Page 42 of Wreck Me

Stepping into the solitude of my room, I slammed the door, shutting the bastard out completely. He made me physically sick. The power he’d had over me since I was a child was a constant reminder of how broken I truly was.

A stronger man would have killed him on the spot. But instead, he had the power to reduce me to feeling like a small child who hid in his bedroom.

Enough was enough. I had to get out of this house, away fromhim.Which was a little impossible when I didn’t even have a car right now.

Thankfully, Dave and his crew were scouring junkyards for the parts needed to fix my car, and they were working on it. I was warned it would take time, though. It’d been less than two weeks but felt like an eternity of relying on Isla for rides to school and the bus for all other transportation.

Still, I was carrying on. I knew what needed to be done in order to leave this life, this house, and my father behind.

The guilt I carried about leaving him alone to drink himself stupid had practically evaporated into thin air and I suddenly gave zero fucks. For years, a darkness gnawed at the pit of my stomach every time I was in his presence and I couldn’t figure out why. I’d always thought it was just the alcohol, but the way he just spoke about my mom left me wondering if resentment had buried itself deep within me.

If he drank himself to death, at this point, he’d be doing me a favor. Plus, it’d serve him right for all the stress and heartache he’d caused my entire life.

Dropping onto my creaky twin bed, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to text Isla. I missed her, and she hadn’t even been gone for an hour. My stomach grumbled as I typed out the message and hit send and tossed the phone onto the bed next to me.

It was barely after four in the afternoon, which meant I had at least another four miserable, hours stuck in this house.

Staring up at the yellowed ceiling, I thought about earlier when Isla agreed to be mine, exclusively, and the sounds she made when I had her coming all over my cock right after.

She was my complete undoing, and I was still utterly terrified I’d ruin her life.

Not only could I not give her a life like what she had grown up with, I knew one day—maybe not any time soon, but one day—she’d be packing her bags and fleeing, just like my mother had. The Hart men had a knack for hurting their women. My grandpa had been abusive. My father was an insufferable drunk.

The difference between the two men was my grandma never left my grandpa. Instead, she made the choice to hide the bruises he left with layers of makeup and a pretty excuse.

She was the only reason I hadn’t turned into an empty shell of a human after my mother left. But unfortunately, I still lost my grandma shortly thereafter when she passed away from cancer. My grandparents were about as well off as we were and couldn’t afford treatment. She declined rapidly, leaving this earth, and me, behind within a few months.

The memories I had of my mother were happy ones. She used to hold me in her arms and sing to me at bedtime, and read meGoodnight Moonas many times as I asked her to. I remember she always had a smile on her face when I was around, and an even bigger one whenhewasn’t. My memories faded, but I distinctly remember her holding me one night in particular. She was shaking like a leaf, holding me close as we sat on my bed and my dad pounded on my bedroom door. I was so young, crying because I was afraid of how loud he was being. I didn’t understand why. My mom was rocking me, whispering promises ofwe’dget out of there soon, andwe’dgo somewhere safe and away from him. My chubby hand reached up and touched the necklace she wore every day, two hearts on a thin, delicate chain.

“This represents us, Caleb. The two of us, baby boy. Two hearts, always together.”

And then one day, a couple years later, she was gone.

Leaving me behind, along with the necklace she never took off until then.

Driven away by the man who had promised to love and protect her, but had instead hurt her.

Like father, like son.

And that’s what I was afraid of.

* * *

I couldn’t takeit in this room anymore. The walls felt like they were closing in on me and I needed to get as far away from this house as possible. My stomach roiled, my hunger turning painful.

Still laying on the bed, I thrust my hips into the air and removed my wallet from my back pocket, flipping it open and pulling out the cash.

I had fifty-six dollars left to last me until I got paid again. I could easily spend some now and stretch the rest over the next week. Nothing sounded better right now than Chinese food, and since it was Thanksgiving, I deserved a proper meal. I had something to be thankful for this year, so I figured why not celebrate?

Hopping off my bed, I unzipped my dusty old backpack and shoved some fresh clothes into it. Isla had a washing machine at her place she let me use, but I was growing tired of re-wearing the same two shirts, pants, and boxer briefs.

Zipping the backpack again, I flung it over my shoulder and glanced around the room, debating on if I wanted to take anything else.

I didn’t.

The house was silent when I stepped out of my bedroom, the space dark and only illuminated by the light in the kitchen.

My father stood in front of the open, empty fridge, his back to me as he rifled through the contents, likely trying to find something to eat. He didn’t deserve the respect of a valediction, so I kept my mouth shut as I walked to the front door, twisting the knob to leave.

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