by Hart, Rebel
“Howard.”
Hearing Cecilia’s voice was so foreign to me. And yet, it was nice. Actually having someone step up to my defense.
Sort of.
I licked my lips. “Fully grown because I just turned eighteen? Or fully grown because you started your first business at eighteen?”
Dad scoffed. “You’re a fucking joke.”
Cecilia cleared her throat. “Howard. That’s enough.”
I smiled at my father, wondering if he’d actually listen to the tits with a voice. My father didn’t give a shit about anything but himself. And his new hot wife. He didn't give a damn when my mother first got addicted to painkillers because of her cesarean with me. He didn’t give a shit when she slipped into postpartum depression and threw herself off the roof. He certainly didn’t give a shit when she stopped taking care of the house and started spending all his money. Leaving me home alone to stew in my own waste and starve.
Oh, no. He only gave a shit when he couldn't keep up with the credit cards she kept taking out in his name. He only gave a shit when it impacted his finances. Not me, or my well-being. So it didn’t shock me one bit when I felt his hand tighten against my leather jacket instead of releasing it.
Because my father never gave a shit about me for a fucking day in his pathetic life.
“You get your shit together, you hear me? Or you’re out on your ass. Plain and simple.”
I scoffed. “You gonna throw me out while you’re in Bora Bora? Or before you two jet off to Australia for Christmas?”
Dad chuckled. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”
“Howard. Cut it out!”
“Shut up, Cecilia!”
I chuckled. “Wow. You really know how to treat the ladies.”
Dad shoved my chest. “You’ve got one last chance to keep your ass out of trouble until I can stick you somewhere after you graduate. One chance, you hear me?”
I glared at him. “Or what?”
Dad smiled. “Or you’re really not going to like our next conversation.”
I watched my stepmother stride over with her thin legs and her high heels. She grabbed my father’s arm, yanking it away from my leather coat. I dusted off his touch as she forcefully pulled him away from me, giving me some space to slip away from the wall. I wasn’t staying here another fucking second. Not with that asshole in the house. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, sticking it in the inside pocket of my jacket.
“And don’t you dare think about going anywhere tonight!” Dad roared.
I shrugged. “Too late.”
I slipped into the garage and stormed for my bike. I jammed my fist into the garage door button on the wall, watching it roll up. I threw my leg over my motorcycle as Dad appeared in the doorway. I cranked the engine up too quickly to hear whatever the hell it was he was screaming at me.
“What was that? I can’t hear you!”
I pointed to my ears, watching as my father’s face reddened with frustration. Cecilia appeared behind him, rubbing his back and trying to calm him down. Fucking hell, that woman was too good for him. They were all too good for him, including my mother. I knew, deep down, my father was the reason why my mother got ruined. Putting up with his bullshit and always bending to his ways and dealing with his anger all the fucking time. It made me sick. And soon enough, he’d destroy Cecilia, too. Cast her out into the backyard like a piece of used furniture to burn before finding another trophy wife to stand at his side.
Another woman to burn with the rest of them.
I backed my bike out of the garage and swung it around. I heard my father rushing after me, but I took off down the driveway. I looked in my rearview mirror, watching him run until he had to bend over to catch his breath. That’s what he got, with all the traveling and car riding and not enough time spent in the gym.
“Fat ass,” I murmured.
I drove into town, setting my sights on the park. It was the one place where I could always go, get cheap food, and sit. Possibly write. I always kept my notebooks and pens in the back compartment of my bike, just in case inspiration hit me.
I also kept it hidden as much as I could. I never wrote when people were around. Because holy fuck, if my friends knew I wrote poetry and short stories as a hobby? My reputation would be shot. I’d be just like every other asshole I gave swirlies to on a regular basis.
And the idea of Roy stepping into my position practically made me cackle.
Because he’d only ever be half the man I was.
7
Raelynn
I shoved some things into a backpack on Friday morning, readying myself for this fun little weekend. I was ready to get out of here. Especially since I wasn’t working. Ready to get through the last hour of detention so I could be on my way to my best friend’s house for another wonderful sleepover. But, for once, I came downstairs to my mother already down there. I walked into the living room, skirting their makeout session while I waited in the wings. The lip-smacking made my stomach turn, and I breathed a sigh of relief when D.J. finally left. The smell of coffee filled the foyer as I tried to erase those sights and sounds from my mind, silently feeling sorry for the asshole she was cheating on.
Then again, there was a big chance he knew it. Why he continued to pay some of her bills and keep her around if she was, I’d never understand.
Then again, I also didn’t want to understand.
With my clothes and my phone charger in a bag, I made my way into the kitchen. I heard D.J. race out of our driveway, peeling out like he thought he was hot shit. I knew announcing to my mother I was going away for the weekend could go one of two ways. She’d either wave me out the door while she nursed her hangover with another beer, or she’d chew me out until I got fed up enough to slip out the door myself.
But after an entire week of detention, I didn't care if the woman tried strapping me down to keep me home. I was fucking going to this sleepover.
I peeked around the corner. “I’m going to spend the weekend at Allison’s.”
Mom sighed. “That’s fine, honey. You’ll be home Sunday?”
“Yep.”
“All right. Well, maybe next week you and I can have an old-fashioned girls’ night? Like how we used to?”
I studied my mother and how rough she looked. The hickeys on her neck. Her knotted, disheveled hair. The way her shoulders slouched as she sat at the kitchen table, pouring beer into her fucking coffee. I came around the corner and went to sit beside her. Something was off. Something didn’t feel right. And while I wanted to turn down the invite to her version of a girls’ night, I also didn’t want to leave her like this.
“Mom?”
She slowly looked over at me and I saw how tired she looked. The bags underneath her eyes. The pallor of her skin. Her trembling hand brought her mug of coffee to her lips, where she chugged a little too hard and a little too long. I placed my hand on her shoulder and she flinched, which told me everything I needed to know.
And when she finally faced me, I saw the blackened expanse of her right eye.
I sighed. “Oh, Mom.”
She patted my hand. “Yeah, an old-fashioned girls’ night soon. Okay?”
“Promise you won’t invite D.J.?”
And even though she nodded, I knew she was lying. It didn’t matter how many times her boyfriend smacked her around. Or made her cry. Or made her feel worthless. Whenever she wanted to spend time with me, he inevitably showed up. She always broke down and called him back. Begged for him to come over so she could ‘make things right.’
Which was the reason I always kept earplugs on my bedside table.
I stood up, kissing her cheek as a shudder left her lips. She was holding back tears, and it broke my heart. Because no matter what kind of shit my mother got herself into, she was still my mother. And she’d been through hell all her life. Starting with her own parents, who’d routinely slapped her around. Followed by my father, who proposed when they got pregnant w
ith me, only to jump ship when I was only three years old. The string of boyfriends she’d had over the years were varying degrees of the same. A cokehead that got her addicted before she finally let him go. A rehab facility coordinator who ended up being the reason she got clean. And who ended up being married. A string of one-night stands that introduced me to so many sexual things a teenager should never have been exposed to.
And now? D.J.
The man who paid some of our bills in exchange for my mother’s soul.
“Please take care of yourself,” I whispered against her ear.
She nodded. “You know I always do. No matter what, I’ll always do my best to take care of you.”
“You’re important too, Mom. Always remember that.”
“I miss you, you know.”
“Well, then maybe we’ll have that girls’ night soon.”
Mom smiled softly. “You know, D.J.’s not really that bad.”
I sighed. “I’m sure he isn’t, Mom.”
“And he takes care of us. He’s the reason why we only have to choose one bill to ignore a month. Not the multiple ones, like we used to do.”
I nodded. “I know, Mom. I know. And I miss you, too. But I have to go. I’m going to be late for school.”
I rubbed her back as I tried to process everything. I never could tell my mother how much I missed her without getting angry with her. And I felt myself growing very upset very quickly. Without trying to hold her accountable for her actions throughout the years. While the rational part of me knew she kept trying her hardest, the other part of me wondered why the fuck she always had to try it with guys. Why not get a job on her own? It wasn’t like I couldn't fend for myself. Why not take out some loans? Get a technical degree? Make something of herself instead of hopping from man to man, hoping he’d swoop in and free us from this bondage?
I mean, I was familiar with the books my mother read. Books that were passed down to her through trash cans and bags dropped all around our street. Our neighborhood was practically a rich person’s dump, and I’d caught my mother many times opening up trash bags to dig around and see what was inside.
Mom cleared her throat. “You need any lunch money, beautiful?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I’ve got my own.”
“Good girl. Make sure to always do that. Provide for yourself.”
I bit my tongue on what I wanted to say. Because no matter what I wanted to do, I’d never kick a person when they were down.
Unlike D.J.
Even though my heart didn’t want to, my gut told me to leave. So I did. I left my mother to chug back her beer-laced coffee and I headed straight for school. With every step I took, I grew infuriated with D.J. With every step I took, comics unfolded in my mind. Graphic novels with curt colors, dripping with blood from D.J.’s veins. I shook with fury as I walked out of the neighborhood, trying to focus on where I was going.
Why the hell did men like D.J. and Clint have to exist in this world?
That was exactly who my mother’s boyfriend reminded me of, too. Clinton fucking Clarke. The two of them were cocky. Arrogant. Angry. Entitled. Rude.
Flat-out mean.
As the mouth of my neighborhood dumped me onto the curb, I made my way for Allison and Michael. They flagged me down with their arms, and I gave them both a thumbs-up, letting them know I was cleared to come over this weekend. The two of them high-fived as I picked up the pace, letting my dark, dank neighborhood fall into the background as the green grass and rolling white picket fences of our quaint area in Riverbend fill my view.
Then something whooshed by me.
The roaring of the motorcycle engine caught me off-guard, and I flinched. I knew it was Clint, and my only hope was that he hadn’t seen me. I picked up the pace, jogging down the sidewalk to try and get to Allison and Michael. But when I saw his brake lights flash, I grumbled to myself.
Especially when it pulled over to the curb. Blocking my path to my friends.
Great. Just great.
He pulled off his helmet. “Well, well, well. Good morning, detention rat.”
I ignored him and kept walking, watching as Michael bolted for me. Allison trailed behind him, trying to get to me before Clint could do any sort of damage to my morning.
Then I heard him whistle. “Nice ass, Cleaver.”
Michael linked his arm with mine. “Put a sock in it, Clinton.”
Allison snickered. “Yeah. Go terrorize someone your own size.”
Clint chuckled. “Trust me, that ass is big enough for me.”
Allison scoffed. “Disgusting pig.”
“I like watching you walk away, Cleaver! You should wear skinny jeans more often!”
I went to swirl around, but Michael tightened his grip on me. Allison’s hand fell to the small of my back as the two of them escorted me across the street. I wanted to smack that fucking grin right off Clint’s face. I wanted to ball-stomp him into the curb until he was crying out for his drug-addled mommy. Yes, Clint was D.J. The younger, more pompous version. What I wouldn't give to put the two of them in a room and give Clint the rude awakening that was coming to him.
Maybe he’d turn into a decent human being if he knew being a womanizing, abusive asshole was his future.
We got across the road and I heard Clint rev the engine of his bike. I spun around, ripping away from my two best friends as I glared hotly at him. He puckered his lips, blowing me a kiss before he wiggled his tongue around in the air. And as he slid his helmet back onto his head, I stuck my middle finger up. Just for him. For his eyes only to take in.
And as he rushed by us on his bike, I heard him laughing at me.
“Come on, let’s get you inside,” Allison said softly.
The burning sensation on the backs of my eyes made me feel weak, frustrated, incompetent. I was tired of that asshole, and I didn’t know why he wouldn't stop torturing me. I’d watched my mother bend to these men her entire life. And I knew if I simply stood up to them as they came into my life, I’d be fine. They’d go away. They’d find some other woman to torture and I’d be free of them.
But I was standing up to Clint. And he kept coming back. If I ignored Clint, he’d only come at me harder. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Why couldn’t he go pick on someone else?
I didn't understand it anymore.
“So what color do you want your toes painted tonight?” Michael asked.
I cleared my throat. “Red sounds nice.”
Allison opened the doors. “Oh, spicy. I like it. Matches your personality.”
Michael smiled. “You know, you could rock a head full of red hair, too. I mean, with those freckles and this beautiful skin you’ve got.”
Allison gasped. “That’s it! We should dye your hair, too!”
I shook my head. “Oh, no.”
She pouted. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. Your hair can match your toes, and you can take some of my shirts that probably match, too.”
I grinned. “You mean you have shirts that aren’t pastel colors?”
Allison’s face fell. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Jerk.”
Michael chuckled. “Maybe just some under-the-hair highlights, then? You know, so when you wear it down, you can’t see them. But when you wear your ponytails, you can?”
I furrowed my brow. “How do you know so much about all this shit?”
He groaned. “Mom.”
Allison giggled. “Well, if you don’t want to you don’t have to. But you’d look hot with them.”
I sighed. “Why don’t we dye your hair, then?”
Allison’s eyes widened. “And deal with the wrath of my mother? Not a chance. You know how she feels about hair dye. Ever since she had that reaction a few years back, she’s been on that all-natural healthy-everything kick. If she came back to me with dyed hair, she’d probably disown me.”
Michael scoffed. “I hate to admit I even know this, but there are all-natural hair dyes out there.”
I threw my head back, laughing. “
Your mom is fantastic, you know that?”
He smiled. “I was adopted by some good ones, yes.”
Allison took my hand. “So you’ll think about it?”
And as I sighed, I ended up nodding my head.
“Okay. I’ll think about it.”
8
Clinton
I swung my bike into the parking stall in front of the school. It was open, for once, and I wanted to make sure I took full advantage of it. All the best girls in this high school hung out in front. And it was those same girls that took to the back parking lot during lunch. Oh, the mischief they got into. It practically made me salivate. I felt their eyes on me as I revved my engine. I felt them scanning my long legs and the breadth of my shoulders as I kicked my leg over my bike. I turned the engine off and put the kickstand down. I slipped my helmet off, then slipped my sunglasses on quickly. They all watched the powerful man on campus with googly eyes, hoping to get a slice of me.
And I enjoyed putting on a show for them.
“Ladies,” I said, grinning.
The head cheerleader walked up. “Hi there, Clint.”
I licked my lips. “Hello there, beautiful.”
“Nice ride you’ve got. Been meaning to let you know. It’s much better than the one you had last year.”
“That’ll teach my father to sell it out from underneath me. Bought and paid for with my own money, too.”
She smiled. “Your own money, huh? So, uh, when you taking me out, then? With that money of yours?”
I grinned. “Whenever you let me take a peek underneath that skirt of yours. You know you can’t do that to my heart, beautiful. High-kicking those legs at practice without letting me get a close-up look.”
“Oh, you’re bad, Clint.”
I winked from beyond my sunglasses. “And you love it, gorgeous.”
She giggled as she turned on her heels in her pristine white tennis shoes. Her barely-there hips sauntered back over to her friends, where I knew she’d boast about talking to the bad boy on campus. They always did. The girls around here thought cozying up to me would boost their status in this school. That they could somehow unravel the mysterious bad boy that didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought.
