Page 115 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

Do séances actually work? Because my parents have alotof explaining to do. Like why they made it sound like I was going to college next month when they hadn’t even paid the enrollment deposit.

At least they had a good reason. The Winters family is fuckingbroke. Wasn’tthata big surprise? I don’t even own a credit card, while it turns out my parents were juggling five. Each.

All maxed out.

All behind on their installments.

What the actual fuck, Mom and Dad?

I know Ishouldbe livid, but I’ve been stranded in some weird emotional desert ever since the accident. I’ve been to see a therapist, and she told me I’m still in the first stage of grief: denial. How long it’s going to last, she can’t tell me, but it explains why I keep wondering why Mom hasn’t called to findout if I got to work okay, or why the TV isn’t on the sports channel when I turn it on.

I used to love this place. The frantic energy, the sexy guys, the beautiful decor. But on quiet nights like this, all I can think about is how I have a fucking mortgage to pay and no money to pay it with.God knows what’s taking the insurance company so long. I haven’t heard from our family lawyer in over two weeks, and I’ve been waiting to hear when my parents’ life insurance is going to payout.

I slip my phone out of my pocket to check the time.”Do you think Quinton would answer his phone this late at night?” I ask Peggy, raising my voice over the music.

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” she yells back. “I’ll cover you.” She grabs my tray and spins it on her finger before slipping behind the bar.

I don’t live in Liberty anymore. We’ve moved a lot since then, and I didn’t get around to updating my driver’s license the last few times. I started bartending at Purgatory a few months ago. Back then, I was astonished my parents would even let me work in a place like this—it’s renowned as being an underground sex club, after all. Although, there’s nothing underground about this place.

Except Hell, which is in the basement. But I wouldn’t go if they paid me.

Unless they paid me alot.

After my parents’ lawyer, Quinton, brought me up to speed with the Winters’ financial situation, I’m starting to understand why my parents were happy to let me work here. They’d probably have let me turn tricks on the corner if it could help them pay off their massive debt.

“Thanks,” I tell Peggy, untying my apron so I can slip through the crowds a little less conspicuously.

Romano, the night manager, doesn’t like us taking more than three breaks a night, and I’ve been so bored I already took all of mine. But if Peggy covers for me, I should be able to slip away just long enough to call Uncle Quinton, the Winters’ lawyer.

I hurry into the girls’ bathroom and head for the stall right on the end. It’s beautiful in here—top-class fixtures and stalls that somehow never smell like ass. I don’t know how they do it. Maybe it’s because more girls come in here to snort coke than take a dump.

Quinton answers on the fifth ring. “Nim?”

“Hi, Uncle Quinton.” It’s what I’ve always called him, and it feels weird to change that now even when he’s technically my employee. “Sorry to bother you so late at night.”

“Actually, I’m glad you called. I was going to ring you first thing in the morning.”

My heart gives a thump. “The insurance paid out?”

Thank fuck. I was starting to stress about how to pay the mortgage, and what would happen when Peggy’s generosity—or patience—ran out. I’m not usually a bad house guest, but I haven’t exactly been myself lately.

“Uh...no. I’m afraid I have bad news.”

I groan quietly. “How bad?”

He lets out a noisy breath. “The insurance company says they need more time to investigate the claim, Nim.”

“What? Why?” I realize I’m holding the phone too tight when the cheap plastic creaks. I switch hands and dry my palm on my leg. The motion makes the scar on my thigh tingle. If my thoughts linger for too long on that day in the woods, the raised pink scar starts aching.

I haven’t told anyone about where it came from.

“Don’t worry,” Quinton says hurriedly. “This is standard procedure for newer insurance policies with such a high death benefit. It’ll only take another week or two.”

If it was so standard, why didn’t he tell me this would happen? “So I’m screwed,” I say through a sigh. “No college is going to hold a spot for mein caseI get the money together in time. And then there’s the mortgage?—”

“Actually…I have some good news too.”

“Really?”

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