The only thing left to paint is the crown molding on one of the walls and to fix a few drops on another (I messed up a little right after Justin’s visit, which I’ve forgiven myself for), which will take me an hour, tops. I have a ladder, brushes, and paint, so I'm good to go.
"Nah, just stayed a little longer yesterday. Almost done, though," I tell her proudly. “What do you think?”
She gazes around again, and I’m scared to hear her reaction. We’ve already painted it beige, but it didn’t resonate with either of us, so we decided to switch it up and add my drawing. The color isn’t exactly what she wanted—the brightest peach (her favorite color), but for the sake of our eyes, I bought pastel peach; it looks so gentle and easy on the eyes while still being vibrant and playful. That’s why I’ve been here all night—I wanted her to see this color before she starts coating it in an orange monstrosity.
“This is…” She looks around again with furrowed brows.
I bite my lip, dread settling heavily in my stomach.Oh man, I messed up.
“This is gorgeous!” she finally bursts out at the same time I start blubbering, “I’ll fix it, don’t worry—wait, what?”
"The walls are gorgeous. I love them. You were right; this color's better."
I let out the breath I had been holding for so long, a broad smile creeping across my face. “Really?” I ask, my heart fluttering.
“Yes. I love it,” she asserts with less emotion this time, back to her usual self. Oof, I began to worry there for a moment. She’s never that emotional.
“Great!” I hop up from the floor where I was mixing the paint.
“Hey, hmm…” Marina begins, looking out the window.
“What?”
"I think your car is getting towed." She looks at me worriedly, and then back outside.
“The hell!” I run to the window to see she’s right—my loyal Jeep is getting hooked by its front bumper to a tow truck by Bobby, who owns the local towing company and is officially on my shit list. But he isn't the primary source of the problem—or the recipient of my wrath right now. A smug-looking Jake Attleborough leans on his cruiser, watching the show unfold. I can clearly tell he’s eagerly awaiting me to come out screaming, thirsty for the entertainment. Like a bloodthirsty piranha. What a dick. “I’m gonna kill him,” I growl.
“The shotgun is in the kitchen!” Marina calls helpfully.
I shake my head. “All I need is my bare hands.”
I walk outside, noticing Jake’s smile turn into a full-blown shit-eating grin as he notices me. A Valkyrie on the hunt. He doesn’t know what’s about to hit him. “Haven’t paid your ticket yet, huh?”
My nostrils flare, and I strain to not lean over and physically bite him as I snap, “You just gave it to me. I have time.”
“No, you don’t.” He clicks his tongue mockingly. “Your lights still not fixed, and you have a shit-ton of unpaid tickets. So yeah, your junk’s getting towed.”
“Jake, for fuck’s sake, this isn’t fair! I can’t afford to pay everything at once to get my car back.” His humane side clearly checked out years ago, but I make an appeal to it anyway.
“Not my problem.” He shrugs, picking the dirt from underneath his fingernails. Disgusting. “And it’s Officer Attleborough to you.”
“Itisyour problem!” I exclaim. “The only reason I have so many is because of you constantly targeting me!”
“You’re a reckless driver,” he shoots back, shrugging. I see the muscles of his folded arms flex like he’s imagining strangling me, but I’ve seen meaner and bigger than him, so his attempt to scare me is wasted effort. “And you don’t follow the rules.”
“Like you fuckin’ do,” I snap at him.
What I said must have triggered something because a dark cloud suddenly swarms his face. He pushes away from the cruiser and straightens his pose. His face grows stone-cold, no trace of his signature smirk in sight.
“Got something to say?” His voice is pure menace, and even Bobby shoots curious looks our way while continuing to secure my baby to his truck.
I watch Jake carefully, contemplating what I’m going to say next in light of his reaction—I feel like this is some sort of critical moment that could weigh heavily on our future sparring, but I don’t understand why—or why he looks almost… afraid. And then it hits me. He thinks I’m referencing what happened at Alex’s cabin—what he did—and he’s scared that I know the truth and could ruin him with it. I level him with a stare.
“Don’t worry,Officer. We trailer trash do have some honor left, even if the law doesn’t. Yoursecret,” I inform him, curving my fingers in air quotes around the word, “is safe with me. But I’m tired of being bullied by you, Jake. Fuck, by everybody.” I spread my covered in goosebumps arms wide. Not only is it cold out here, but my adrenaline is spiking. “I’m done with this. Take my car. Might as well transfer the title to yourself because I don’t have the money to get it back. So enjoy your win, asshole. I hope it’ll make you a little less bitter.”
A look of uncertainty crosses his face, but it’s gone just as fast. He yanks his ever-present Ray-Bans off, sticks them in the pocket, and opens his mouth to say something, but I’m already gone. I can see Marina watching me through the window with a look of pure pride on her face. I’d be proud of myself, too, if I had any mental capacity left to feel anything.
Pride aside, I have no idea what to do. I know Marina will offer me her car and every last dollar she has—which can’t be much after the renovations—but I won’t take either. I can’t. It’s a trailer girl syndrome: scared of taking anything from anybody because we know nothing is free. It’s been years, and Marina is family, but I still deal with my problems on my own.
