Natalie
The door gives off a loud squeak as I pull it open. Shit. Be quiet. Behind me, the sun casts a slight glow and illuminates the opening of the porch. The rest of the room is in darkness. Can I be lucky enough to get inside, gra
b my bags, and get out of here?
I stumble over something in the middle of the floor, and the bright light of the ceiling fan snaps on. Fucking boots. I kick at them and steady my shoulders. This should cap off an already peachy morning.
My father stands inside the kitchen threshold with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Whores go to hell.”
I bite my tongue and swallow the copper taste. Don’t engage the monster. It’s what he wants.
“Good morning, Father.” I brush past him and into the hallway.
His bony fingers grasp my forearm. “Don’t you have something to say?” He reeks of alcohol and his swollen belly appears more pronounced today.
Does he ever stop? “No. I don’t have anything to say.”
“You keep giving it away for free, and no one is ever going to make an honest woman out of you.” He releases my arm and laughs as if what he said was from a stand-up comedy routine.
“Dad, my personal life is none of your concern. Worry about yourself. You’re not looking good.” One thing I will never regret is leaving here when I discovered I was pregnant. There was no way I’d subject a child to his miserable treatment of other human beings.
A wave of sadness envelops my body. His depression would have been better treated by a professional rather than by a bottle of whiskey. The disgust evaporates and all I’m left with is pity. Thankfully, I had Gram there for me when I was heartbroken. She helped mend me and keep me from hitting the bars.
“Girl, I’m dying. I ain’t ever going to look good. The cancer is killing me.”
“I’m sorry. I wish it could be different for you.” I walk to the spare bedroom and toss my suitcase onto the threadbare blanket. It hasn’t been my bedroom in twelve years. While I pity him, that doesn’t mean I deserve to be subject to his cruelty.
He leans on the doorframe and glares as I open the dresser drawer and grab armfuls of clothing. “You just got here. Where are you going?”
“I’m staying with Lillian.” At least, I hope she’s still open to me bunking there until I get my own place. Trey. My mind fills with his gorgeous smile and giving spirit. Don’t. I’m not staying with him.
Do I want to? My hand stills with a pair of jeans dangling in the air. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. I drop the jeans into the bag and toss everything else inside with no care for wrinkles.
“You’re a bitch. To think I asked you to come to stay with me in my final days, and you can’t even do that.” His bloodshot eyes water with anger, and he sways against the door. “You are no better than your whore Mother or that cunt of a sister of yours.”
“Enough!” My jaw tightens, and I slap my hands on my hips. “You’re my father, so obviously it bothers me that you’re dying. But I’m not going to stay here and be subjected to your insults. You’re a very sick and depressed man. I wish you would have gotten help years ago.” I shake my head and throw my remaining items inside the case. I’ve got to get out of here before I get sucked into his hell.
“Whatever.” He waves his hands in the air and rolls his eyes as if I’m talking about voodoo, rather than his mental health.
I snap the suitcase shut and lug it off the bed. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Don’t bother.” He snaps and marches away from the door as he officially dismisses me. “Consider yourself out of my will.”
I snort. Shit. He’s never had anything. The only way he’d have money is if he found a winning lottery ticket or stole it off an unconscious person outside the bar. All his money went to booze or blowjobs.
Glancing around the room, I take in the space I grew up in. The walls are dingy from smoke and dirt. They probably haven’t been touched since I left.
I press my lips together and march through the door, weave through the living room. This time, I miss the boots. I won’t be back in this pit until he’s gone. I should feel regret, but the only emotion I experience is relief. I can’t wait to be back outside of these four walls for good.
The door slams behind me, and I take in a large chest full of air to clean my nose and lungs of the despair that surrounds my father like the dirt cloud around Pig-Pen on Peanuts.
Chapter Fifteen
Natalie
As I climb the stairs to my sister’s townhouse, I toss up a quick prayer of thanks that the lamplight in the front window is on. I wasn’t looking forward to hanging out in my vehicle, waiting for her to get up.
The neighbors would have called the police if I hung out too long. I could have called her, but I didn’t want to wake the kids up. They’re light sleepers, and my sister is always struggling for that last ten minutes of rest.