Page 2 of Quiet Rage
All it takes is the sinister sound of Dad’s voice behind me to make my body tighten up like I’m bracing myself without thinking about it. I guess I am, since there’s always a chance he’ll explode over something or other. Half the time I don’t even think he knows why.
I square my shoulders and turn around to find him coming down the hall from the section of the building that’s only accessible through a small door in the narrow alley running next to the bar. As usual, he looks pissed off, his face turning red, his brow lowered until I can barely see his eyes. I inherited his height but didn’t stop growing until I was more than a head taller than him. Sometimes I think it gets under his skin since he always likesbeing the biggest guy in the room. It’s easier to intimidate people that way.
“This is when I always get back from class on Mondays.” Why do I bother talking? He’s not listening, stopping short of the walk-in and waving me toward him. I don’t even get a chance to take a breath before he needs me to get to work.
This is where he really makes his money. The handful of rooms back here are set up with beds where customers coming through that hidden door can relax while they shoot up or snort or smoke the drugs they bought when they came in. Where they can fuck a nameless, half-stoned prostitute. The girl dad sent up to my room last night is probably getting ready for tonight‘s shift by now. I don’t know her name and don’t remember what she looked like but then that’s how it always goes. It’s one of the ways he convinces himself he’s a good father who provides for me. He makes sure I don’t have to go long without getting my balls drained.
Right now, he leads me to another room, one next to his office where other business is conducted. I’m so fucking tired of being expected to do my father’s bidding without question, without any explanation on his part or even the most basic conversation where he explains why I have to do this. Why it has to be me. Why I can’t be out right now with my friends, swimming in Briggs’ pool or ordering pizza at Carter’s.
Instead, I’m led into a room where a pot-bellied man sits slumped in a wooden chair. He barely raises his head when I walk in – somebody has already been at him, giving him a black eye and a split lip. When Dad shakes out his hand, I realize he’s the one responsible for it. No wonder he’s pissed. For once, he had to do a fraction of his own dirty work.
The guy in front of me is sort of familiar. He owns a shop in town and sometimes has his kids work behind the register. A real family-first kind of place. Yet here he sits, bleeding and bruised. Something tells me he’s not the innocent guy he pretends to be for his family. I know all about pretending.
“I fucking warned you, didn’t I Frank?” Dad circles the chair, the only piece of furniture in a room where cases of beer and wine are stored. “I even tried to talk you out of borrowing more from me. Didn’t I?”
“You know how tough times have been.” Frank spits blood on his khakis and groans miserably. “I needed the cash.”
“And I need you to live up to your end of the arrangement,” Dad counters. With his fists clenched and his shoulders heaving, he’s an intimidating sight. I should know. I grew up with him glaring down at me like that. “Which means paying what you owe. I already let you go an extra week.”
I wish he’d get it over with. We both know where this is going to end, so why bother wasting time? If the guy doesn’t have the money, he doesn’t have it.
And the way he keeps eyeing me through the one eye that isn’t swollen shut tells me Frank knows how this is going to end. We’re all here for a reason and we all know our part in this. Why drag it out?
Finally, Dad steps back, shrugging shoulders almost as broad as mine. “We’ll do it your way, then. I warned you. I made sure you knew the full terms. And don’t even bother pretending you don’t know what happens to people who can’t pay.”
“Please,” Frank begs, but it’s too late for that. I hardly hear him, anyway. Once you do this enough times, you sort of lose touchwith everything else. I don’t hear his desperation. I don’t smell the acrid fear rushing through his pores and filling the room with the stench of panic sweat. I feel nothing for him as I take Dad’s place in front of his trembling body and tighten my fists in preparation.
“You know what to do,” Dad sighs behind me like he has no control over this. He even manages to sound regretful somehow.
Until he grunts in satisfaction when I land the first punch.
Chapter 2
Tamson
I steppedfoot on campus five minutes ago, and I already know I don’t belong here.
“You’ll see, Tammy.”I can hear Dad’s happy, hope-filled voice in my head as I walk around feeling like an alien who just landed on a new planet where everybody wears designer clothes and looks at me like I’m a hobo.
“Wicked Falls University. This is your big break.”
I’m glad he feels that way. I’m not so sure. There has to be something wrong with me, since everybody who heard about my scholarship acted like it was the best thing that’s ever happened to anyone.
I only know that right now, I’m wishing there was no scholarship paying my way through school, because I can’t imagine feeling this way all the time. I guess it will get better, right? I won’t be a fish out of water forever. People will get used to the daughter of a convenience store owner walking the same campus as they do and breathing the same rarefied air.
Right?
Then again, what do I care? A flash of something hot and determined heats up my chest and makes me walk a little faster while I raise my chin. To hell with them. I’m here to get an education. Let them scoff at me or roll their eyes at each other. I recognize some of them—they come to the store, buying snacks for parties and stuff like that. I guess they never figured on having to share their precious campus with the checkout girl.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll go to class, keep my head down, do my work. That’s what I’m here for. I’m not trying to win a popularity contest.
Somehow, it doesn’t matter how many times I say that to myself as I walk across campus, the sounds of laughter and excited conversation ringing in my ears, floating my way from all directions. It seems like everybody knows everybody else. They’re all friends.
“I heard you got lucky last night… It’s amazing you’re alive after everything you drank… She could suck a golf ball through a garden hose…”
An icy finger full of discomfort travels up my spine when the guy who made that last charming remark glances my way as I pass by. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before, but that doesn’t stop him from looking me up and down like he’s figuring out whether I’m worth approaching.
I hate when guys give me those looks. I get them all the time at the store. It’s like they can’t just exist and let me do the same. They’re always assessing, considering.
