30. Oakley
oakley
The wheels hit a hole in the ground, making the whole car judder. My teeth clack together with enough force that they ache, right as Dad swerves around a corner. He’s going too fast, and my hand flies out, barely stopping myself from smacking my head against the door.
“Dad,” I say hesitantly, peering out the window and seeing nothing familiar. It looks like we’re heading out of Sterling Creek, with trees on one side and a farm on the other. “Where are we going?”
We hit another bump, and he curses under his breath right before he slams on the brakes, the tires slipping on the gravel under us before we come to a stop.
My seat belt goes tight, pulling sharply against my neck.
My eyes fill with tears as I roll my lips between my teeth, biting down hard so I don’t make a sound.
I blink furiously, ducking my head so he doesn’t see.
I want to go home.
I want my mom.
I want Cale.
“Dad—”
“Shut up.” He cuts the engine, turning to glare between the seats.
“Just shut. up. You think any of this is my fault? Huh?” He laughs, and the light coming in through the windshield shines on the spit flying from his mouth.
His eyes are red where they should be white, his skin almost…
gray. “None of this would have happened if your mother,” he sneers, “had just done what I said. Now get out.”
He’s gone before I can say anything, slamming the door shut behind him with a bang that rocks the car. I swallow hard, wondering if I should stay where I am, but too scared to make him even madder.
Outside, it’s quiet. I can hear the wind rustling the trees nearby, and birds chirping, the song too cheerful for the fear that makes it feel like I can’t breathe.
The ground under my feet is packed dirt, surrounded by grass and overgrown weeds. It leads up to an old cabin—too small to be a house. The glass is shattered in one of the windows, and my mouth trembles.
Stones crunch under Dad’s feet as he rounds the car. He rushes toward me, his jaw set and eyes flashing with fury. I yelp, trying to back away from him, but he grabs hold of my arm.
“Stop!” I cry as I try to pull away from him. “You’re hurting me. Let me go!”
“No,” Dad growls, his fingers digging in until it feels like he’s grinding all my bones together.
“Not until I get my money and get the fuck out of this place.” Dad laughs, but it’s not like he finds something funny.
His fingers squeeze me even tighter, dragging me behind him as he strides toward the cabin.
“I never even wanted to move here, you know? That was all her.”
He’s talking about my mom. I don’t say anything, too busy trying to keep up with him.
Everything goes hazy around me, and all I can think about is this old stuffed monkey that Mom gave me when I was younger—Bananas.
I never let him go, always pulling him along behind me.
Mom said she had to sneak him away and into the washing machine if we got messy on one of our backyard adventures.
I’m Bananas right now.
I’m not a real person to Dad, just something filled with fluff that he’s dragging around. If I fall down, I don’t think he’ll stop. He’ll just keep yanking me along.
He doesn’t unlock the door, just shoving it open and throwing me inside.
I try to catch myself, but there’s nothing to stop my fall.
I land hard on my hands and knees, something jagged digging into the soft flesh of my palms. This time, I can’t stop the tears from escaping, no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes closed.
“I want Mom,” I whisper brokenly, my voice barely stirring the air.
He hears me, a loud scoff leaving him. “Yeah, whatever, kid. I’ve always known where your loyalties lie.”
I don’t know what that means, and I’m too scared to ask.
Dad’s feet thud against the wooden floor, kicking up dust clouds that float into the air and make me cough.
An irritated noise leaves his throat right before he nudges his shoe roughly into my side.
I look up, finding him standing over me, his face severe.
“Get up,” he says roughly. “Go into that room and shut the door. You get me? I don’t want to hear a damn word out of you.”
“Dad…”
“I said go!” he roars. This time, I don’t hesitate, scrambling to get up, my feet slipping under me and knees pinching in pain. My heart is beating too hard against my ribs as I run for the only other door in the place, Dad’s eyes burning into my back as he watches me go.
Mom will know I’m gone by now, and she’ll be scared. I don’t know how long it’s been. There is no way to tell time in here, but the way my stomach keeps gurgling tells me it must be after dinner.
This must have been a bedroom, I think. There’s no furniture, the space empty except for a bag of trash in one corner that looks like something with teeny teeth has been chewing on it.
There’s a window against the back wall, the glass smudged and dirty. It’s cracked open, a chilly breeze drifting through the gap. I tried to shut it when the sun first started going down, but it’s stuck fast.
I took a sweatshirt to school today—Mom always insists I have one, just in case. I stuffed it into my backpack and forgot about it, and Dad wouldn’t let me go back and get it when he picked me up, saying something about not having enough time.
I should have just worn it, I think as I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself.
The quiet is broken by the low rumble of a vehicle. I edge closer to the window, trying to peer through. I can’t see anything but the glow of headlights from the other side of the house as the sound gets louder.
A bad feeling skitters down my spine, desperately wishing that I were at home. I told Mom I wouldn’t run away again, and I didn’t. I never would have gone with him, except…
He told me he’d hurt her if I didn’t go.
Dad’s been different for a long time, but I never thought he would actually hurt me. My arm hurts from where he grabbed me, and my knees and palms are grazed from when I fell over.
I should never have gotten in the car with him.
I wish I’d yelled out, gotten a teacher or someone.
I didn’t because I believed him when he said he’d make me regret it if I didn’t do what he said.
I think there’s something wrong with him.
His eyes are cold and dead, every word he spits out vibrating with anger.
Like that might be the only thing he feels anymore.
I’m glad I was alone when Dad showed up at the school. Nell had just left to go to the bathroom before we went back to class. I’m not sure what he would have done if she were with me.
My mouth is dry, my throat feeling like it’s sticking together.
There are footsteps on the other side of the door.
I drop down, pressing my back against the wall and hugging my knees to my chest. A door opens, and I hear him talking to someone, their voices muffled.
I lean closer, trying to catch the words.
“…stupid fucking plan. You’re a goddamn moron, Daniels. She can’t sell a house in twenty-four hours.”
“She will if she wants him back!” Dad yells. “There are other ways to get cash quickly. And now she’s whoring herself out to her neighbor, so she’ll find a way.”
There’s a scuffle, a thud, and then a grunt of pain.
“Knew I shouldn’t have trusted you. You were too comfortable taking the product over selling it. You and your bitch both.” There’s a wet sound, like the stranger spat on the floor. “Goddamn junkies.”
Dad speaks again, his voice muffled. “Just wait. The money is coming, and then I’m leaving town. You’ll never see me again.”
A rough laugh. “You kidnapped your own kid, and you think I’m gonna trust you?” There’s a pause before he continues thoughtfully. “Maybe I should just take the kid myself. I’m sure someone would pay enough for him to cover your debts.”
I cover my mouth with my hands, trying to stuff the noises of terror back down my throat. I can feel my fingers trembling against my cheeks, the room spinning around me. I wait for Dad to tell him no, to prove he’s still my dad.
“Just wait,” he rasps. “If his bitch mother doesn’t come through…”
I let out a choked sob as the stranger starts talking. “I’m not waiting—”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My neck hurts when I jerk my attention back toward the window. It’s hard to see anything through the dirty glass, the sun almost completely gone now. It won’t be long before the room is completely dark. Another tear streaks down my cheek.
I swipe it away furiously when something moves on the other side of the glass, a hand tapping against it. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I take another shaky step closer, glancing over my shoulder at the closed door. Dad and the other man yell at each other again before focusing back on the window…and the person standing out there. I hear a hushed whisper.
“Oakley.”