Page 21 of Tainted Love

Fuck.

I nod, acting casual. “Spencer what?”

He smirks. “You should run along home now,” he says, ignoring my question.

Fine by me.

I shuffle forward to exit the kitchen, taking careful steps to stay as far away from him as possible. As I enter the foyer, I notice my black blouse hanging from the banister. I grab it and race up the stairs to fetch my jeans and shoes from the bedroom. I throw everything on as fast as possible, tying off the front of my blouse to hold it closed and hoping for the best.

I keep an eye out for Spencer again as I head back downstairs, happy to see that he’s not lingering anywhere between me and the exit.

I pull open the door and pause. A white envelope is taped to a mirror on the wall with Mr. Terrance Vaughn written in bold, red ink.

Daddy’s adjusted debt, no doubt. I guess I played my part well.

I take the envelope with me and bolt out the door.

* * *

“Lucy?!”

Ugh. Crap.

His voice calls to me the second I walk inside the apartment. My apartment. I kick the door closed behind me and grab a sweater off a nearby chair. I throw it on over my tattered blouse before he can notice the state of it.

“You know, Dad,” I say, “I gave you a key for emergencies only.”

My father steps into the living room from the kitchen. There are dark circles under his eyes like he’s been awake all night.

“I’d say this qualifies.” He looks me up and down. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

His mouth fidgets on his contorted face. There must be a million questions on his tongue right now and not a single one of them would be appropriate for a man to ask his daughter.

I hold out the envelope as I pass by him. “This is for you.” It slips from his hands as I drop it, but he quickly snatches it off the floor.

“He didn’t break any toes?”

“Is that all you care about?” I scoff. “God forbid your star dancer takes the season off.”

“That’s not—”

“Look, Dad… I appreciate the concern. It’s sweet, really, but… I kind of just want to be alone right now.”

He furrows his brow. “What did he do to you?”

I fall onto my sofa and rub the bridge of my nose where a headache is quickly forming. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“Were you safe?”

I groan. “Jesus, Dad…”

“I’m just asking…”

“I still have my implant.”

“That’s not the only thing to protect against.”

---