Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
“Dad, I’m an eighteen-year-old girl. I don’t need to tell you where I am or what I’m doing every second of the day.”
“Excuse me?” he replies, looking down his nose at me.
“You heard me.”
He tries to stare me down, but I just cross my arms at him and stare right back. I wonder how he’d react if I told him what I was just up to back at the construction site. That one of the men he and Richard had chosen to employ had his tongue in my mouth and his hand between my legs.
“You watch your tone with me, young lady,” he finally says, his voice low. “You’ve been given much in your life. All of it provided by me.”
“And that means what exactly?” I ask. “That I belong to you? That you can make me do whatever it is that you want? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don’t want the same things you want?”
In a blur, my father is on his feet.
He hurls his glass, which shatters against the wall, spilling ice and whiskey everywhere.
I step back, suddenly wishing Casey was here by my side as my dad advances on me.
“Tell me about what happened last night!” he growls.
“Wh-what about last night?” I’m stuttering now. I look weak.
“Don’t play dumb with me, girl,” he snaps. “Jerry told me all about it. You were out drinking at some dive bar! You! Drinking!”
“Oh, gee. And I wonder where I get that from!” I eye the bottle of dad’s whiskey, still sitting on the table beside his favorite living room chair. Dad turns and looks at the bottle, and when he looks back at me, I see a fire in his eyes I’ve only seen a handful of times in my life.
When he speaks, he speaks slowly, his voice stretched with poisonous tension.
“You are not old enough to drink yet, Michelle. Do you have any idea what would happen if you were recognized? If word got out that my daughter was partaking in underaged drinking?”
“Oh, your daughter,” I scoff. Now I feel like breaking something. “So that’s what this is about!”
“You’re a part of this family, Michelle! You have an image to uphold!”
“Why do you think I was where I was, Dad? So no one would recognize me! So I would be just another girl in the corner of the bar! And I would have been. If Jerry hadn’t followed me!”
“Ah, and let’s talk about that!” Dad roars, grabbing himself another glass and filling it halfway with whiskey. “Jerry says you were with a man. Who was he?”
I’m seething. On one hand, my dad has a point: I have grown up with everything. And I don’t have a right to complain in that department. But I’ve also grown up in a prison. I’ve never had a choice in the direction my life has gone, and ever since my mom died two years ago, my dad has only gotten worse.
“I don’t have to answer that,” I retort.
“Oh, yes you do,” he laughs.
“You wouldn’t even know him.”
“Then why don’t you want to tell me?” he asks, taking a large sip of his whiskey.
“Jerry didn’t tell you?” I reply, sneering defiantly. “Or was he embarrassed because of how much of a fool he made him look?”
My dad scoffs as though what I’m saying is ridiculous. “What are you going on about? Made him look like a fool?”
“Why don’t you ask Jerry the next time you two are talking about me?”
“Ask him what?”
“Ask him why he started a fight with a random guy talking to me,” I say. “Ask him why it took three full-grown men to haul that same man away from him and save him from getting his ass handed to him. Why don’t you ask him that!”
I stomp out of the living room, repulsed by the guttural sounds of my father downing the last of his whiskey.
“You better watch yourself, missy!” he shouts after me. “You are a reflection on me and this family, and the Williams family now as well! I don’t want to hear about anything like this again!”
Casey’s face fills my mind. “Michelle, come on. You should have control over your own life!”
What was I doing? Why did I push Casey away?
I should have gone through with it. I should have let him take me back there at the construction site.
“My life is my life, Dad!” I shout, whirling back at him. “And maybe I want it to be more than just a reflection on you and whatever perfect vision you’ve dreamt up for how you see your life turning out!”
And with that, I storm out, climb back in my car, and hit the gas, leaving the house behind me.
That house doesn’t even feel like a home right now.
What am I going to do? How am I going to I fix this?