Page 19 of Off-Limits
“Dad.”
As quick as the sadness and the lick of love surfaces, it’s doused.
His features harden, and he lifts the stubby and takes a swig. I can hear my mother calling him from the backroom.
“Come back to take the house hey? You think cause I’m sick that I’ll leave this hole to you? You’re just like your mother,” he hisses, staggering.
The tears I was holding back slide down my face and I sniff, straightening my back. I won’t allow him to do this to me again.
When my mother stumbles behind him, her once dark hair fading into grey, her dark eyes rimmed in black, I hiccup through a sob.
She looks sick as well.
I can’t do this. Not now.
I turn on my heel to hightail it the fuck out of there, but just as I descend the first step my mother calls my name.
“Dottie? Is that you, bub?”
I close my eyes, her voice boring into me, and burying me six feet deep with the longing that I know won’t last. It never does. I shake my head once and rush down the stairs quickly, leaving a string of cursing words from my father behind me and my mother yelling at him.
“What the fuck did you do this time, Lewis?”
“Shut your whore mouth, Mani, before I close it for you. Maybe you should run back to your paedophile father.” He slurs, and I pick up my speed, thankful I decided to wear my converse.
When I can no longer hear them, I find the brick wall of an alleyway and rest my back against it, sliding down until I’m crouched on the floor. With my head in my hands, I allow the little girl inside me to lose control.
I cry myself into a river of despair, grief, and pain. One I fear I will never recover from, no matter how long I stay away or the distance from this fucking hellhole.
The next morning,I wake feeling like death warmed up. My eyes feel like sand is wedged beneath the lids and my stomach is rolling. After I cried myself to sleep, I barely slept for thirty minutes at a time.
Releasing a leaden sigh, I force myself to get out of bed. A shower. That’s what I need. Walking toward the bathroom, I slow as I pass Damon’s room. I push the door a little. It creaks, surprising me, and I stumble backward, feeling like I’ve been caught snooping and rush into the ensuite bathroom.
Moving into the shower, I strip my clothes off and throw them out the glass door and turn the water on. My heart bangs in my chest like a pagan drum, and although I’ve done nothing wrong, I feel guilty.
Focusing on the task at hand, I wash myself and hair quickly and get out. I need to be downstairs in fifteen minutes, and I have to admit, I’m grateful because it will keep me from being inside my own head.
Pulling on a pair of ripped blue jeans, I pair it with an off the shoulder black top. Combing my hands through my purple locks, I apply some mascara to my lashes, then slip my feet into my converse, before making my way downstairs.
As soon as I sit down at the desk, the phone starts ringing, and Harry pops his head around the corner. “Morning, Dottie.”
Then he’s gone and I’m left with a stupid grin on my face.
The first few hours go by fast, but just like yesterday, the second half drags. Sighing, I pick up my phone.
Four fucking messages from the Tin Man.
Blossom.
I hope you’re not ignoring me again.
I can’t get those damn pictures out of my head, you little minx. And my hand is cursing you for it.
All jokes aside… I just want to talk to you. I don’t understand the magnetism between us, but I’m done questioning it as well. Please think about it. I’ll be waiting. Tin Man
I know without even checking in the mirror that my face is red. I start typing my message.
Is that so? I don’t believe you. Maybe you should show me.
