“Okay.”
“We already talked about your expulsion from school,” she starts. “You got home, then what happened?”
My mind slips effortlessly back to that gray day. I feel the mist collecting on my face as I trudge toward home.
I’m walking alone because someone from Lo’s group home came for her, but the school couldn’t reach my parents to talk to them about my suspension, so they finally let me go on my own. When I get to the house, I can hear yelling from the sidewalk, which is nothing new. Someone’s always yelling. Usually Dad. Stoned people aren’t as mellow as you’d think.
I walk in and find the source of the yelling is some massive guy I’ve never seen before. He’s younger than Dad and has a raised red scar down his left cheek.
“You said that last week!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth into Dad’s face.
Dad’s in the same stained wife-beater he’s been wearing for the last week, the fringe of his stringy dark hair long and wild around his face. And he’s stoned, as usual. I can tell by the way he just stares at the guy for too long before answering. “I fucked up, but I’ll get your cash.”
When I close the door behind me, they both look up.
“What are you looking at?” Dad snarls.
I take the stairs two at a time up to my room. When I glance down from the top, the guy is watching me.
“I know who has money,” Dad says, but I don’t wait to hear who. I close my bedroom door and lock it, then curl onto my mattress on the floor and press my pillow over my head.
The bang a few minutes later sounds like something exploding, even through my pillow, I toss it aside and hear Destiny scream, “Get the fuck out of here!”
“Your pop says you’re stashing cash. He owes me.” It’s muffled through the wall, but there’s no mistaking the gravel voice of the guy from downstairs.
“I don’t have any cash,” Destiny says, but it’s a lie. She’s been working secretly at night and putting the money away to get us out of here.
There’s another crash, things being tossed.
“You don’t want to give me the cash?” the guy bellows. “I got another idea how your pop can settle his debt.”
When Destiny screams, I grab my knife and move to the hall. Dad’s not there. The wood of Destiny’s door frame is splintered around the latch.
The huge guy has Destiny pinned against the wall with a massive hand across her throat. He’s torn her leggings and underwear and is his pushing down his pants. Her face is purple and she’s choking out garbled sounds as she tries to push him away.
There’s a second I can’t make a sound, but when the guy groans, I finally find my voice.
“Get off her!”
He looks over his shoulder at me. “I’ll get off her when I’m done. Then your dad’s gonna finish paying me back when I fuck you too.”
His dick out of his pants. It’s hard and purple. I’ve never seen one like that before and there’s a second all I can do is stare.
“You like what you see, little girl? How ‘bout you come here and suck it.” He grabs Destiny’s hair and knocks her head hard against the wall twice. She goes down in a heap and he lunges for my arm. I swing out with the knife. Because my attention is so focused between his legs, that’s where the point lands. It sinks through the hairy white flesh where his leg meets his body.
“You little bitch!” he bellows, swinging a fist into my face. It connects and I feel a firecracker go off in my cheek. I stagger back, but I have a death grip on the knife and it rips through his leg when I pull it out.
My ass hits the floor as blood spurts in a stream from the gash in his leg, just like in the movies. He comes for me again, but stumbles when his leg won’t hold him. He goes down on a knee, then drops to his hands.
“You fucking cunt!” he growls, but it doesn’t have the threat behind it now. It’s more a mix of horrified disbelief. He makes another grab for me and gets my leg, but when I kick out and slash at his arm with the knife, he howls and rolls onto his back, pressing a hand to where blood is still gushing from his leg.
“What the fuck!”
Dad’s voice comes from behind me and I spin, the bloody knife still in my hand. His eyes are wild, and standing in the splintered door, he looks just like Jack Nicholson in that scene from The Shining.
I drop the knife and backpedal to the wall, barely caring that I’m only a few inches from the bleeding guy. He’s pale now, and his screams have tapered into groans.
“Leave her alone.” Destiny’s voice is a choked rasp.
When I look toward her, she’s pulling herself to her feet, her leggings torn and hanging from one thigh. Dad starts toward me, but Destiny lunges for the knife. She’s too unsteady, though, and goes down on the floor.