I kept my voice calm and unaffected. “I’m staying with Whitney.”
“Oh. He’s done with ya, huh? You’re just another one of his whores, just like I thought. I’ve seen the magazines. You just weren’t good ‘nuf.” He laughed, taking such pleasure in belittling me that I couldn’t help but pity him.
Ignoring his taunts, I went to my room to pack. Unable to stop myself, I stepped in front of the tall mirror hanging snuggly against the sky blue wall of my bedroom. My hips were full and curvy, my breasts nice and firm, but, Dad was right, there was nothing special about how I looked. I’d seen the same tabloids my dad had, the ones that sparked his rude and hateful comment. Some of those women pictured on Ace Newman’s arm were gorgeous, like supermodel gorgeous. I was just a small town girl who liked to bake, not exactly arm candy for one of the most notorious players in baseball.
Tears fell from my eyes without consent or my control. I hated that Dad had this power over me, to hurt me so badly. I had to get out of here, not just for a while, but for good!
Hannah stuck her head into my room. “Are you okay?”
“He’s just such an asshole,” I responded, not caring if he could hear me or not.
She came into my room and shut the door behind her. I watched as she sat down on my twin bed and looked around my room. “You really should consider getting your bakery started.”
“I don’t have the money for that. That’s the only reason I still live here, so I can save every penny I can.”
Her eyes brightened with tears, and she grabbed a shirt from my bed, folding it before grabbing another. “I’ll help, and you know Whitney would, for sure. And what about Ace? You’re friends, right?”
I rolled my eyes at her suggestion that Ace Newman would help me with anything other than a mind-blowing orgasm. He was the type of man who only helped himself outside of the bedroom. “No, but I do think it’s time I figured it out.”
“I’m sorry Dad’s so hateful to you.” I watched her eyes fill with concern. What she should have said was she’s sorry that Dad hated me, because it’s obvious he did.
“I’m just glad he doesn’t take it out on you.”
That was another reason I still lived here. I was afraid that once I was truly gone — like gone for good — the old man wouldn’t have me to use as a punching bag anymore. That would leave Hannah in his line of sight.
“You need to get out of here too,” I warned. “Once I’m gone, there’s no telling what he’ll start doing to you.”
She gave me a yeah right eye roll. “I can handle the old man.”
And it was true. She could handle him, I just didn’t know why, or how. Hannah got away with things I’d never dare try.
Whitney told me once that she thought I reminded him of my mother, and that’s why he resented me so badly, but Hannah actually looked more like her than I did.
I challenged him, that’s all I could think of. My strength scared him, made him realize he couldn’t control me. He wanted to beat me down, belittle me, and shake me to the point that I was a quivering mess, and then maybe he could gain control.
Sorry old man, I’m outta here!
“Just call me when you land in New York,” Hannah made me promise as she got up, hugged me, and walked out the door.
I packed everything I needed and plenty that I didn’t, just in case. Whitney paid for the airline ticket, a gesture I truly appreciated, so I had some extra cash to spend on additional baggage without interfering with money for food, drinks, and entertainment. I’d saved everything I made working in this tiny kitchen hour after hour, day after day, but it still didn’t amount to much, at least not in the larger scheme of things.
Tomorrow would be a new day, a new beginning. I would talk to Whitney about the possibility of staying in New York, and maybe even look into what it would take to open a bakery in the city.
CHAPTER THREE
Holly
Even though the flight attendant had warned everyone to keep their seatbelts securely fastened, the click of them being released sounded all around me even as we were still rolling to the gate. Except for the man next to me. He was snoring his nose off, his belly lifting and falling with the force of each breath. I couldn’t wait to get off this plane, to see Whitney, and to feel the freedom that New York always gave me.
Finally, the light shut off.
First class began unloading before the rest of us mere mortals. It was a luxury I hadn’t experienced yet. Whitney always offered, but it bothered me that she paid for my tickets. I couldn’t handle the thought of her paying that extra cost, and for what? The people exiting the plane from that section didn’t appear to be overly happy, at least not in comparison to the rest of the tired, cramped, and nicotine deprived guests surrounding me. I used to think first class meant feasting on lobsters, getting foot rubs from the flight attendants, and drinking glass after glass of champagne. In reality, those folks looked like tired and irritated flyers when they exited, just like the rest of us.
“Excuse me.” I nudged the large man sitting beside me. He was blocking my exit, and I wanted to get a head start before people flooded the aisle.
He continued to snore, only louder.
Other passengers piled out of their seats and started pulling their suitcases from the overhead compartments. I watched with growing irritation as they all began moving towards the front of the plane to exit. Except me. I was wedged into my tiny space by the man who must surely hold some world record for deepest — and noisiest — sleeper.
“Sir!” I used my elbow this time, jabbing him right in the side.
He came to with several snorts and a bellow, then turned hateful eyes toward me, grunting a few things I’m glad I didn’t understand. Slowly, he worked his abundant frame from the seat, and with sloth-like movements, finally retrieved his luggage only after every single damn person had exited the plane.
The nice flight attendant gave me a sympathetic smile and friendly, “Have a great trip,” when it was finally my turn to trudge off the plane.
I smiled and hurried to the exit. The gate was filling up quickly with passengers for the next flight, scowling at me as if I’d been the one to cause the delay. My snoring nemesis was safely ensconced in a courtesy golf cart, the asshole smirking as he rode on his merry way.
Dick!
Whitney’s face lit up, and her arms flailed in the air as I walked past the security entrance. “Where have you been?” Her voice was filled with urgency and concern.
I rolled my eyes. “I got trapped by the slowest man on the planet.”
“I was afraid you’d changed your mind about coming.”
There was nothing in this world that would’ve made me change my mind about leaving that small house where my dad terrorized my every move. I was free.