“No, Erika. It doesn’t. You’re only seventeen yet. You’ll have the world at your fingertips when you’re older, when you’ve earned it.”
“And how do you earn it?”
My father laughs. “You’ve had a taste of it,” he says.
He means that boy he had me seduce.
“A woman’s power is different from a man’s,” he continues. He sips his whiskey and then holds out his tumbler.
I accept it and fake taking a swallow. The stuff is smooth and smoky, and I actually enjoy it very much, but this is an important conversation. I just know it is.
My father doesn't drink quite as much as he used to, when I was younger, but there are times when he still gets piss drunk. I hate those times. Right now, he's mellow, chilled. If he has too much more, though, he'll be drunk very quickly. Yes, I could've drunk some to keep him from drinking it, but chances are too high that he'll just pour himself another finger or two.
I hand the tumbler back. “A woman can have power more than just sex,” I say.
“Yes, but that power for a woman is much harder to obtain. Start small. Get what you want. Keep out of trouble. Your name will mean something one day. People will fear you.”
“I don’t want people to fear me,” I scoff.
He sneers. “You want them to love you.”
I shake my head. “I want respect,” I all but hiss.
My father beams at me. “Ah, very good. Very good. You are learning.”
“Do you want respect, Father? Or do you want fear?”
“From you, daughter of mine, I only want love.”
I nod and smile. “I love you, Father,” I say like the dutiful daughter he expects and wants me to be.
But even then, I can see the cracks. I know he’s not necessarily a good man.
And I know that he wants more than just love from me.
He wants my blind devotion.
Ain’t no one going to ever have that from me.
"Erika Slade will be a name known worldwide," my father boasts. "You will have everyone eating out of your hand. I know you will. You're just like me, Erika."
“For the most part,” I mumble.
He lifts an eyebrow. “You might not have a cock or be the son I wanted, but you won’t let me down. I know you won’t. You’re a Slade through and through.”
I nod again. “I’ll try to bring honor to our name,” I say, even though I wonder if I have to bring honor to the name first.
"Honor?" My father laughs and shakes his head before draining his glass. He doesn't put it on the table between us. No, he continues to hold it. He's sitting behind his desk at our house. My mom is… Actually, I'm not sure where she is. I'm just glad Father and I aren't at the bar tonight.
“How exactly did your name come to have so much power?” I ask to change the subject before my father can most likely rant about how honor is worthless.
“When you see an injustice in the world, Erika, you have to crush it beneath your heel,” he says. “You have to step on it and squash it like a bug. Batting it away as if it’s a pest won’t do you a lick of good. You can’t let your life be dictated by others, especially not by assholes. You have to take charge. Promise me you’ll always take charge.”
“I’ll always take charge,” I echo, but I’m thinking about his other sentence, about not letting my life be dictated by someone else.
My mom’s lived her life like that. My father controls her, and she allows it to happen.
I’m going to take my father’s advice. I’ll find a way to save my mom. I just need to figure out how.
I need time.
I never did get the time I needed to get my mom out of there. I’m gone, but my name is mud. It doesn’t mean shit, not Erika Armstrong or Erika Slade.
And now Brett’s sniffing up the wrong tree, not realizing that it’s also the right one.
Fucking hell.