Another lie.
His lip curled. “I don’t fucking believe you.”
“You don’t have to, but I’m telling you the truth.”
“What if I took the debit card out of your wallet? Would I see a balance if I went to an ATM?”
This was what happened in the eight-to-ten-beer range. Threats that led to nothing. His drunk ass wasn’t going to an ATM—there wasn’t one within walking distance, and he already had two DUIs on his record. Below eight beers, he was quiet but lethal. Above ten, and things became unhinged.
I squeezed the strap, my hands not far from the zipper, where my wallet sat below. “Nope.”
“You’re fucking lying.”
“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you.”
I went to move past him to go into the kitchen, and he stepped in front of me to block me.
The grooves were so thick in his forehead, I could stick pennies between them and they’d stay. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“To the kitchen.”
When he laughed, I got a whiff of his breath. A combo of smoke and stale beer and despair. It all made me want to gag.
“I don’t think so.”
“What? Why?” I’d just finished a twelve-hour shift at the assisted living facility I’d been employed at for the last two years. Since I worked in the kitchen, oftentimes, when there was leftover food, we could have it. We could also buy meals at a discount. Neither of those scenarios had happened today. I needed something in my stomach. It was so empty; it ached. “Please move out of my way.”
“Until you cough up some dough, you’re not eating my fucking food.”
“I pay to live here.” The anger was building, but I wouldn’t let it show. I refused to let this asshole win. “What’s in that fridge is mine too?—”
“Melanie, do you hear the way your fucking daughter is back-talking? I should smack her across the goddamn face and teach her some respect.” He took a drag of his cigarette andblew the smoke at me. “Food ain’t free, sweetheart. You want to eat, you pay. It’s as simple as that.”
I hated him.
And I hated it here.
“Mom?” I turned to face her. “Mom, please tell him I can eat food that I helped pay for!”
She wouldn’t look at me. Her head was back, and she was singing, like her audience was the ceiling and she was trying out for a competition.
What is even happening right now?
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Mommy dearest isn’t coming to your rescue? She’s too drunk to give a fuck about you.”
I filled my lungs, pushing the bile down my throat, dreaming about the day when I could punch this man in the face, chipping his front right tooth the same way the left one had been halved.
“Maybe when your stomach hurts bad enough, you’ll fork over some cash and finally show some appreciation that I let you live under my fucking roof.”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Screw you.”
I rushed into my tiny room, and as I was shutting the door, I heard him follow me, his hand hitting the wood at the same time it closed.
I put my back up against it as he shouted, “Give me some fucking money, you selfish little slut!”
He pounded on the door. Each time his fist connected, it made me bounce off the door, and I had to add more weight.
