Page 15 of Captive Vows
Still, I paused at the door. I knocked. Iknockedon my own damn door, as if I were a guest, not a member of the “family” there, not a person who contributed to the rent.
“Hello?” I called out after my knocks.
Nothing came. I didn’t expect Tony to answer, anyway. He’d enjoyed catching me off guard last night. He wouldn’t get away with that again. My hope was that if he were still here, I could know and retreat before going inside.
I knocked again. “Hello?”
Nothing. I tried the doorknob, finding it locked. Narrowing my eyes, I used my key to unlock it all while hanging on to a hammer I’d found in the closet at the dance studio. I’d bring it back. It wasn’t like I wanted to steal it. I doubted Amy or her mom would need to even use a hammer today, or any time soon. They wouldn’t even know that I’d borrowed it for the sake of self-defense.
I pushed the door open and waited.
No one lunged at me.
I blew out a deep breath and waited anyway. This anxiousness was going to drain all my energy on top of the shitty sleep I’d gotten last night.
I took one step in, hammer in hand. Once I was all the way in and no one showed, I exhaled another careful breath. I didn’t release the hammer until I checked the entire apartment.
Tony was gone.
My dad hadn’t returned.
I was alone, blissfully by myself. At last.
Without a second thought, I hurried to get in the shower. The hammer came into the narrow, stained stall with me. Just in case.
I stood under the hot water for as long as I could. It didn’t erase every ache and pain, but the steam sort of soothed me. The longer I could calm down and try to relax in my own space, the more clearheaded I felt. Instead of being on guard and in a defensive mode, I could allow myself the chance to think back to all that happened.
Never minding my error in attempting to seduce Oliver, I dwelled on the fact that my dad hadn’t come home. Tony hadn’t counted on his coming home either, but somehow, I doubted my parent was dead.
He’d be alive if for no other reason than to trap me in this life.
But am I trapped?
I can leave. I can get dressed, walk out of here, and never come back.
I could just go and figure out how to get money and start a new life.
Doing so would end my chance of being near the resources to dance, though. It wasn’t much, but each time my dad paid for a lesson, it was one step closer to the dream I never wanted to quit on. If I ran, I’d have no backup to pay for any lesson at all. Idoubted I’d meet another friend like Amy, either, and I wouldn’t be able to show up at a dance studio like I could now.
“Why does life have to be so hard?” I mumbled to myself as I got dressed in loungewear to make myself a late breakfast. Lunch. Whatever. I was so hungry that I’d lost track. Preparing food would only be feasible if anything was in the kitchen, and with Tony helping himself to this place last night, I doubted I’d find much.
“Thanks a lot, Dad,” I muttered as I walked into the kitchen. It was his fault he’d befriended an asshole like Tony who’d try to rape me. I wanted to blame him for my mother’s death too. Because he hung out with the wrong people, she’d been near the violence of a drive-by. Out of the goodness of her heart, she’d tried to help someone who was wounded.
And what did she get for it? Death.
I’d never forgiven my father for exposing her to a violent life. And I wouldn’t be quick to forgive him for not showing up last night when his presence might have prevented Tony from trying to get me.
As I scrounged in the kitchen for the bare basics to slap together a sandwich, I sighed and wished I could be more like my mother. To hang on to beauty and sweetness like she had and not let the anger and frustration eat me up. My mom would’ve wanted me to be sweet and not so jaded, but in my opinion, she might have been too sweet. Too naïve. Too caring at the expense of her own safety and life.
Being raised like this, depending on no one but myself, I’d learned to always fight. To be abrasive and determined. To be cutthroat and scrappy. That was the only way to survive.
That was why when my dad showed up, I was ready to fight like hell.
The door opened right when I realized we had no bread. Not a single slice remained, and it sucked to put together a sandwichwith two slices of cheese and pickles. The deli meat I’d bought was gone too. Hungry and angry, I spun at theclickof the door’s hardware slotting into place.
I faced him with a serious scowl, but I struggled to keep a straight face like this.
He walked in slowly, limping like he could barely move his body. His face was littered with the evidence of pain. Bruises. Red, swollen blotches. Open cuts that looked like they’d bled a lot. One eye was shut, but he slitted the other one open enough to peer at me.
