Page 56 of Wicked Nasty

My cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Yeah, I know. Are you going to bail me out or just stand here and yell at me?"

His eyes scan the gathering group of cops, and he finally relents with a defeated sigh. "Fine. Let's go."

We sign the paperwork with the police and walk out to his sleek, black town car. The driver greets us with a polite smile and opens the door for us to enter. As we drive through the city streets, I can't help but feel a sense of dread as we approach my father's new condo in one of the exclusive gated communities.

My heart sinks when I see my mother's car parked in the driveway. I let out a groan, already dreading the confrontation that awaits me inside.

"On second thought, I'll just disappear into thin air," I mutter under my breath.

My dad lets out an exasperated sigh. "Rebecca, that's enough."

We make our way inside and my mom is already swaying on her feet, clearly intoxicated with a glass of deep red wine in her hand. Her disheveled appearance only adds to the tension in the room.

"Surprise, surprise. Rebecca was in another fight," she slurs, her words dripping with disdain.

"Fuck off, Hartley," I retort bitterly, not wanting to deal with her drunken judgment.

She sneers at me, her eyes narrowing. "Shut your fucking mouth. That's no way to speak to your own mother."

The tension in the room is palpable as my father steps between us, his face a mask of frustration and exhaustion.

"Both of you, please. Can we not do this right now?"

But my mother isn't finished. She stumbles forward, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass.

"No, Theodore. I want to know why our daughter thinks it's acceptable to behave like some common street thug."

I clench my fists at my sides, anger bubbling up inside me. "Oh, that's rich coming from you. At least I'm not drunk off my ass at three in the afternoon."

"Rebecca!" my father snaps, but the damage is done.

My mother's face contorts with rage, and before I can react, she hurls her wineglass at me. I duck just in time, and it shatters against the wall behind me, leaving a crimson stain dripping down the expensive wallpaper. The room falls silent, save for the tinkling of broken glass hitting the marble floor.

My father's face turns an alarming shade of red. "That's enough!" he bellows, his composure cracking. "Hartley, go upstairs and sleep it off. Now."

My mother sways for a moment, her anger giving way to confusion and shame. Without another word, she stumbles towards the staircase, gripping the banister as she makes her unsteady ascent.

I stand frozen, my heart pounding in my chest. The adrenaline from the police station, the fight at school, and now this confrontation leaves me feeling drained and hollow.

My father turns to me, his expression a mixture of disappointment and concern. "Rebecca.”

“No, dad. I’m sick and tired of it all. I’m so tired of always having to put a smile on my face despite the fact that woman,” I point up the steps. “Is a monster.”

“That’s a little-”

I scoff. “No, it’s not. You have no idea what I’ve kept hidden all these years. The fucking trauma that woman has given me.”

“Becca, I…”

“Didn’t know. Yeah, got it. Didn’t know that your precious wife would beat the life out of me. And it only got worse when you both sent Katya away.”

My father's face pales at the mention of her name.

"We don't talk about Katya," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" I challenge, my anger giving me courage. "Because it's easier to pretend she never existed?"

My father's shoulders sag, and for a moment, he looks older than I've ever seen him. "You don't understand, Rebecca. I didn’t have a choice."

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