Chapter 40 #2
After they leave, Grant comes in, wearing his uniform, with his chest puffed out and eyes beaming with anger. Yup, there is my loving father, no big hugs or check-ins. Oh no, my check-in will be his fist in my face, the moment my ass touches the seat of the car.
“Scarlett, get up now.” He barks as soon as the principal opens the door. He looks at me, seething. “Tell Mr. Harden you are sorry. Show him some respect,” he barks again, his voice laced with fuming rage, ready to be released.
I turn to Mr. Harden. “I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.” I give him my saddest, most bullshit eyes I can work up, following in Grant’s footsteps.
The entire ride home, he’s silent. Watching as the veins along the side of his head start to pulse, his forearms squeeze the steering wheel, and his breath is heavy.
He takes off his coat and all his accessories, leaving them in the passenger seat.
Stepping out of the car, he sternly points into the house.
Scarlett, get your shit together, Fight.
I have to fight him. Today is the fucking day.
Throughout the entire walk to the house, I am pumping myself up. Pumping my brain full of everything I hate, everything I want to take from him as he took from me. I hate him, I’ve hated him longer than I ever remember loving him. I hated him because he couldn’t love me.
The moment he shuts the door, the air shifts, the rage from his body chokes out the air, as he rushes towards me. He is stripped of his uniform. No more layers stand between him and my fists, just a plain blue T-shirt.
“You really fucked up, Scarlett.” He rolls his head around in a circle.
“You not only beat up the mayor's daughter, but you also made me look like a damn fool. Acting like a damn criminal. Would you like me to teach you some manners? Maybe, just maybe, that’s what you need.” He rears his hand back, ready to send me to the moon, and I duck, dodging his blow and immediately pissing him off more.
I can see his nose flaring, as his breath hitches faster, his fists tighten, while his stance straightens.
“Think you can beat me?! Think you can win this fight?!” He screams as he closes the gap between us.
Tightening his fists, I watch as the weight shifts from one foot to the next, anticipating his next swing.
He goes to strike, and I block it, fire fuming in his gaze, his eyes turn mad with desire to prove himself right.
I’m stuck in the kitchen, knowing my escape is near, I glance behind me, tracking my future steps.
Grant steps closer, breath tight as he wields his power, “You are weak! A weak person, just like your mother! You are a stupid girl, no one will love you! Ever! Now take my god damn punishment, and understand you fucking deserve it!” He screams so loud it rattles the walls, his voice digs into the ground, permanently encasing his hurtful words, just like my soul used to do.
Not anymore, motherfucker. I am strong. I am lovable, and I will fucking rise.
I look him dead in the eyes and smile. Watching his lips press together with madness, his eyes grow manic, and he is ready to pummel me down and make me pay.
brING IT ON. I take a step back, placing my weight on my back foot, taking in the ground as if it were my friend, using my breath as leverage, channeling all the rage inside and directing it at the grown man before me.
He lunges for me, arms outstretched, ready to grab me.
I step to the left, dodging his grab before reaching back and striking one punch directly into his eye. He stumbles, shocked at my contact.
Evil seeps from his sweating pores, and his hungry eyes pierce into me, promising total annihilation.
He turns, trying to backhand me, when my arm flies up, blocking his hand, and throwing my knee directly into his rib.
Without holding back, I force all my power into my leg, sending him coughing.
“How’s it feel, Grant?! Tell me how it feels to be beaten in your own fucking house?
” My breath is fuming with rage, and the desire to end his life, but he’s not worth the prison time.
He is not worth a god damn thing. I step back, making my way to the path of safety, the front door.
This time, when his eyes lock on me, I see it: the Devil himself.
Stumbling backward, I back up into the living room, now close to the door, before his big gorilla hand lands a hold on me.
I turn swiftly, trying to snake out of his grip.
I throw my head back into his head, head-butting him in the lip, turning under him, now seeing the blood drip from his lip.
His eyes grow wide as I watch the curiosity spiral through him, my ability to fight back.
“I am going to kill you. Just like I told your mother to kill herself, only you are too stubborn to listen to demands, so that I will help with the follow-through,” he seethes.
I smile up at him once again, knowing he has one this time, and whisper, “Good luck explaining that. Your good image would be shot to shit, Sir.” As the words leave my mouth, there's a hit, and the lights go out.