CHAPTERFIVE
STEVIE
“I really wishyou would have told me you fell down the stairs when we talked Saturday.” Linnie frowns seconds before she rips the butterfly bandages from my eyebrow with a huff. “This needs stitches badly. And it’s infected.”
“It’s notthatinfected.” I cringe as she flushes out the wound and starts patting it dry.
So maybe the gash in my head is pretty infected, but I did what I could, and since Beau ended up forbidding Rochelle from coming over to fix me up like I thought he would, it’s a miracle I’m not septic.
It also probably didn’t help that the wound reopened when my father decided to lecture me again after he got home from church Saturday night.
He was drunk, possibly high, and he was as angry as he’s ever been. Beau ranted incoherently about my mother the entire time he beat me, raved in gibberish about Celeste and how weak she was, how beautiful she was, how she betrayed him and made him hurt her. He went on and on about all kinds of things. Things that apparently seeing me brought out of him, and he unintentionally answered the questions I had regarding why he hit me in the face to begin with without me ever asking.
I look too much like my mom.
He said that repeatedly as well.
I look too much like Celeste, and more so now that I’m the same age she was when she died.
Some people would probably find comfort in that. Find comfort in a little piece of a departed loved one still being around for them to see on a regular basis, to continue sharing the love and life that was lost.
I would.
If I had anything other than the few disappearing memories of my mother to hold onto, if I had a grandparent or maybe one of her siblings or even her best friend that I could reminisce with, I’d be thrilled. I should have that with my father, but not only does he refuse to even mention her name most of the time, he apparently can’t stand to look at me because it brings on thoughts and feelings he can’t handle.
If he were anyone else I’d call it grief or pain, but he’s a mean, hateful son of a bitch, so I know that’s not it. It’s just anger and rage over her leaving him to raise a daughter on his own that he never wanted to begin with.
I’m the perpetual thorn in his side, so Beau has made it his mission to hurt me too—any and every chance he gets.
“Brace yourself,” Linnie says as she lifts the suture in front of my face. “You’re looking at about three or four stitches, Stevie, and with the swelling and irritation, it is not going to feel good while I do it.”
I’ve had worse,I think, because it’s true.
But I just nod, pinch my eyes shut, and tightly grip the edge of the counter I’m sitting on.
Linnie doesn’t know about all the other times I’ve had to be stitched up like this. Or the reasons for it.
This is the first time I’ve had to useI fell down the stairsas an excuse too, but that’s only because I’ve never had anyone other than Rochelle or the club doc fix me up before.
I’m not allowed to go to the hospital or to a real doctor. Not allowed to go anywhere at all really, but those two are off limits for sure. Beau doesn’t want anyone outside the club getting involved in our business, and considering the way my injuries look and the frequency in which they happen, it would be obvious to someone out there in a professional role what was going on at home.
When Beau gets me good enough, I have to skip school and call into work. Not for anything other than pain so great it couldn’t be hidden, and I got tired of Linnie asking if I was ok. So, I’d either work through busted ribs and bruised organs while pretending like my insides weren’t on fire, or I’d call off if I didn’t think I could handle it. To be honest, I’m not sure why I still decided to go to class this morning, or come in for my shift tonight with my face such a mess, but here I am, and at least I’ll get sewn up because of it.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Linnie asks as she finishes up. “Maybe you should take a sick day.”
“I’m fine.” I’m also not really looking to come up with some sort of believable explanation to give Beau for staying home, nor do I want to spend the day with Joker.
My father left on a run yesterday afternoon, something about meeting with Jesus—another MC president I guess, not the messiah—so Joker was given free reign and allowed into our house tobabysit meuntil he gets back tonight.
For a long time, Joker just made me uncomfortable. He’d stare at me way too long, shoot me weird looks or obscene gestures. Joker made it obvious that he had his eye on me, and whenever I was within earshot, he’d tell whoever was around how much he wanted to fuck me, and exactly how he was going to have me one day. He never really did anything more than that until about two years ago when he cornered me at Beau’s birthday party and took things to a new and unwelcome level.
Joker pinned me to the wall, clamped a hand over my mouth and started groping me. My breasts, my ass, and he even tried to get his hand down the front of my jeans but he didn’t get that far because Cal and Rochelle turned the corner just as he got my belt undone and they stopped him.
Which is putting it lightly because I honestly thought Cal was going to kill him.
He went into a blind rage, ripped Joker off of me, and proceeded to beat the shit out of him until they drew a crowd, and then Beau took over.
Joker wound up in the hospital for three days because the Demon Seeds’ back alley doctor couldn’t fix all the damage those two had done.
