Page 8 of Sassy Surrogate
I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the ringing of my cell phone. Digging around, I finally find it amongst all the crap floating around my handbag. My heart sinks when I see it’s Rebecca, as if I’ve conjured her up with a mere thought. She’ll know, in a heartbeat, that something’s wrong. Rather than deal with her, I decline the call and drop it back into my bag.
It starts to ring again immediately. This time I simply reach for the offending instrument and turn it off. Rebecca will lose her shit when I tell her what’s happened today, and I just don’t have the emotional bandwidth left in me to deal with it right this second. I love that woman like she was my own blood, but she can be a force of nature.
Unexpectedly, emotion wells in my chest and has me sliding down the door to the floor with my box still clutched to my chest. Tears I’ve held at bay through sheer willpower since the start of this whole shitstorm sheen my eyes. Now that I’m alone, there’s no need to put a brave face on it. Placing the box on the floor beside me, I draw my knees to my chest, wrap my arms around them, and give in to the emotion.
When finally the tears abate and the sobs turn to hiccups, I rest my chin on my knees and contemplate the goat rodeo that is my life. I haven’t a clue what I’m going to do now. I just know I have to find a job somewhere, somehow. I need to speak to Becca.
Oh God. Becca. She’s going to kill me. I’ve hung up on her twiceandturned my phone off. I’m so dead. Hastily, I grab my phone out of my bag where I’d tucked it into a side pocket so it would be easier to find and turn the phone back on. A flurry of messages and missed call notifications come through, and my heart sinks. Yip, she’s so going to kill me.
I scan through the notifications and every single one is from her. Damn it. Best I pull myself toward myself and reach out to her before she sends a search party looking for me. And that woman is just crazy enough that she would, no hesitation.
I dash off a quick text to her that I’m in the middle of something and will phone her as soon as I can. I feel bad lying to her, but I don’t have it in me to talk to her right this second. Checking my phone, I realise I’ve been sitting at my front door for well over an hour. No wonder my body is complaining. Loudly.
Stretching the cramped muscles out, I slowly get to my feet and trudge down the hall to my bedroom. I drop the box on the floor just inside of my home office and continue on to my room. A long, hot soak sounds like just the thing right this second, so I head into the master bathroom and start a bath, throwing a generous glug of my favourite bubble bath in.
Quickly stripping off my work clothes, I toss them in the laundry before removing my makeup. By the time I’m done, there’s enough water in the tub, so I hop in, sighing in bliss as I sink below the frothy bubbles. Lying back, I allow the hot water to lap over me soothingly, focusing on clearing my mind and enjoying this simple pleasure.
When the water turns cold and I resemble a prune, I pull the plug and hop out. Since I’ve got nowhere to go and no one to see, I slip into a bunny onesie Becca gifted me for my birthday last year as a joke and the fuzzy slippers I bought to go with it. Despite still being pretty early in the day, I’m pretty desperate for a glass of wine.
I shuffle my way down the hall and into the kitchen to pour myself a glass. Said glass in hand, I turn for the living room only to find my father standing there, in the middle of the room. I can’t bite back the scream of fright as I catch sight of him, lurking in my living room like the lowlife he is.
At the piercing shriek, he claps his hands over his ears before complaining, “All right, girly. No need for all the racket. Pipe down.”
Clasping a shaking hand to my poor overworked heart, I shoot him a filthy look. “What the hell are you doing here? And more to the point, how did you get into my house?”
While holding his gaze, I reach into a nearby drawer for a knife to protect myself. As my father has fallen further and further into the sleezy grasp of booze and gambling, he has changed into a nasty piece of work. The charming, charismatic man I grew up with is long gone and in his place is this greasy-looking asshole who’d do anything for his next drink or bet.
He spots the knife I’ve pulled out of the drawer and holds his hands up, placatingly. “I mean you no harm. I just need to talk to you.”
At least he appears more sober than when I saw him earlier in the day.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Pookie, please. Can you just listen? I’m in a real jam this time, and I need your help.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snarl at his use of his childhood nickname. It hurts so deeply I would be at a loss to adequately describe it verbally. “You lost the right to call me that a lot of years ago.”
“Sorry. Sorry. No need to get so aggro about it.”
“I’ll get as ‘aggro’ as I want. This is my damn house – which you broke into, surprise, surprise. I have nothing to say to you, and nothing you have to say is anything I’m interested in hearing. Now get the hell out.”
“Danica, I know you have no reason to want to see me. But please, I really need you to listen. I really am in serious trouble this time.”
“Why?” The single word is all I utter as I stare at my father, rage surging through me in a hot rush.
“I got in with the wrong people, and now they’re making some serious threats. And these people? They don’t make idle threats–”
“I’m sorry, but how is any of this my problem?” I cut him off.
My father at least has the good grace to look ashamed. “They said if I don’t pay them their money, they’ll…” His words dry up, and he looks like he’s about to be ill. He rubs a hand over his mouth nervously, then continues. “They’re going to kill her,” he whispers.
I’m confused at his words. I don’t think Dad has a girlfriend, nor do I think he’s talking about me since he used the word “her.”
“Her who?”
The man looks grey standing in the middle of my living room floor as he drops his bombshell on me. “They’ll kill my Cat.”
5
