Page 89 of Under the Bed

Without telling me. I bet he laughed when he came up with the idea. Another way of making me feel small and inconsequential.

It won’t work.

Bastard.

“Hello?” a woman whose voice I don’t recognize, no doubt his newest assistant, says. “Anyone there?”

My lips twist. I barely contain a rude answer she doesn’t deserve.

Dad’s the problem, not her.

Yet here I am, on the verge of snapping at her.

After last night, who could blame me?

Kaleb ruined me in a good way. In the best one. He made me cry. He brought on pain. He took without permission or care.

Kaleb’s marks on my breasts are the most beautiful things I’ve seen. This gift he’s given me, on top of the severed fingers.

His methods of healing and claiming me are intense. But he didn’t leave before he built me back up.

Unlike some other people who never gave a fuck about me.

An undercurrent of violence runs beneath my skin. It grows as I imagine impaling my dad’s head on a stick.

Wow.

“I’m ending the call now,” the woman warns.

I take a deep breath as I tell the woman, “You’re sure Mr. Talbot would approve of you hanging up on his daughter?”

“His daughter?” Fingers click on thekeyboard. A triumphant humph follows. “That means you’re Shiloh. Yes.”

Her condescending tone gets to me.

Instead of telling her where she can stick it, I count to ten while looking down at my outfit for the day.

A black wool dress that falls just over my ankles. Fishnet tights. Black leather combat boots. A dark-gray peacoat. There’s no one to impress today but myself, and yeah, I’m fucking impressed.

My father, on the other hand, would’ve had a coronary.

When I wore something similar to my BA graduation ceremony, he said,“What the hell is this? Extremely unprofessional, Shiloh. Go back and change.”

I didn’t. Kaleb’s mom always puts on the outfits he chooses for her, though. I haven’t seen her wearing anything comfortable, like sweats or pajama pants, in my life.

He’d reward her with appreciative looks. No compliments or anything. Lingering stares and solemn nods. Which, in my dad’s case, equals the highest praise.

She’s okay with being his pretty doll on strings. He’s paying her for it.

All I’ve ever wanted from him was my freedom.

I’m so close to having it.

I smile down at my clothes. At my little rebellion.

I need to look put together enough for the practice hours today, and I’m pretty sure I’ve nailed it.

Fuck Dad and his approval.

---