Page 81 of The CEO's Revenge

I understood, Mom needed me out working because Dan couldn’t work due to his disability. I managed to find a job in a small clothing store and kept my mouth shut, but once, when I was giving over almost all of my wages to Mom and Dan was passed out on the couch, I couldn’t help remarking that his only disability was the one he found every night in the bottom of a whisky bottle. For my trouble, I got a sharp back handed slap from my mother and a reminder we were living inhishome.

That kind of closed that discussion.

Life went on, but my job only lasted until two months ago when Dan came into the store in a drunken stupor and demanded the owner give me a pay raise. He caused that much of a scene Mr. Jones told me not to bother coming back.

I’m job hunting right now but it’s hard when the only job I’ve ever had refuses to give a reference and I have no real educational qualifications. God, my mom and Dan sure have a lot to answer for.

I reach our trailer and for a moment stand at the bottom of the steps leading up to it. I just stare at steps, wondering how the hell my life came to this. The trailer is one of the slightly better ones in the park, but it’s still a shack. One of the steps is missing and the window has a crack in it. Stained curtains that are never open sit pulled taut against the windows, an inch or two too small to close properly.

The outside is nothing compared to the inside though.

Mom and I do try to keep the place in some sort of order, but Dan doesn’t make it easy for us. Every day the place gets littered with take-out cartons, empty beer cans, whisky and rum bottles, and overflowing ashtrays. Thank God, I have my own little room. My sanctuary.

I skip over the missing step and go inside.

“Violet? Is that you?” Dan shouts.

His voice is slurred. Great. I can tell he’s not close to drunk enough to pass out, but he’s nothing like sober either. He’s in that horrible middle place where he thinks he’s a charming comedian, but one wrong move on my part can send him into a blind rage.

“No. It’s me, Amelia,” I shout back, praying he doesn’t bother coming out to talk to me.

I open the grubby fridge and put the milk into it. As close the door my eyes dart around and I sigh. The ashtray is already full and six beer cans are scattered around the living room. I cleaned the place only two hours ago before I went out. I should do it again; save my mom the trouble when she returns from work. Then a rebellious thought crosses my mind.

Fuck it, she chose this life.

I sure as hell didn’t. I turn away from the mess and make my way down the narrow hall to my bedroom. I open and close the door as quietly as I can. My bedroom is by far the cleanest room in the trailer. There are no scattered cans, no half eaten take-away remains, or plates with gravy crusted onto them. It even smells like perfume which is really something considering the dense fog of stale alcohol fumes and cigarette smoke that hangs in the air in the rest of the trailer.

I hear Dan approaching, his footsteps shambling. The trailer rocks slightly as he stumbles and bumps into the wall. I move away from the door just as he crashes it open.

Bastard!

He’s wearing grey sweatpants that are covered in stains, stains I can only hope are beer rather than piss. He’s shirtless – not a good look for him. His beer belly hangs out, the skin tight, shiny, and so white he almost glows in the gloomy hallway. He’s also in desperate need of a shower. The smell of stale alcohol and sweat that clings to him reaches me immediately and I try hard not to react.

Chapter Two

Amelia

“Where’s your mother?” he slurs.

“At work. It’s Friday,” I remind as politely as I can, even though it’s freaking irritating that he cannot even keepherschedule in his head.

“And yet you’re here. Why aren’t you at work?”

I resist the strong urge to roll my eyes. I don’t want to set him off on another rant about how ungrateful I am.

“You got me fired, remember?”

He snorts and I’m not sure if it’s laughter or disgust. “You’re too good for that place anyway.”

Place comes out as “plashe”, which tells me he’s a bit more gone than I originally thought. I shrug my shoulders. I’m not sure what he wants from me and I’m very wary of saying the wrong thing and sparking his temper.

“Pretty girl like you, you should be a dancer or something,” he says, a speculative, admiring look in his eyes.

I’m sure somewhere in his drink-addled brain, he imagines it’s a compliment, but it sure doesn’t feel like one to me. I feel disgust swirling in my stomach. He doesn’t have to come right out and say it. I know exactly what he means by dancer. Stripper.

He smiles at me, and it’s not a normal smile. It’s… oh God, lecherous!

And just like that the disgust in my stomach turns to outright fear. For the first time I have to deal with Dan as a predator and me as his prey while I’m trapped in this small space.

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