Page 85 of Insidious Heart

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Page 85 of Insidious Heart

Another nod.

Cal clears his throat again and I bet if I cared enough to look he’d be white-knuckling the steering wheel. “I’m—I was sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” I whisper as I grab the door handle, throwing it open without acknowledging—to Cal or myself—how weird his words are, or how much they’ll mean to me later, but just as I’m about to get out and face my fate, I stop at what he says next.

“I’m real sorry, Stevie, and I just wanted you to know that.”

An involuntary wave of tears stings behind my eyes, tears I have no intention of shedding until I’m alone, but I do glance back and give him a subtle nod.

I slide out of the truck, slinging my purse over my shoulder before tucking Jolene inside. “Thanks.”

Cal nods. “Tell Beau I’m waiting. We got a late church meeting. Might not be back until tomorrow.”

“Ok.” Normally that would fill me with relief, knowing my father has to leave and won’t be back for a while, but it does nothing for me tonight.

Especially as I leave the safety of Cal’s truck and head to my house only to have someone grab me by the hair as soon as I’m inside.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Beau growls in my ear as he drags me into the living room, my bag falling to the floor at the bottom of the stairs. “You was supposed to be home over an hour ago, you worthless piece of shit, and I want to know where the fuck you been!”

“W-w-work! I was a-at work.” My hands fly to my hair as Beau grips so tight I can feel the strands start to pop at the roots. “I-I-I just left!”

“Yeah,” my father scoffs as he tugs me against him, his other hand moving to my throat and squeezing where it’s already tender. “Yeah, Cal said he made you wait. Said he got caught up with them brats of his and couldn’t get there on time, but I call bullshit,Stevie.”

Spots dance across my vision as I gasp for air, my hands dropping to Beau’s, my fingers clawing at his skin to try to loosen his grip.

“What you got on him, huh?” He lets go of my hair and whips me around to face him, still squeezing my throat as his yellow-tinged eyes dance with fury. “Got some juicy piece of info? Some deep, dark secret you holding over Cal’s head so he does whatever the fuck you want him to?”

I try to shake my head, try to keep my eyes on his, but everything is getting fuzzy and I can’t.

“No?” Beau winds up and slaps me across the face. “Bullshit! That’s bullshit, you stupid, useless cunt, and you damn well know it.”

Just when my vision goes completely black and I’m convinced my father is about to finally kill me, someone pounds on the front door in rapid succession and Beau finally lets go, my body collapsing to the floor with a hard thud.

“Lucky little bitch,” he spits—literally spits on me—before kicking me in the ribs with his steel-toed boot. “I ain’t done with you yet, girl. Soon as church gets out I’m coming for you.” Another kick to the ribs before Beau rolls me on my back and steps on my chest, leaning down close enough I can practically taste the booze on his breath. “And when I do, you’ll be praying for the chance to end up like your bitch mother.”

Which is the last thing I hear before I pass out.

* * *

My eyes flutteropen slowly as my side begins to throb, my entire body sore and stiff from dropping to the floor.

Remembering what my father did to me isn’t as hard to do this time. Not when I can tell that I’ve only been passed out for a little while compared to when he punches me until he knocks me out.

He didn’t hit me enough for that.

No, the slap to my face wasn’t as hard as Beau usually hits me, and it isn’t why I passed out. Having two different people try to choke me within less than two hours of each other is what did that, and the kicks to the ribs were just enough to send me over.

And wake me up, apparently.

Rolling to my side, I wait a few seconds before I attempt to get up, but I hurt too much to stand so I settle for crawling toward the stairs.

I grab my purse and carefully loop it over my arm before climbing the steps on all fours, every inch of my body screaming with each movement, begging for some kind of relief while I drag myself down the hall to my room.

The patches on guard duty do nothing, don’t even spare me a glance as I stumble to my feet and fight to get the door open. They don’t so much as blink in my direction the entire time, and once I’m finally inside, the deadbolts locking behind me, that’s when I decide it was better when I was numb.

And I know exactly how I’m going to feel that way again.

I set my purse on the dresser and carefully kick off my Crocs then make my way to the bathroom.