Page 78 of Worth the Trouble

Only now, this mug that buried Mom’s smile is in shards on the floor.

The only physical evidence I’m not one hundred percent my father is shattered on the floor, erasing all proof I’m anything better beneath the chaos.

“Where is he?”

The dude in the ski mask presses the barrel of the gun against my temple, and I’m tempted to tell him to just pull the trigger and get it over with.

“I don’t know,” I say instead.

Self-preservation is a funny thing like that. You might think you’re tough as shit, but at the wrong end of a gun, you’re still likely to give ‘em a little if it means not having to eat a bullet.

“How old are you, kid?”

“Fifteen.”

Guy in the ski mask chuckles, but I’m not sure what’s so funny. “Come on, kid. Tell me where he is, and I don’t have to do this.”

“I’m good.”

After all, Dad finding out I ratted him out will only result in worse. At least this guy might actually kill me and save me from the torture of my father.

He winds his arm back and smacks me across the side of the head with the butt of the gun, and I go toppling. I’m faintly aware of the fact that it should hurt as my vision flickers, but I feel nothing.

There’s no pain when you’ve spent your life surrounded by asshole drug dealers coming to collect on Dad’s debts. Or when you’ve been raised by my father and treated like a punching bag every time he gets high or pissed off.

Which is most of the time.

He says it’s my fault he needs the drugs, so I deserve it.

After all, I killed her, and he had to numb the pain of the fact that my soul entering the world was the result of the devil taking hers away. She died for me, and he’d make me regret it.

The dealer kicks me in the stomach, but it’s almost welcome at this point because at least he’s not degrading me. If it was Dad, he’d have a lot to say about how I’m a worthless piece of shit who disgusts him.

Nothing cuts deeper than emotional torment.

“When he comes back, tell him this was a warning.” The guy in the ski mask points the gun at me. “Seven days to get me my money.”

He walks away, leaving me on the floor. I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling.

If that guy thought beating up Roy Moreno’s son would get him to do what they said, they’re going to learn fast they need a different tactic. Dad doesn’t have money to pay them, hence the dump we’re living in. And he’s more concerned about himself than anything that could happen to me.

I turn my head to look at the shattered coffee mug on the floor once again. It feels a little like my hope lying there in pieces. I was dumb enough to think someday I’ll escape this. I was dumb enough to think I might be good like her.

Dad was right.

I’m nothing but bad… for myself and everyone around me.

I startle awake and instinctively reach for my throat. To the third eye that sits there. A reminder to Dad, myself, and the world that people can only take from me what I decide to give them.

I won’t go as easy as the coffee mug years ago. They’d have to look me in the eye, slit my throat, and drain my life in the process.

It takes a moment for me to catch my bearings. Breathing deep, I wait for my nightmare to settle, so I can swallow it back down. Only then do I remember what day it is and where I am.

Reaching across the bed, I find it empty.

Lili must have climbed out of bed at some point during the night. I’m tempted to tie the girl down just to keep her from constantly running. But just as I’m knee-deep in ideas for how I could fuck the fight out of her to make her stay, noise from somewhere in my house draws my attention.

She's still here.

---