Page 125 of Don't Make Me Beg
“Daddy, what are you doing here?” I whisper sharply, eyes darting between Luka and my father.
They’re staring each other down, Luka’s body is tense, but he keeps his expression neutral. Unlike my father, who seems to be barely holding in his rage. His jaw flexes hard, the muscle ticking as he crushes the paper in his trembling fist. A vein throbs at his temple, pulsing beneath his flushed skin, and his usual neatly combed hair sticks up in wild tufts, like he’s dragged his hands through it one too many times.
My eyes move to Jimmy, who stands in the front row, wearing khaki pants and his father’s company-branded baby blue polo. His hands are shoved in his pockets, eyes ping-ponging between my father and Luka.
I don’t think it’s physically possible to look any more strait-laced than these two. Yet here they are, attempting to intimidate my motorcycle riding, bad boy of a husband and in front of an audience no less. This should be fun.
“We’re sorta in the middle of a closing ceremony,” Luka says, his voice cool and casual. “How about we pick this up in, say… an hour?” He flashes a sharp-toothed grin, making the vein on my father’s temple throb even harder.
He moves in closer, holding the paper just inches away from Luka’s face. “Take a look,” he snaps, jabbing a finger at the page. “Can you read that, or do you need me to sound it out for you?”
Then he turns, raising his voice to the crowd.
“This criminal you’ve all so generously appointed as your leader is about to face some very serious consequences. The police are already on their way, so I suggest you all start clearing out. Show’s over, folks!”
There’s a muffle of chatter, but nobody moves, which only fuels my father’s rage.
A moment later, I see my mother emerging from the crowd, her jaw is tight, and her lips pursed. She doesn’t look happy. She whispers something to my father, then pulls his arm, trying to get him to leave with her, but he just shrugs her off, the force making her lose her balance as she falls to the ground behind him.
He doesn’t even bother to help her, his glare set on Luka.
A group of viewers help her to her feet, and as she stands back up, I catch her eyes. The look of defeat on her face almost makes me feel sorry for her. For just a moment, I think she’s going to do something, stop him, or leave at the very least, but then her eyes fall to the ground and she leans back into my father, placing a soft hand on his back. I see her lips move as she apologizes.
I shake my head, feeling a surge of disappointment. Of course she’d fall right back in line. Anything to not make a scene. A woman’s place is behind her husband after all.
“Look, I know you’ve gone through a lot of trouble to make sure justice is served here,” Luka says, as he pulls something outof his back pocket. “If it helps anything, I have this.” He passes the paper to my father, whose eyes widen.
My father shakes his head. “How did you? This isn’t possible. This permit is dated six months ago,” He cuts his eyes to Jimmy. “You said you double-checked the records.”
Now it’s Jimmy who’s stammering. He shakes his head, looking flustered. “I did. I checked at least three times.”
“All right then, now that that’s settled.” Luka makes a get lost motion with his hands. He turns his attention back to the crowd. “Sorry about that, now where was I?—”
“This permit has clearly been forged,” my father interrupts, shaking his head with a humorless laugh. “You see, folks, criminals like this little punk never change.”
He reaches for my arm, but I yank it away before he can grab me. “Come on, Scout. I’m done with this little act of defiance. We’re leaving?—”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I hiss. “And Luka’s not a criminal.”
My father’s jaw clenches so hard I think he may crack a tooth. His nostrils flare, and he lowers his voice in warning. “That’s enough, Scout…”
“No, I’m so tired of you and everyone else acting like Luka’s some dangerous criminal who can’t be trusted.” I stomp to the side of the stage and take the rope from Roman. I give the rope a hard yank.
The tarp falls to the ground with a heavy swish, revealing the massive Phantom mural I worked tirelessly all summer on.
A hush ripples through the crowd, and every eye lifts in unison, drawn to the vivid mural. The tarp still flutters at the edge of the stage, catching in the breeze.
Much like the original painting, the Phantom stares back at us from the wall. His emerald eyes glowing amid his midnight leather skin, his massive wings spanning out behindhim, disappearing into the darkness. The image is hauntingly beautiful, the details adding so much depth and emotion, encompassing everything the Phantom stands for.
There’s a long beat of silence, and then…
“Oh my… will you look at that…” someone breathes.
“It’s so… beautiful,” someone else adds.
“I’ve seen those eyes before somewhere…”
I take a deep breath and direct my attention to the crowd, my eyes locking on Luka’s parents, who look equally shocked and proud.
