Page 56 of Never His Girl

“Fill a bucket with hot water—as hot as you can get it,” I instruct her. “Dump in whatever cleaner you can find. Then, gather every rag in the house.”

I’m so pissed, my vision’s going dark. I haven’t wanted to kill Mike this badly in a while, and there’s no promise I won’t return to his room at some point tonight to do just that. Especially after I finish scrubbinghispiss from the carpet.

“I’ll help.”

“No.”

Scar turns when I say that a bit more harshly than I mean to. But she’s sweet and thoughtful and, God help me, I’m trying to keep bitterness as far from her as possible. That’s where this life we live will lead her if I’m not vigilant, and shielding her gets harder every day. But, believe me, I won’t stop trying.

“I can handle it,” I say a little softer.

She scans me with sadness in her eyes and I turn to walk toward my room. I have to. Otherwise, she’d see I’m upset, crying furious tears as I head in to change into clothes I don’t mind ruining.

At what point will life stop shitting on me? I mean, really? Today, hanging with Scar, Jules, and her family, I actually felt normal for a while. No worrying. Nothing to stress about. It was just a quiet, peaceful Thanksgiving dinner with a stable family—something I’ve never had.

Then, I get home, and it all comes crashing down.

Reality.

I storm down the hall in sweats and a t-shirt with a hole in the armpit. I should’ve gotten rid of it months ago, but it’s coming in handy now. Angry, I yank my hair into a ponytail. On my way past Mike’s door, I toss up both middle fingers as if he can see me, and then stand in the entryway to the living room.

The bucket and rags I requested are all there, and even a bandana Scar’s stuck a sticky note to that says:‘For your nose’.I tie it beneath my hair and start scrubbing.

I’m numb. Too tired of all the shit I deal with to even feel anymore. If I do let the emotions in, I’ll fall apart and turn into someone I hate. Someoneeveryonehates. Someone no one can reach.

Ever.

So, I just scrub in silence, occasionally swiping tears with my shoulders. I’ve changed the water three times and the smell is finally leaving. My fingers are raw, my knees ache, but it’s clean.

Exhausted, I carry the last bucket of water to the laundry room and dump it into the wash tub, hearing commotion behind me just as I finish. The second I make it back to the kitchen, I spot Scar racing out with my phone in hand, working quickly to unlock the screen.

“Hold it! What’re you doing?”

She looks like a deer caught in headlights, bouncing a look between me and the phone, knowing she’s been caught red-handed.

“I… There’s just… I thought…”

“Hand it over.”

When I turn my palm up, expecting her to do as she’s just been told, she hesitates.

“Scar, give me my phone,” I snap, mostly because tonight’s gone to shit and I’m so,soover it.

Redness spreads across her nose and cheeks. “I just… I didn’t want you to see. Mike’s already ruined things and… I didn’t want you to see,” she repeats.

My brow tightens and I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Didn’t want me to see what?” I ask, suddenly even more eager to know.

As soon as she hands it over, the screen brightens with one of many notifications I’ve missed. Mostly from Pandora’s incessant posting.

Bitch doesn’t even take holidays off, apparently.

My ringer’s been on silent all day today. Like I said, it’d been peaceful, and I didn’t want anything to ruin it.

Now, as I stare at Pandora’s dreaded, black and pink icon, I’m starting to think shutting myself off from the rest of the world may have been more than a hunch.

Something’s happened. I feel it in my gut. See it on my sister’s face.

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