Each shaky step is even harder than the last, and when I’m finally inside the doorway, Patrick is all the way in the kitchen already, sitting at the table. Several empty beer bottles and one that looks about half empty are scattered on the table’s surface, and the place smells stale, like the same waft of air I got earlier.
“You got all the money?”
I force an exhale and nod, stuffing my hand into my pocket to pull out my wallet. Then I make myself move again as I take out the stack of twenties. The unfamiliar feel of the wad of cash helps distract me just enough that I’m able to keep my feet going all the way to the kitchen. I stop when I’m a few feet away.
My heart’s hammering, and I clench my jaw to keep it from shaking as I reach out with the money. Somehow, I make words happen. “Here. It’s f-five hundred.”
Patrick’s eyes narrow, and the sneer on his face sharpens as he glances at me, then at the money in my hand. “The car’s twelve hundred now. Cind said she told you earlier this week.”
“N-no. No, it’s only five—”
The chair scrapes dangerously fast along the floor as Patrick pushes back and stands up, glaring at me.
“The fuck you trying to pull, you little shit? You sayin’ your mom’s lying?”
“N-no, I just—”
He turns and takes a step toward me, and my stomach drops. I back up, still clutching the cash in one hand and my wallet in the other.
“You little fucking shit. I can’t fucking believe this. Coming here, wastin’ my time.” He’s stalking toward me, hot fury making his face red, and I can’t move or speak or even breathe.
The front door feels impossibly far away, and everythingaround me is buzzing with a painful haze. It’s suddenly dark, and I don’t even realize I’ve screwed my eyes shut until I feel a hot breath near my ear.
“You broke into my house, refused to leave, threatened me,” he hisses. “It’s self-defense. And your momma’s not here to save your skinny little ass this time.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“No, please. I-I’ll leave. I’ll—”
A rough hand slams right into the middle of my chest and shoves me backward hard, and I stumble and trip and fall, the money dropping from my hand and scattering all over the floor. I try to catch myself, but my back smacks into the solid corner of the entryway to the kitchen, pain lancing through my chest and all the way down into my toes. I’m suddenly on the ground, curled up on my side, unable to breathe. I try pushing myself away, but the wall behind me stops me.
And he’s right there, bearing down on me. Laughing. An angry, disgusted, drunken laugh that sends a shock of icy fear through me.
He grabs my arm and yanks me up to my feet, pain ripping through my shoulder. His voice spits with anger and resentment. “You’ve got thirty seconds to pick this shit up and get the fuck out,” he says, squeezing my arm harder before releasing me. “And leave the car key.”
I scramble as soon as I’m free, dropping back to my knees to start gathering up my money and wallet. The pain in my shoulder comes in nauseating waves every time I move, but I ignore it as I rush to stuff the money into the pockets of my slacks. My fingers have gone numb again, and I’m clumsy and keep dropping the bills. I’m not even sure I get them all before Patrick’s voice cuts in, cold and menacing.
“Time’s up. Give me the key and get out.”
I want to scream at him that it’s my car, but any flicker of defiance I might have is snuffed out the second he steps toward me. I flinch back, pushing myself away from him with one hand while I fish for my keys through a messy wad of twenty-dollar bills with the other. Several of the bills fall back out of my pocket to the floor, and I hastily scoop them up, then stand, still backing away from him.
“H-here,” I stammer, fumbling with the key ring. My vision’s so blurry I can’t see for fuck, so I struggle for too many goddamn seconds to free the car’s key from my key ring. It falls to the ground, and I don’t bother picking it up to hand to him. I fucking can’t.
I need out.
Shaking, I spin around and force my feet to move, Patrick’s awful laughter chasing me out the front door.
Chapter Thirty
Alex
“Let’sgoooooooo!Bro,thatwas sweet!”
Shane claps me on the back as the game in front of me flashes, the bright lights accompanied by some garbled electronic cheering. The jackpot number lights up at the top—apparently, my amazing expertise at being stupidly lucky at arcade games has won me two thousand “tickets,” which is possibly the biggest single haul of anyone in our group so far tonight.
I grin and shake my head as Shane steps up to take a turn spinning the monster-sized wheel. Jenna stands on the other side of him, her arms crossed over her chest, and Leela hangs off of her, giggling at something on her phone. It’s busy and loud, and everything’s bright and obnoxious. But it’s fun, and everyone seems to be having a great time. A bunch of others are back at the three tables our large group commandeered, sharing nachos and pizza and wings, and across the arcade, there’s another round of loud, overzealous shouting from the basketball shooting game.
“Guess Cooper did it again,” Leela says on a laugh.
