“Ouch,” I said as she tried to hug me.Everything hurt.The ibuprofen I'd taken had done nothing to help.I could barely walk down the stairs because of the pain shooting through my body.
“Oh, God, Franny.”Felicia's voice quivered.She stepped back and looked me over.“Oh, no.”She shook her head, face crumpled up.
Then she turned her head, eyes narrowing on our father, who sat at the table.“This is because of you.Isn't it?”she cried, pointing at me with a shaky hand.“You did this!”
Our father sat there with his hands up in the air as though she held a gun to him or something.“I didn't do anything!It was her own damn fault,” he explained.His face was stark white.Completely drained.But it was also free of bruises and welts—unlike my own face, which was a collection of many colors ranging from purple to red.
“How was this Franny's fault?”Felicia shouted, hands fisted at her sides.
“She tried to leave the house.I told her not to go,” he defended himself.
She looked back at me for an explanation.
So—I gave her one.In as few words as possible.My jaw hurt with every movement.Somehow, I was able to give her the gist of what happened here while she was gone last night.After I was done, Felicia's face blanched, and she sat down at the table, folded her arms, and dropped her head on top.
Then—she started crying.
Felicia didn't cry often.But once she started—it was almost impossible to stop her.
I turned around and opened the nearly empty fridge.I pulled out the milk, shut the door, and headed to the counter.After depositing the milk there, I opened a cabinet door and grabbed a small packet of hot chocolate.I'd pocketed a bunch of them from the break room at work.That and sugar, instant coffee, and tea.
Opening my mouth was a challenge.I wasn't sure what I'd be able to get down besides fluid.But I had an idea to make it easier on myself.
A few minutes later, I sat across from a still crying Felicia and dipped my buttery toast into the crappy hot chocolate.
“Ow,” I said, the minimal contact with the saturated toast still hurting my lip.Even so, I powered through, taking way too much time to eat a piece of toast than I should have.
Our father grabbed a beer and disappeared.Thank goodness.
He was the last person I wanted to talk to.
Well, no.
Those men from last night were the last people I wanted to talk to.Or ever see again.All I needed to do was come up with some way to get out of this dump.And away from the spies outside.I just hadn't figured out how.
Yet.
But I would.
Because there was no way in hell I was going to let that greasy, well-dressed asshat auction me off to anyone.
“I'm sorry, Franny.”Felicia lifted her head and brushed her fingers under her red, puffy eyes.“Fuck, I'm so sorry.I should have known something like this would happen.”She shut her eyes tight, scrunching up her face.“Fuck!”she shouted and slammed her palms against the top of the table.My cup bounced and so did my plate, clattering before I could get a hold on them.
“It's fine.”I cautiously touched my jaw.“I'm getting out of here.All I need is a good plan.”Or at least that was what I tried to tell myself.I'd had a fitful night of sleep.Horrible dreams of me running, being chased by faceless strangers.Terrified for my life.
Felicia squeezed her eyes together, then rubbed them.“You have no idea who you're dealing with here.Do you?”She dropped her hands and stared at me like I was stupid.
I mean, did I specifically know exactly who each man was?No.Of course not.
Did I know they were all crappy pieces of crap?
Yes.
Of course, I did.
That was all I needed to know.
“My shift starts in an hour.”I pushed back in my chair and winced while I rose to my feet.Every muscle in my body hurt and ached like crazy.How I was going to get through my shift—I had not one clue.But I had to.
