Page 41 of Her Dark Angel

But for some strange reason, when his blue eyes meet mine from across the room, he smiles. I don’t recall a time my father has ever smiled at me in the fourteen years I’ve been alive. The action makes me uncomfortable.

I shift my body on the couch and watch as my father stumbles toward the worn beige couch. He plops down on the cushion beside me and grunts loudly. He reeks of BO and alcohol. As much as I want to cover my nose, I don’t because it’ll only make him mad at me. And for the first time in my life, my father isn’t looking at me like I’m a stranger in his house.

“Nash,” he says lowly. His lips wrap around the bottle and he tips his head back slightly to consume the liquid. He wipes the back of his mouth and glances over at me. The light illuminating from the small television screen casts a shadow across his face. “Is your mother home?”

I shake my head. “N-no, she’s at work.”

Dad nods and turns to look straight ahead. “Good. Good.”

We sit in silence for a painfully long time, neither of us speaking. I don’t know what to say to him and I’m sure he doesn’t know what to say to me. Either way, sitting on the couch with my father brings me a joy I didn’t know I had been searching for. I hope this feeling will last forever, even if we sit in silence.

Dad runs a hand down the side of his face and chugs the last of the beer. He throws the bottle across the room, the glass shattering against the wall.

I jump in surprise but hold back the gasp threatening to spill from my lips. All I can do is stare at Dad as he grips the material of his trousers, his chest heaving with each ragged breath he takes.

“Your mother is a whore, Nash,” he finally says, licking his chapped lips. “A fucking whore. I’m sure you’ve seen the men she brings home.” He chuckles dryly, shaking his head. “She thinks I don’t know about what she is doing behind my back, but I know everything. Everything!”

My heart pounds harshly against my ribcage and a sweat breaks out across my upper lip. It’s not unusual for Dad to talk about Mom this way, especially when they get into an argument, but I don’t understand why he’s telling me all of this.

His head snaps to the left to look at me. His bloodshot eyes meet mine as he sneers. “Every time I look at you, all I can see is her. You are a constant reminder of why I drink. It’s to cope with the fact that she ruined my life when she had you. You both ruined my fucking life and now I’m stuck living with a whore wife and a useless son.”

I stare back at him. It’s all I can do. I knew my father hated me, but didn’t know to what extent. I don’t know how my being born ruined his life, but I’m certainly not going to ask, especially when he’s this upset.

Dad chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. “God, I fucking hate my life.” He stands from the couch, his knees wobbling beneath him as he does. He points to the shattered glass on the floor. “Clean this up. I don’t want to see it when I come back from the kitchen.”

Knowing his track record of using his fists when he’s angry, I jump up from the couch as soon as he leaves the living room.

In the darkness of the night, I use my hands to scoop up the shattered glass. Pain shoots up my arms each time a slice of glass digs into my skin, drawing blood. But I ignore the searing pain and continue to sweep the shards into my hands as droplets of blood land on the rotting hardwood floor.

The sticker of the Budweiser bottle stares back at me from the beer-soaked floor, the unshed tears in my eyes reflecting in the glass.

Over the years, I’ve learned to bury my feelings because of my parents and the things they say to me. I feared if I didn’t, I might break. I don’t want that to happen. I can’t be weak.

I refuse to be weak.

One day, I plan to leave this house of horrors, so no matter what happens, I cannot break. I won’t.

15

KINSLEY

Present—1989.

He’s fucking late.

I look down at the dainty gold watch on my wrist that my mom gave me for my sixteenth birthday. Nash was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago to pick me up for dinner, and now he’s running late doing God knows what.

Huffing, I pace the front porch, kicking at small rocks and twigs to pass the time. I called my friend Matt at his restaurant downtown earlier to see if he could fit us in tonight. He owns Cedar Pine, a five-star restaurant. With it being a high-end establishment, many celebrities and politicians frequent it for its top-notch food and even better wine. It’s a hotspot in Los Angeles, to say the least.

Matt and I first met in English class in our freshman year of high school after I moved from Hart. His charming smile and geeky glasses made me feel at ease around him, and I had a gut feeling right then and there I could trust this man. And he proved me right. We got on like a house on fire and he even became close friends with Sadie.

At the time, I had no desire to trust a man after what I had been through years prior, but Matt showed me with his kindness and easygoing vibe that not all men were bad—just some.

After we graduated high school, the three of us went our separate ways. I got more acting roles, Matt worked toward opening his restaurant, and Sadie got into university to obtain a marketing degree. Despite being on different paths in life, we do our best to get together when we can and keep in contact.

I haven’t spoken to Matt in a couple of weeks, so I felt a little guilty calling him up to ask for a table on such short notice, but he reassured me I shouldn’t feel bad and he’s glad he’ll get to see me, even if it’s only brief.

Just another reason to love this man and his kind heart.

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