Chapter 13

13

Shannon had developed a pattern of staying late at school most nights because she didn’t want to be home. She left in the early-morning hours, trying to spend as little time as possible with her dad. Graduation day couldn’t come soon enough for her. A small part of her wanted to blow off her schoolwork, but she put in too much work to breeze through the end not caring. Because she did care, probably too much. If she passed with anything over a forty, she’d still be the top grade in the class. Maybe it was pride, or just her desire to do well, either way, she wanted the top grade.

Her father hadn’t changed much, not really, he just became more intense. He added chores to her busy schedule, then tried to make her life hell when she couldn’t possibly get them done. And he didn’t add them and let her know; he would wait until she was almost ready for bed before he told her some stupid task had to be accomplished before she headed to bed. Then he’d spew condescending rants at her. She was tired of it all and wanted to escape.

It was the Sunday before her last week of school, and she was in the middle of studying for her tests when her dad barged into her room, his eyes bright.

“Get out here, now.”

She glanced up, wishing she could tell him no. It was easier to give in to his crazy demands. Soon she’d be gone, and he wouldn’t be able to rule her life. She set her books aside, knowing she still had at least two hours of studying to get through all the information. The two tests on Monday weren’t as hard as the one she would have on Tuesday, but she still wanted to make a good grade

“Hurry up,” her dad barked when she was midway down the hall.

“I’m coming.” She stepped into the den, thinking when she moved out, she’d never use brown and oranges like her father had. The room was depressing and dark. She paused a few steps into the room as she spied a stranger. Panic flared. What was her father up to? The guy was older, his frown not doing him any favors in making him look decent. A yellow stain trailed down his shirt, over his keg-sized belly and onto the leg of his pants. The grease slick in his hair scared her. She wouldn’t want to touch his hair.

“Get over here,” her father growled, anger tinging his voice.

She hesitated. Would he hit her again? She moved deeper into the room, keeping her distance from her dad and the stranger.

“Who is this?” she asked, worry increasing at his frown.

“He’s Bruce. He owes me. Said he’d marry you.”

She shook her head, fighting the rising panic. Not in a million years would she date some stranger her father brought in, and she sure as hell wouldn’t marry him, even if he looked amazing. That wasn’t how marriage worked in her mind.

“I’m not marrying him.” Her voice shook, and she hated that he could hear her fear.

“The hell you aren’t. You’re damn lucky someone like Bruce was willing to take you. ”

“No way.” She held up her hands and backed up.

Her dad rushed forward and grabbed her arm, pain flashing as he squeezed tighter. He yanked her hard, almost throwing her off balance. She fought his hold, praying she could get free.

“You will marry him. And then you’ll do as he says,” her dad yelled, his eyes flashing with anger.

He yanked her again, almost making her fall. She’d been ignoring the stranger until that point. She glanced up, seeing lust fire in his eyes as he licked his cracked lips. Revulsion snaked through her. The guy was getting off on her being jerked around.

She yanked her arm hard, but her father only jerked her back to him even harder.

“No!” she yelled as she stomped on his foot. He screamed and let go, freeing her from his clutches. Shannon lurched away, trying to stay away from both her dad and the stranger. Her wrist throbbed. It was her right arm, her scissor hand. Her final haircut would be judged for a grade, and now she would have to deal with an injury. This could derail her. What if she was in too much pain to do the cut?

Panic rose and only increased as her father’s face turned even redder. He threw up his hand, and she reached back, feeling her way as she slid along the furniture and the wall, looking for an escape.

“Then get out!” her father yelled.

Her head spun, and her stomach rolled. How would she finish school without a place to live? She needed somewhere to sleep. Her equipment—where would she store it? She needed her things for her tests and her state board finals.

“Get out!” Her dad picked up a bottle off the scarred side table and threw it at her.

The glass shattered on the floor at her feet. The shriek she let loose echoed around them. She turned and raced down the hall to her room, her father’s words lost in the haze of her mind.

She slammed the door and turned the little lock thing as she backed away, fear pinging all her nerves.

The pounding on her door started almost immediately. “Get out. Get out now. I’m getting my gun.”

Panic flashed.

Would her dad shoot her?

Probably.

She rifled through her closet, grabbing her suitcase and a bag before she reached for her equipment for class. Usually, she kept everything at school, but she’d brought home a few items here and there, and then she had her good shears.

There was too much to grab, too many clothes, too many books, too much stuff. She didn’t have long. Her dad would be back with a gun. A gun? Who the freak uses a gun on their own child?

The shouting from her dad outside her door made her jump. Did he have the gun? He wanted her to leave. Jesus, why had she stayed here so long. She could have worked after school, but it would have meant almost no sleep since she was in class for almost forty hours each week.

A loud thump sounded on the door, and she jumped. Panic increased. The door flew open, and her father stepped in, gun in hand.

“Get out, or I’ll shoot you.”

Fear swamped her. Sweat ran down her face and between her shoulder blades. Her hands shook so much she dropped a box of bobby pins, sending them flying across the carpet.

“I-I’m hurrying. I need my stuff.”

He moved over and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her out of her room. She shrieked, yelling for him to let go. He clamped down harder, hurting her. He was bigger, and he used that to his advantage, pulling her out of the house. Kicking and screaming, she tried to escape his hold, but it was no use. He was too strong, and she couldn’t get any leverage.

Once outside he shoved her hard, causing her to trip and fall to the dirt, her hands left stinging as she stopped her fall. He fired off one shot, hitting the dirt beside her.

“Jesus Christ!” She flipped over. Her hands and feet flapped about, floundering as she tried to escape. Even though she wanted to stay and fight, the need to flee took over. Her dad had always been a little crazy, but he was unhinged today.

“My stuff. I have to have it for school.”

“Get out! You won’t marry who I say, then you’re not welcome here.”

The need to graduate overrode her need for safety, and she stood, squaring her shoulders. “Trust me, once I get my stuff, you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Out!” he screamed as he fired the gun into the air.

She flinched, but if she left, her things would be thrown out. She wouldn’t be able to cut hair or have the equipment she needed. Sure, she could pass the test without her books, but she needed her shears.

The chirp of police sirens drew her attention for a half second. When she glanced back at her father, the gun was lifted, barrel pointed straight at her.

She stumbled backward over the chipped concrete walkway, trying to escape her dad, but she fell. Pain raced up her arms and her head pounded. How had she gotten to this place ?

From the ground, she stared up at her father, pleading with her gaze for him to stop this. Her mind flashed to Striker and the baby and panic set in. Everything buzzed and her need to protect the baby grew. She couldn’t allow her father to kill her, not with the baby growing inside her, not without saying goodbye to Striker.