When I reach the top of the stairs, I squeeze between the drunk and stoned people blocking our path, and come to a halt in front of the screen door. Preston is in the living room, talking animatedly to his pothead friends with a joint in his hand. There’s music playing from the stereo and empty liquor bottles all over the kitchen countertops.
“Maybe I should go in by myself,” I say to Luke, but they’re just words that have no true meaning behind them.
He doesn’t say anything, taking my hand in his, he opens the screen door, and we walk into the house. Preston doesn’t look in our direction at first, engulfed in a conversation, but when I steer Luke through the crowd to the hallway, he notices me. He gives me a dark look mixed with lust that makes vomit burn at the back of my throat. Then he notices Luke and the lust turns to anger.
“What the fuck’s going on?” he asks and suddenly the entire room is looking at us. Smoke encircles around me, a potent snake that stings at my nostrils and smells like weed, sweat, and various different alcohols.
I’m not one to shy away, but I’m more tense than usual, a reaction linked to the reason why there are bruises covering my leg. “I came to get my stuff.” Surprisingly, however, my voice sounds strong.
Preston lets out a laugh, handing the joint to a tall, lanky guy beside him before crossing the room toward me, shoving people out of his way who look about as dazed and confused as they can get. “What? You’re moving out again?” His cold glare lands on Luke. “With this asshole?” Preston doesn’t like Luke considering Luke kicked his ass once.
“I don’t know if I’m moving out yet,” I say as Luke’s fingers wander up my wrist, gently stroking my skin, sending a calmness through my body I’ve never felt before. “But I need a break from you and all this crap.” I raise my chin, voice strong, despite my inner jitteriness. I’ve always been good at faking it when needed. I can be calm in the snap of a finger even when I’m not. Pretend I don’t care when I really do. Act like I don’t feel a goddamn thing for someone, when really I feel everything for them.
Preston’s right in front of me now and I can see that look in his eyes again, the one that came before the bruises that are on my legs. “You’re making a big mistake.” His voice is low and carries a warning, just like it always does when he’s threatening me.
I should have fought more.
Should have bruised the shit out of him.
Should have. Could have. Would have.
“I just need a break,” I repeat. Stay firm.
“A break from what? Having a roof over your head? Food on your plate? A ride?” He pauses, his gaze flicking in Luke’s direction, then he leans down in my face, so close I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. “Or being a little whore that you are ever single day. You fucking cunt. You use me to live her—use your little fucking mouth and body to get what you want.”
Luke’s hand is suddenly leaving my arm and he roughly shoves Preston back, causing him to stumble over his feet and almost fall. “Back the fuck off,” he warns. “Or I’m going to make you.”
I can take care of this. I don’t need you, I want to say, but I can barely breathe, let alone speak. Everyone is looking at me to, in the midst of my weakness, about to have a meltdown. I need something. I need something…
“Bend over,” Preston said, pushing me toward the bed. “Come of V, bend over and take it like you want to.”
“What I want to do is knee you in the balls, Preston,” I said back. “And if you touch me again, I just might—”
He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled hard. “And what?” Another tug, but I refuse to wince. Show pain. I am a fucking calm before the storm. I am untouchable. No one can hurt me. “Come on tough girl, let me hear all the terrible things you’re going to do to me.”
I wanted to tell him everything, how much of an ass he was being, to get his hands off me, to go fuck himself, but then I remembered how the last time I did, he made me move out and how this time I wouldn’t have Luke to save my sorry ass. So instead I force myself to relax as he shoved me down on my knees, which end up slamming into the side of the bed. Then he walked around in front of me, shoving me back a little and unzipped his pants…
“I’m l-leaving for a week or so,” I stammer then dodge around Preston, loathing how unsteady I feel, wobbly, like I’m walking a tightrope, about to fall blindly into the unknown.
“You leave and I’m not taking you back this time!” he calls out after me, anger burning in his tone and slamming into my back. “You need me Violet Hayes! I’m all you got anymore!”
“Fuck you!” I snap venomously, turning and flipping him the bird. “I hate it here and I fucking hate you.” Shit. Oh God. Oh shit. No.
“You ungrateful little bitch,” he seethes, storming after me, his veins bulging, more angry than I’ve ever seen him, which makes me wonder how hard he’s going to hit me if he gets close enough, but I never get to find out because Luke shoves him back again and Preston slams into the wall, stunned.
“Leave her the fuck alone,” Luke warns as he follows me through the crowd with his fists raised. “She’s way better off not being here—she deserves better—and you’re going to let her go or else I’m going to have to make you let her go you sick son of a bitch.”
Preston gives a sharp laugh and there’s something almost psychopathic about it, so uncontrolled, so irrational. I know what’s coming before he even says it. “You think she’s better than me.” He laughs again, his voice following me as I rush toward the hall. “You want to know why I call her a whore? Ask her how she pays her debt to me and she can try to tell you that she doesn’t like it, but by the moaning I can tell that she does.”
I cover my ears and run back to the room, not wanting to see or hear Luke’s reaction to what Preston tells him next, not wanting to feel the shame on the inside. When I get to the room, I head for the closet to get my bag, but then realize that Luke may not want me to come with him, now that Preston’s let that cat out of the bag.
“Fucking douche,” I curse under my breath as I stand in the darkness of the room, unsure what to do. I want to grab a razor and slit my wrists, but am I ready to go that far?
Finally, I sit down on the floor, bring my legs to my chest, and rest my head on my knees. “Why, why, why, can’t I ever stand up to him? I’m a badass to everyone else, but to him, I’m so weak.”
“It’s not your fault.” The sound of Luke’s voice makes me stiffen. Great, he heard me in a weak moment. So weak. “He abuses his power as a parent and makes you feel helpless.”
I smash my lips together and lift my head to look up at him. He’s just a shadow in the darkness, unreadable and I shove my emotions down, wanting to be unreadable too. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Yes,” he says simply, inching across the room toward me. “My mother abused her power a lot.”
It’s something that’s haunted me since the day I walked out of the apartment—walked away from him. Luke hated his mom, something I learned early on when I first met him. He’d told me a few vague stories about how she’s made him shoot her up with heroin. I’m sure that was barely getting to the surface of the problems that woman caused and part of me had felt bad for blaming him for something she did. It wasn’t Luke’s fault my parents are dead, but he painfully reminded me of what happened—still does.