Page 102 of Jerk
I nod, continuing on my path. Once at the solarium’s glass French doors, I find my mother sitting in her usual seat. She's reading a book as the moonlight hits her face. She’s beautiful, even with that scratch over her eye and a bruised lip.
We deserve better.
She lifts her head, her eyebrows furrowing when she sees me. “Hannah?”
“Pack your things,” I say, closing the door behind me before moving into the room. “Now.” She drops her book, her head falling to the side as if she’s too doped up to know I'm real. So I move closer, reaching for her hand. She pulls away. “Ma, let’s go. Let’s leave before he cuts you off, too.”
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asks, pulling her silk robe around her.
“Saving you.” Saving us.
She stalls, thinking for a moment before she asks, “How did you?—”
“Hannah!” Both our eyes widen, my father’s voice rippling through our home.
Fuck.
“Mister Alfonso!” Rye’s voice follows my father’s.
Turning around, I look for something to push in front of the door so he can’t get in. My eyes land on a large stone table with a few plants on it. Rushing to it, I look at my mom behind me. She still hasn’t moved.
“Ma, please.” My hands hit the table, but it’s so much heavier than it looks. With some extra force, it starts to move, but not fast enough.
“Mister Alfonso, wait!” Rye’s voice is closer.
“Ma!” I beg, my socks sliding against the wooden floor. “Shit!” I lose my grip, stumbling back towards the entrance.
Bang!
The doors swing in before I'm thrown to the floor, a sharp pain filling my body.
“You ungrateful thing.” Blinking, my father’s scowling face comes into view as he pulls me off the floor by my shirt. He looks at me like I’m some guy in a bar, his alcohol-laced breath heavy. I wince when he speaks again, pulling my head back. “What the hell are you doing back here?”
“Carlos!” Rye’s voice comes from nearby. “Put her down! The fuck are you doing?”
My father turns to him. “Did you do this? Did you bring her back here? She’s nothing. She’s worthless. Do you know what she did to me?”
“She’s a lot of things,” Rye says. “Worthless isn’t one of them." My body fills with heat, my hands pounding against my father’s chest. "Put. Her. Down."
“Don’t be so dramatic,” my father chuckles. “This ismydaughter. You want her? I’ll discipline her for you so she doesn’t end up like her whore mother.” He turns back to me, raising a hand, that evil look on his face again. I know what’s coming next. My eyes close, readying my body for that harsh sting.
Smash!
Something hard falls on my face like hard rain, my back hitting the ground hard. My mother's scream fills the air as I open my eyes.
Pieces of porcelain lay around me in small broken pieces. When I touch my face, I don’t feel any scratches. No blood. Nothing burns except my back. Looking to my left, Rye stands over my father, a shard of porcelain in his hand.
“Get out!” My mother yells as Rye chuckles in that menacing way that brings those goosebumps back to my skin.
“Not yet,” Rye says, standing over my father, who holds his face, groaning. Blood pours from one side as Rye straddles him. “You think you got all the power here, don't you, Carlos?”
“Rye,” I call, knowing the violence my father’s capable of, but Ryung doesn’t look threatened. His fists by his side, he looks as livid as he was when he pounded into Vince.
“You think hitting women smaller than you makes you powerful?” Rye chuckles again. “Tell you what.” He crouches over my father, holding the shard to my father’s neck. He’s not as careful as he is with me. No, he pokes the sharp edge right into my father’s skin. “I’ll ask you once to leave your family alone, and if you do, I won’t do anything.”
“You’re inmyhouse, son,” my father says as Rye pushes the shard further into his skin. A bead of blood trickles down my father’s neck. “I do with my family as I see fit!” My father’s voice gets louder. “Who do you think you are?! Get off me!"
“I’m the one holding all the power.” Rye uses his free hand to reach for his phone in his pocket. “Your daughter cares way too much about you and your wife to do this, but I don’t give a fuck.” He looks at his phone as if he’s reading an email. “Offshore accounts. Drug trafficking.Humantrafficking?”Thatemail. “You’re a millionaire cliche, and one button tells the right publication everything.” He brings his mouth to my father’s ear,but he doesn’t whisper. “I know what happens when the wrong things get in the right hands.”
