I wince, pressing my fingers too hard on my sore cheek. It’s definitely going to bruise. I should just raise a red flag saying, ‘I’ve been sneaking behind your back.’
“I’ll see you later?” Camden asks, that flirtatious smirk of his making me weak in the knees. He tugs on my fingers that are holding his hand, refusing to let go.
A disgruntled cough sounds from the porch, catching my attention. My head whips toward the house, finding my dad staring down at me. He eyes zero in on my cheek, and his face reddens with anger. I swallow hard, awaiting the words to leave his mouth.
“You’ve been off fighting again, haven’t you?”
“I um—” I fidget on my feet, trying to look anywhere but at him. I don’t want to lie, he knows I have been.
“You should go,” I whisper at Camden.
“You sure?”
I silently nod. After Camden is out of sight I peek through my eyelashes at my furious dad.
I’m nervous of what kind of punishment I’ll receive. Surely I’ll be grounded for life. I wish he would just understand I need this outlet. Everyone is coping with Mom in their own way, fighting is mine. When I’m not in the gym, I feel like the world is swallowing me up with its darkness. I become as violent and ruthless as the reaper that is hovering over our house.
“I will not tolerate this. This ends now.” Dad shakes his head and stomps into the house.
“Wait, what are you doing?” My words come out frantic as I follow my dad into the house.
Giving Camden a meek smile, I pull my hand from his and head toward my house.
“I promised your mother that I would take care of you girls, and that’s what I’m doing.”
Walking into my room he grabs the posters of celebrity fighters, and tears them off the wall. The sharp sound of paper ripping echoing throughout the room.
“NO!” I run up to him, and tug on his arm, willing him to stop.
“It might have been cute when you were little, Tate. Hell, I might have even influenced it, but fun and games are over. It’s time to grow up.
His head whips back and forth, looking for his next item of destruction when his eyes land on the blue crate in the corner of my room. My prized collection of magazines. Some of them are even signed by indie fighters.
He marches forward and picks them up, and my heart thuds against my chest in panic. The idea of them being thrown in the garbage too hard to bear. The dew will make them wet, causing the color to run and pages to stick. They’ll be ruined. Years of collecting, gone.
I grab the crate, pulling it with all my might.
“Dad, you can’t do this,” I sob, tugging on the blue plastic crate until my knuckles are white. “Please!”
That rage and anger that boils deep within my soul surfaces, and before I can think about my actions, one of my hands releases the crate and I slam it into my dad’s face.
The crate drops to the floor, as he clutches his face in surprise.
A burning ache races down my arm, settling in my knuckles.
Surprise flashes across my face, before I mask it with a death stare. Pretending my hand doesn’t feel like a dozen bees just stung it.
“You’re killing us all,” I push through gritted teeth.
His face reddens, and he harshly grips me by the arm, tugging me out of the room.
“Let go of me!” I strain against his hold, shoving him and slapping him as he drags me out of the house. Before I can steady myself he pushes me out the door, causing me to stumble down the stairs.
I can’t help the tears streaming down my face as I stare at my father.
“You will obey my rules under my roof, or you won’t live here anymore!” he points at me, his cheek glowing red where I hit him.
“Maybe I don’t want to live here anymore!” I sob.
“I hope you don’t mean that.” He shakes his head, and slams the door shut.
Within seconds, Camden rushes from his house to my side. Our houses are close, and I know my window was open. He saw and heard the whole thing.
“Babe, what the hell?” he whispers, his hands snaking around me and cocooning me into his warm hold.
“I hit my dad,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“I know, I saw.”
“I don’t know what to do Camden.” My voice cracks as I grab at his shirt like a lifeline. Hoping he has the magic words to make everything better, to make the pain vanish that is vining its way through my body.
He pulls me an arm’s length away and looks me in the eye. His vivid blue eyes looking down into my soul.
“You know I’m here for you, but you’ve got to work through this with your dad, Tate. My dad is a piece of shit, and could care less about my mother and me. Your dad, he just cares too much.”