Page 3 of Manic

The late afternoon sun warms my face, and I can't help but smile.

It's been a good day so far—busy, but good.

Just like every day for the past fifteen years.

Suddenly, a rough hand grabs me from behind.

I gasp, my body tensing as I'm yanked backward.

The box tumbles from my grasp, hitting the concrete with a sickening crack.

Delicate petals and shattered stems scatter across the sidewalk.

"What the hell?" I snarl, whirling around to face my attacker.

My heart stops cold in my chest.

Standing before me, a cruel smirk twisting his lips, is a face I never thought I'd see again.

My father—the Patriot.

He laughs, the sound grating against my ears like nails on a chalkboard. "Well, well. If it isn't my little girl. I knew I'd find you one of these days."

I clench my fists at my sides, willing my voice not to shake. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet your old man?" He takes a step closer, and I fight the urge to back away. "Now that I know where you are, I'll be sure to stop by more often. We have so much catching up to do."

My blood runs cold at his words, but I refuse to let him see how much he affects me.

I've spent too many years running, too many years looking over my shoulder.

Not anymore.

I meet his gaze, injecting as much venom into my voice as I can muster. "Over my dead body."

Before I can react, I feel the sting of his saliva hitting my cheek. “You ungrateful bitch.”

I wipe it away with the back of my hand, disgust and fury warring within me.

How dare he.

After everything he's done, after all these years, he thinks he can just waltz back into my life?

I grit. “I can see you haven’t changed one bit.”

"Is that how it's going to be?" he asks, his tone deceptively light.

But I know better.

I can see the danger lurking in his eyes, the promise of violence simmering just beneath the surface.

I stand my ground, even as every instinct screams at me to run. "That's exactly how it's going to be. I want nothing to do with you. Leave me alone."

He takes another step forward, invading my personal space.

I can smell the stale cigarette smoke on his breath, see the flecks of gray in his beard. "You ungrateful little shit. After everything I've done for you?—"

"Everything you've done for me?" I cut him off, my voice rising. "You mean using me? Hurting me? Treating me like I was nothing more than a piece of property?"

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