’s… Him.
“Sam?” I breathe, an exuberant smile stretching my cheeks.
I race over to him and fling my arms around his neck. I’m taken aback. Gone is the lanky boy. His body is all hard planes and sculptured muscles. I notice my embrace isn’t being returned.
“Sam, it’s me.” I pull back and stare into his cornflower-blue gaze. “Zilphia. Remember?”
They’re the same cerulean depths, but somehow different. Icy. The innocent gleam is gone. Something’s wrong. Very, very wrong.
His cheekbones and jawline are granite angles. Whatever happened in those three years, it hardened him. The septum piercing is new. So are the silver hoops adorning his earlobes. A blackout tattoo covers his right forearm and another spans his neck—some kind of bird.