"Yeah, I knew," he said nonchalantly as he shrugged.
He took a long swig of his drink before picking up the bottle from the floor and refilling the glass up to the top. My father always did this. He refilled his glass constantly, never letting it get below half full. I think he was scared of ever seeing it empty.
"Did you ever think of telling me? That maybe I might want to know my mother died eighteen years ago?" My voice grew louder as I felt the anger rise from my chest.
The man I called father whipped his head back to me, looking shocked by my outburst. Fueled by alcohol, his shock turned to raw rage. It was a look I knew all too well.
"No, I didn't think of telling you shit. And why should I? Your mother was a bitch and a whore. Why would I ever waste a breath saying anything about that woman?" he spat.
I got to my feet, not wanting to hear anymore. I'd come here in search of answers, and the only answer I'd found was more proof that my father had no soul, which was something I'd learned long ago.
"Don't you turn your back to me, you little slut. You're just like her, pretty and willing to spread your legs for anyone," he said, his words slurring again, as he rose from the chair. He swayed a bit, but he managed to right himself fairly quickly before he came after me.
"Turn around and face me, girl," he yelled, yanking my arm and forcing me back around.
Pain raced up my arm as he jerked me around roughly. His shouting hurt my ears, reminding me of the nights I used to lie in my bed with my pillows above my head, wishing someone would come rescue me. My parents had been loud when they'd fought, and it had been endless, but no one had ever come. In our neighborhood, domestic disputes were part of the culture, and no one bothered getting involved in each other's business.
"Dad, I'm sorry I came. I'll leave now, okay? I'll be back on Thursday with some groceries," I said softly, trying to calm him down. My hands were shaking, and I could feel my heart beating like a drum in my chest.
Still holding my arm, he squeezed harder, causing me to wince.
"You are one ungrateful bitch, you know it? Do you know how much it cost me to raise you? Do you have any idea how many hours I had to work in that shithole of a factory to bring home enough money to feed you?"
"I know, Dad. I'm grateful, really."
I tried to pull out of his grip, but he just clamped down tighter, his overgrown nails biting into my skin.
"If you were really grateful, you'd bring me a bottle of whiskey with those shit groceries you bring every week, or you'd give me some money every now and then. God knows I paid enough of it for you over the years."
"I'm not giving you money, Dad," I whimpered, tears running down my face, knowing I should have never come here.
My father yelled in frustration, and the blow to the head he gave me was the last thing I remembered.
~Declan~
The cryptic phone call was my first warning that something was wrong.
Leah and I had planned to watch a movie after my workday ended. It had been a long day of filming, but the director had listened to me, and I felt like I had actually learned and contributed to the film. Pulling me aside, he'd said I had a lot of promise and would even consider bringing me on as an assistant director for another project. It would be a much smaller project, but still, it was directing. It was a huge step, and I couldn't wait to share it with Leah.
When I'd called her, I could tell the minute she'd answered, something had been off. Her voice had sounded flat, and she'd tried to get me off the phone the second she'd answered, saying she didn't feel good and just wanted to be alone for the night. She'd said she came home early from work and just needed some rest. When I'd offered to come over and take care of her, she'd paused.
Then, she'd said, "Come on, Declan. We're not a couple. We don't do that."
The f**k we don't.
She'd basically hung up immediately after, and I had been left wondering what the hell had just happened. Had I missed something? Seen signs and feelings that weren't there?
Panic stepped in as I'd begun to wonder if I had been walking down the same path I had years earlier, loving a woman more than she loved me. But then, I'd remembered the look of pure joy on Leah's face as we'd danced in the snow and later spent the night under our tacky Christmas tree, making love for hours.
No. Something is wrong.
And per Leah's usual methods, she was shutting everyone out.
Well, f**k that.
Twenty minutes later, I was unlocking her door with the new key we had made, only to find out the chain had been locked as well.
"Leah, it's me. Unlock the door."
I heard footsteps as she made her way toward the front door, but the chain stayed in place.
"Declan, I told you...I don't feel good. I just want to be alone. I'll talk to you later."
Her voice was rough and raw, like she'd been crying, and the words she said lacked conviction, like she was moving through the motions, but her brain had already checked out.
"Leah, this shit might work with others, but I'm not falling for it. You're not shutting me out. Unlock this door."
"I don't want to see you tonight. Just go away," she said softly.
Yeah...those words would have stung if I didn't know she was lying through her teeth.
"Open the f**king door, Leah, before I break it down. Don't think I won't."
The chain unlatched, and I plowed through the entrance. She turned and walked ahead of me. Dressed in her fuzzy robe and slippers, her hair was down and loose around her face. She always wore it up when she was home. She hated having it down when she slept.
"I'm going to bed. You can stay if you want. I'll see you in the morning if you're still around," she said, heading off to her bedroom.
She hadn't even looked in my direction since I walked in. Just as her bedroom door was about to click, I pushed it open and flicked on the light.
"What the hell is going on, Leah? You're acting strange. You won't tell me what's wrong, and —motherfucker!"
Just as I was delivering my speech, she turned toward me, and I finally saw her face. Her eye was nearly swollen shut, her beautiful cheek was now a mixture of blue and green, and her lip was cut.
I came to her, my eyes wild and frantic, as I started checking every inch of her body, parting her robe until it fell to the floor. My hands shook as I fought back the flood of emotions threatening to take me over as I noticed the hand-shaped bruise near a sprinkling of cuts that were clearly from fingernails. Suddenly, I saw red.
"Who did this?" I asked roughly.
She just shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks, until she collapsed on the bed with her face in her hands as she sobbed.