7. Chapter 7

7

Hope

LYING IN BED, I'M READING ANOTHER ROMANCE BOOK WITH THE DYSTOPIAN TROPE. The genre I mostly pick because I love the adventure, the thrill, and finding love in the middle of the chaos. You're on your own, but you also have someone who'd be by your side no matter what.

Rolling over to my left side, I scoot closer to the lamp I bought yesterday, so I can read late at night without brightening up my entire room.

My phone lights up with a text message.

Marie: Sit with me at lunch tomorrow. I want to introduce you to my boyfriend.

I quickly write back.

Hope: Sure, if you're okay with it.

Marie: I'm 1000000000% sure.

Smiling at her text, I switch off my phone.

Marie and I have become good friends in the past week. One moment she was a stranger to me, and now she's sending me links to TV show quizzes to see which character we are. Most of them I haven't watched, which she noted in her to-do list for us. I've also learned she's a music enthusiast. Our messages are filled with song recommendations she thinks I'll love. I listened to them and immediately fell in love with them. In a few days, she's tied this bond between us that feels real, strong, and important. I can't imagine how I went through life without it. Friendship is such an amazing thing. I used to read about it and now I get to experience it.

I don't realize I'm grinning until my cheeks begin to hurt.

It's stupid, but I'm happy.

The door unlocks downstairs, and the thud reverberates in the house. I remember I locked the door.

Sitting up in worry, I swing my legs down and slip into my shoes.

The quieter I descend the stairs, the louder the noise gets in the kitchen, which confuses me. Mom can't be in the kitchen at eleven p.m. She has a night shift and if there was any change she'd let me know. I have no texts from her.

When I enter the kitchen, my spine straightens into a rod.

Dad is rummaging through cabinets, his movements frantic as he searches for something. His hands are shaking, and he's mumbling words I can't hear.

For a minute I stand and stare at him. Fear, shock, and sadness have paralyzed me.

It took him three months to show up. Three months that went by without fights. Three months that were safe.

I'm not happy that he's back. I'm terrified. So afraid of what he'll do now.

Growing up he never attacked me. Maybe because I'd freeze on the spot and wouldn't move a muscle.

There's flight and fight instinct, but there's also a third one; freeze. That was how my body reacted when he'd hurt Mom, and I'd watch it happen. Guilt always visited me later when he'd stop, and she'd ask me to go to my room so she could cry and tend to her injuries. I'd lay in bed and think about it; how I failed her, how I didn't fight him, how pathetic I was.

I still think a lot about those moments and him.

My throat is dry, but I push forward the word. "Dad?"

At the sound of my voice, he turns around. Red eyes, messy hair, and weeks' worth of stubble . The plaid shirt he's wearing has torn buttons and is ripped from places, his rugged jeans have patches of dust, and his boots are covered with dirt leaving a trail of footsteps on the floor.

Three months later he looks like he's been through hell. But why is he here? It's obvious he needs money, and from the looks of it, he needs it for alcohol.

"Where is the money?" Those are his first words to me. No greeting or anything. Not that I expected it. We've never been close.

"There's no money. Mom has yet to get her paycheck." I hold my book tightly. I feel safe knowing I have it in my hands.

Dad rakes his shaky fingers through his hair. "She always keeps some here." He points to the refrigerator. "I took the last stash, there should be more."

Since Dad is six foot he easily reaches the top of the old appliance and looks for money that isn't there. He knocks down a few items and anxiously runs his hands through his hair.

Worry clings to my heart at seeing him like that. "Dad, maybe you should sit down. I can get you—"

"Shut up! Shut the hell up. I need a bottle and there's no money," he yells at me, then walks in my direction. Gripping my shoulder, he brings me closer to him. "You must have some for lunch."

What?

He's asking me for the money that I need for school. He can't possibly be that desperate.

"N-no I don't. I swear." Fear wraps around me like chains. Instead of Mom, it's me.

If I had money I'd give it to him, just so he gets away from me.

I freeze in his hold. My stomach tightens in a string of knots that pull my muscles together. It's a dreadful, strange feeling that I used to experience three months ago and now it's back.

"You're lying," he hisses, and I smell his stinking breath. He's drunk.

Panic takes over me like a storm. I start trembling as he glares down at me with his fuming brown eyes that I inherited from him. They hold no softness for me.

"You're a shitty liar." His big hand wraps around my neck and he backs me up against the counter. He pushes me and I knock over the dirty pots and dishes near the sink.

"Give me the fucking money." He squeezes my throat.

I try to pry his hand off my neck, but he's so much stronger than me. His grip closes around my windpipe and interrupts my breathing.

Shaking my head, I croak out the words in mere whispers, "I-I don't have it. Please."

Please let me go.

Don't hurt me like you used to hurt Mom.

This isn't that night. He won't kill me.

Why is it happening?

Dark eyes bore into mine. I try to find my father in them, but I don't. This man isn't the father who never abused me. Right now, he's the man who's looking for a bottle and is tuned out.

I always imagined what I'd do if he returned; how things would change, how time and space would give him some perspective, how he'd become a better man and treat Mom better.

This isn't how I imagined it. He's even worse than before.

I didn't want to believe Nadina, but now, seeing him with my own eyes I'm having a hard time trying to grasp the truth.

My hands clamp around his wrist, and I try to get him off me.

My eyes fill with tears and blur my sight. But I keep trying.

"Please," I beg.

Something snaps in him, and he lets go of me. He stands there and watches me, then storms out of the house.

Oh my God.

What just happened?

In disbelief, I sit down on the floor. My heart is beating so loud.

Opening my mouth, I attempt to inhale oxygen, but I get nothing. It's like smoke is everywhere or all the air has been sucked out of the room, and there's a vacuum around me; something I only studied in Physics but never thought I'd experience in real life.

What just happened?

Wiping my tears away, I stand up by holding the edge of the counter, then lean against it.

Dad never touched me before. He always lashed out at Mom but never directed violence toward me. The most I got from him was a mean glare.

When I watched him choke her that night three months ago, I realized, perhaps, he was filled with darkness. Darkness that love can't erase. Whatever he was dealing with at work, he projected it at home on her but never me.

What just happened?

My mind rewinds the last ten minutes trying to piece everything together. Nothing makes sense.

My neck hurts, and my throat feels like it's been bruised from the inside.

Picking up the pots I put them in the sink to wash them. One of the dishes is broken, so I throw away the pieces. Turning on the tap I wash everything and then tidy the kitchen. I do everything on autopilot.

A while later, I lie in my bed and pull the covers over me. My novel is long forgotten.

One part of my brain tells me to warn Mom, but the other side screams not to. She'll take him back and he's in no state to return. He's even worse than when he left.

He attacked me.

Some sick part of me was happy that he left. We were free of him.

I loved my father when I was very little, but when he started hitting Mom, that love disappeared. Tonight, he tried to choke me, and my heart is just filled with hatred and anger for him.

Is he going to come back?

I hope not.

The next day, I go to school wearing a red turtleneck to cover the bruises. I don't own makeup because school, home, and the library are the only places I go to.

Luckily, the weather is a bit chilly today, despite it being August. So, wearing a turtleneck might not make me look like a weirdo. I wear my hair down hoping to hide the marks that peek out from under the collar. The last thing I want is for someone to see them and ask me questions—not that anyone would. Only more gossip will circle the school, and I don't want to be a headline.

Opening my locker I'm about to gather textbooks when—

"Hey!" Marie chirps.

Startled, I drop my novel on the floor, as my pulse shoots up.

What is happening to me?

My hands shake a little, so I brush them against my black jeans, repeatedly.

Gosh.

She'll think I'm insane.

We've only been friends for a week.

What is wrong with me?

Fix it.

Marie picks up the book and gives me a worried look. "Are you okay?"

No.

She knows something is up with me.

Damage control. Now!

Smacking on a smile I say, "I'm fine. Just surprised to see you."

That sounds reasonable.

Marie grins.

Together we walk down the hallway as she tells me about her boyfriend. "So, my boyfriend is Sebastian. We've been together since last year. We were friends first, but then he asked me out. I swear he's the best guy in the world. You'd like him right away, he's super nice. Heath is too."

I arch an eyebrow and Marie sighs.

"Heath is questionable, but he's good. He's nice to people once he knows them."

"It's fine. He told me to stay away from him."

"Oh no! Don't listen to him." She flies her hand in the air. "He says a lot of meaningless stuff like that. When you know him you learn he's just full of bullshit."

I smile at her, liking how she knows her friend so well. I didn't know Heath had friends. He mostly wanders alone and ignores anyone who approaches him. That doesn't show he has friends.

We stop by the classroom. Others brush past us without paying attention to either of us. We might as well be invisible to them, or irrelevant.

Marie's hazel eyes light up. "We'll be sitting together at lunch. You'll see how less of an asshole he is."

"He's famous around school for being a…" The curse gets lost in my mouth.

"Asshole. Yes, he is. A big one. A six feet and two inches tall asshole."

I shake my head in amusement. "You guys will be in the cafeteria?"

"Yes."

It's happening.

I'll be sitting with actual people in the cafeteria for the first time.

I won't be in the library reading my book.

"Are you sure it'd be okay—"

"One thousand percent," she says quickly, diminishing all my self-doubts.

"Okay then. I'll see you at lunch."

Marie giggles. "I'm seeing you in the third period, Hope."

With that, she disappears into the crowd of students.