Page 4 of Double or Nothing

No. That wasn’t it. It was me. The baby who cried too much. The kid who needed too much.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” More laughter. “They paid you for that shit you sing?”

The lights flicker on and his enraged face is closer than I expected it to be. And there sure as hell isn’t an ounce of pride on it. Hatred maybe, but sure as hell not pride.

Wanting nothing more than to end this moment, to be able to enjoy what up until now had been a great night, I pull out the wad of cash from my pocket.

“Here, take it,” I tell him as I shove it toward him.

He yanks the money from my hand and counts it. “Five hundred bucks? They gave you five hundred bucks? They fucking stupid?”

“I’m good, Dad. I’m really good. People want me to play for them.”

“Bunch of fucking morons. All of them.”

I don’t know why I try. I could have walked through that door with a record contract in my hand and he still wouldn’t have believed me. He still would have told me that I am a failure. The man hates me. I need to quit trying to change that and just accept it because there isn’t a damn thing that I can do to change his stubborn pig-headed mind.

If I’m lucky, if I keep my mouth shut and just walk away, maybe he won’t take a swing. Maybe I can go to bed and have sweet dreams about how amazing tonight was rather than nightmares about what he turned my life into.

“Good night, Dad,” I say as I try to move past him. He steps in front of me, that look of hatred evident and gleaming in his eyes as if he gets some sick fucking thrill out of this. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” he asks. His hands press on my shoulders and knock me into the wall.

My perfect night shot to hell because of this prick. I always told myself not to hit back. Not to fight him because no matter what, he’s still my dad.

This is it. The final straw. The last moment.

Fuck that. Fuck him.

“Stop.” It’s an order, not that he’ll listen to it.

“Or what?”

The challenge of his words makes me snap.

“Or this,” I respond, my arm cocked back and ready to punch him. I don’t even hesitate, I just let my arms go, my first connecting with his face.

Every ounce of rage I have ever felt for this man takes over. My fist pounds into his face, his sides, his stomach. Anywhere I can reach him, I hit him. Years of taking the abuse and neglect because I thought I had to – gone.

I hate that I’m using violence. A part of me feels no better than he is. But loving it all the same. Finally. Finally, I can show him exactly what he’s done to me.

When I step back, deeming it enough, I look at the man on the ground. Weak, beaten, and nothing like I ever want to be.

I turn to leave. To get the hell out of here before I do anything else. My skin cringes at the feel of his hands on me. The shove against the door, my head hitting the trim, leaving me slightly dazed. I turn back to him and see the rage in his eyes.

Everything I give him, he gives me right back, until we’re both exhausted.

“Get out of my house,” he spits out at me.

“Gladly,” I tell him, storming to the door and slamming it behind me.

He’ll drink away the pain, pass out, and then while he’s in a drunken coma, I’ll come to collect my things.

Chapter 3

Kat

My heart sinks as I watch Sutton walk up the sidewalk. Bruises — his eye nearly purple and swollen. There’s dried blood in the corner of his mouth.

---