Chapter 5
It’s gotten to the point where I'm sure I’m applying to the same jobs multiple times.
All the applications start to blur together, yet nothing pings in my inbox except scams. Why don’t any of these jobs get back to me?
I would much rather hear no than the never-ending silence.
If this keeps up, I’m ditching my efforts to find employment and instead making an investigative documentary about the money-laundering scheme that must be going on behind the recruiting and hiring process.
My nerves rattle my bones as I exit my room, chatter coming from downstairs.
I stop at the top step, listening. Thankfully, it’s only my parents' voices. “Good morning, sweety,” my mom says as I step into the kitchen. It’s not often that I catch both of them in the same room.
Suitcases rest at the back of the couch, separating the kitchen from the living room.
“What’s going on?” I ask while opening the fridge.
“Your mom and I are just getting ready to leave,” my stepdad says.
My stomach drops. “Leave where?”
Mom stops searching through the cupboard and looks at me.
She’s got a fresh blowout, and her makeup sits perfectly in place.
I hate seeing her like this. We don’t look anything alike, her straight blonde hair, pale skin, and thin frame versus my curls, curves, tan, and freckled skin, and it’s even more obvious when she’s done up.
It’s like a reminder that her best looks even more opposite than my natural self.
“I’m sure I told you. We have a conference in Venice.
We’re only going for two days. We’ll be back before the weekend. ”
“Venice?”
“California,” Darrell clarifies. “Can I trust you not to throw any ragers while we’re away?” He chuckles at his stupid joke.
“You can trust me…”
Mom snaps, turning to face me. “Oh, about that. Could you help Derek change his bandages while we’re away?”
“What?” My veins pound in my body.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Darrell says, stiffening, clenching the back of the barstool.
“He can’t do it himself. He already made his injuries worse the other night from over-exerting.”
Yeah, he was over-exerting, alright. I shake away the steamy images fogging up my mind.
“Isabella shouldn’t have to take care of him. He’s a grown man. He can care for himself.”
For all my stepfather's faults, one thing I’ve always appreciated him for is his attempts to keep Derek away.
Growing up, it was like he was the only one who realized Derek’s hatred toward me, and although I never liked how he treated his own son, I appreciated someone looking out for me.
Although sometimes, like right now, when he’s barely tried to talk to me since I’ve returned home, it doesn’t feel right.
It doesn’t feel like he cares for me, but instead worries about the repercussions his son may bring him.
I should side with Darrell, but a small part of me—the one that always wanted to prove to my parents that I’m capable—shuts up and lets my mother and him hash this out on their own.
“Darrell, honey, even grown men need assistance when they’re injured.” She smiles as she walks past him, patting his arm, a signal that the conversation is over.
Darrell gives me a haunting look. I’d assume it’s something like a nonverbal apology, but there’s a hint more warning behind it.
“If you need anything, just give us a call!” Mom shouts as she struggles with rolling her suitcase out the door. “I’ll be right back. I just need to put this in the car and arrange things a bit.”
“Derek!” Darrell yells.
I flip to the fridge, my whole body heating despite the cool air wafting around me as I try to insert myself as much as possible. I haven’t seen Derek since that night, and as his pounding footsteps make their way toward the kitchen, I’m determined to do my best to keep up my avoidance streak.
“What?” Derek says once he reaches the last step.
I clutch a carton of milk, steadying my nerves as I listen to the scene.
“Come here,” Darrell seethes.
Their footsteps indicate them heading toward the dining room next to the living room, and I pull myself out of the fridge.
I fumble in the cabinet for a box of cereal, turning my attention to their heated conversation.
I carefully place the white ceramic bowl on the counter at the corner closest to the dining room.
Yes, I’m trying to avoid Derek, but I can’t help but listen as Darrell speaks to him in a hushed and harsh tone.
“You better behave yourself…” I barely make the words out.
“If anything happens, I’ll fucking end you myself.
” Something slams against the wall, and I jump, my bowl clattering.
The conversation stops, and it sounds like one of them pushes the other away.
Derek storms back into the kitchen, righting his tight-fitted t-shirt.
His eyes catch mine, and I curse myself for listening instead of making it out of here as fast as possible.
He smirks, wiping his lips and scanning me from head to toe before ascending the stairs.
The heated look infuriates me, but I’m too focused on what I caught before—the real expression he attempted to hide.
He held fear in his eyes, and I hate that I’m curious to find out what could possibly frighten the beast who haunts my dreams.