At the end of the day, I close up the shop with my father nowhere in sight. When I finally get inside my apartment, I find him sitting there, strung out as usual. I tiptoe around him so he doesn’t wake up when I really should be wringing his damn neck. He doesn’t care an ounce about what all of this is doing to me or how fed up I am. There has to be a way out.
I hate to say it, but selling the business might just be an option I’ll have to consider in the near future, although I probably should hire a lawyer since I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Then again, I can’t actually afford one. Then I’m reminded of the guy who threatened me.
I’ve been so busy dealing with the business, and my stepdad’s been ducking my calls and partying that I haven’t been able to get a word in about the threat. I have five more days before the guy comes for payment, if I’m lucky. He didn’t even say how much he was owed.
Thirsty, I sneak into the fridge and pull out the orange juice bottle. When I open it, it reeks as if he’s poured alcohol inside it. It dawns on me that the fridge light isn’t on, and a foul odor is coming from somewhere inside. I could kill the man.
I don’t eat or drink any of the potential profits at work, only to come home and find the few groceries I buy to be completely ruined. Did he unplug the fridge? No. The clock on the microwave is completely black. It’s already gotten cooler today after work, but I notice that it’s still hot in the apartment.
Near tears, I decide to forgo anything and head into my bedroom without bothering to flick on the light; what’s the point? I know our power has been cut off. Sleep takes me as the weight of everything on my shoulders is too heavy to deal with.
****
I wake up at three the next morning thanks to my phone’s alarm and remember it’s not a simple power outage like I dreamed. Needing to get ready for work, I turn on the hot water, which thankfully works because it’s run from the principal source on the floor and managed by the apartment building company. I wash up as well as possible. Luckily, I paid the rent with my last check so we can’t get evicted just yet, but I know it’s coming soon if things don’t change.
I see my father sleeping on the sofa with the orange juice bottle tipped over in his drunken hand.
I move to take it from him so the rest doesn’t seep into the carpet and he snaps awake, grabbing my arm forcefully, hurting me.
“Let go, you asshole,” I scream at him. Finally he releases me.
I rub my wrist as he barks out, “What are you doing—sneaking around and stealing my shit?”
“How dare you! First of all, I bought that orange juice that you ruined with booze. Second, I was saving it from falling onto the carpet. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to work to save the business you don’t give a damn about.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, you little bitch?” He stands up attempting to get in my face, but he’s too drunk to stand straight and falls back on the sofa. I hear it give, the wood splintering. Too bad it doesn’t land up his ass.
“I know I’m talking to a loser who has worn out my patience and love.”
“I never loved you. Your mother should have given you up when she got sick instead of leaving you with me.” The words should hurt, but I’m numb to his asshole ways. He knows throwing out my mom in a conversation will upset me.
She’d gotten the flu and couldn’t fight it and it turned into pneumonia. My mother had always been a frail person from years of physical and emotional abuse from my birth father who died in jail when I was a little girl. She really knew how to pick them. Still she was always a loving mother to me who tried and succeeded in life until she met Vincent.
“Whatever. Why don’t you polish that off and piss it away?” I storm out the door, noticing as I make it down the stairs that my wrist is bruising. What a prick. I head to work, hoping that it’s not too noticeable to everyone.
By the time I arrive at the café, I know it’s more than visible, so I head into the back and into the first aid kit, using an ACE wrap to hide the damage.
Chapter Three
Niccolò
I pop into Ivy’s Café for the fourth day in a row. Initially, I’d come in for an extra boost and to check the business because the owner owes Dom money, but I stay to see Ivy. She’s the first thing on my mind in the morning, and the last thing on my mind when my head hits the pillow.