Page 111 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“That wasn’t very nice,” Dale said when we were inside. “It was downright catty.”

“Good,” I hissed.

He smiled, amused. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” I denied it. “I’ve never liked her.”

Dale just smiled.

“Oh Pete, now what are we—”

“Carolyn, he’s a liar! He had no right to fire me. Besides... he can’t prove anything.”

I turned my music off and sat quietly on my bed, listening.

“What are we going to do?” My mother again. “We’ve got rent to pay. We can’t afford for you to lose your job!”

“Then you go out there and work, you stupid bitch! All you do is sit around on your ass all day while I go out and work for you and that brat of a daughter of yours! Go ahead, go find a job. You know you couldn’t bring home half the money I make!” he roared.

“Made,” my mother corrected softly.

I stared at my closed bedroom door, wide-eyed.

No, Mom—you’re going to get yourself hurt.

Sure enough, a second later, I heard a sharp sound and my mother cried out.

“Bitch!” he snarled. “I’m taking him to court. I’m fighting this. He can’t prove I took anything from that warehouse and he knows it. I’ll take him for all he’s got, if there’s any justice in this world!”

I rolled my eyes, amazed. He stole the juice. The evidence was stacked up waist-high in the closet, yet here he was, self-righteous and hypocritical, demanding “justice!” There was no logic to it—unless you were him. It seemed to make perfect sense to the stepbeast.

“Pete, he’s my brother,” my mother said softly.

“I don’t care if he’s President of the United Fucking States!” he exploded. “He ain’t got no proof! He ain’t got grounds to fire me! Fucking excuses, that’s all he’s got! There were never any complaints from customers! It’s all bullshit!”

I closed my eyes, so full of bitterness I could taste it, acrid and painful on my tongue, burning my throat. Justice? If there was any justice in the world, I knew I wouldn’t be sitting there listening to him.

I stood up, grabbing my winter coat from off the back of my desk chair, shrugging it on. It was time to make like Casper. Sometimes I wished I could disappear permanently. I slipped my boots on. They were the only boots I owned, suede, not waterproof, and they now had a hole in the bottom. My stepfather said he didn’t have enough money for new ones. I’d noticed he hadn’t cut back on his cigarettes, but I had to go around with a hole in my boot in the middle of winter.

“He’ll be crawling back to me, you watch!” The stepbeast yelled. “He’s going to beg me to come back! And you know what I’m gonna say? Fuck you, buddy! Fuck you!”

I stood, trembling, in the doorway, watching them. I could only see the top of my stepfather’s head above the chair back. My mother was on the couch, legs curled under her, face streaked with mascara. A cigarette trembled between her fingertips.

“I swear, I’ll sue him. I’ll take him for everything he’s got!”

I came to stand beside his chair, stomach churning, hands clenched into tight fists, as much to keep them from trembling as anything else. My mother looked at me with wide, dark eyes, and I suddenly saw myself in those eyes and it tightened my chest. She looked old, haggard, and I felt so much pity for her. And hate for him. He made her this way, I thought. She could have been... alive.

But I was done trying to wake her up, to make her see. To save her.

The only person I could save was myself.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, glancing up at me. “You better not be going out to see any boys, you little whore!”

“I’ll be back later.” I walked toward the door, determined, ignoring his question and his snide remark.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

His words stopped my progress toward the door. I turned back as he lit a cigarette, watching me. He shook the match out and the motion recalled the memory of him hitting me—hitting her—and I flinched. I knew if I escaped, she’d be the only one here for him to take it out on. I knew it—and I was going to leave anyway.

---