He sways a little and leans in the door frame with his other hand. His breath hits my nostrils and I scrunch my nose. He’s been drinking.
“The front door won’t unlock when you’re trying to jam in your car key.”
Victor’s gaze lowers to his hand with the keys. He squints his eyes. “Oh yeah.”
At that moment a black sedan’s engine roars, drawing my attention to the older man inside. He waves at me and I wave back. Thank goodness Victor didn’t drive. I don’t know if he called an Uber or someone else did it for him, but I’m thankful he wasn’t in his car.
Victor steps into the hallway, the light illuminates his face, and I gasp. His bottom lip is swollen and the reddish color around his left eye is undeniably going to turn purple and black by the morning. His jeans and shirt are wrinkled, his hair messy. Victor must have fought someone. Maybe in a bar or the campus fight club.
“Aren’t you the girl I want to see?”
His breath reaches me, and I frown, stepping back.
“You’re drunk. Keep your distance.” My voice is strained.
“But that’s the problem. I can’t. Come over here.”
His demanding voice has a note of possessiveness. But I’m not afraid. Even in this state, I know Victor won’t hurt me. It’s a gut feeling, or maybe I just know it deep in my soul.
I glare at him. He reminds me of my mom, although when she’s this wasted sometimes she doesn’t even recognize me.
“Did you get in a fight?” My voice is so accusatory that I cringe at my own words.
“Why would you say that?” he stutters.
“Because you have a busted lip and a black eye.”
Victor holds himself up by the kitchen table, but I sense his wobbly legs will give up any minute.
“That’s nothing. Pain is good for me. To remind me what I’m fighting for. You should have seen the other guy.” He chuckles as he sways.
Images of a man lying in a hospital bed in a coma invade my mind. I try to suck in air.
Victor takes small, slow steps… toward me. I’m frozen in my spot. Now is the time for me to run. Drinking leads to aggression, Victor could take it out on me. I have no chance against the Bull.
But I dismiss the thought quickly. Victor is gentle with me. Call me stupid, but in my heart I know he’s nothing like Mom’s boyfriends.
He reaches me and hugs me tight. I slap his hard-rock shoulder a few times.
“Are you tapping out? I’m just getting started.”
I sigh and tug him to his room upstairs. Climbing the stairs with Victor leaning on me proves very difficult, but I manage.
I spent the past year trying to avoid this act—helping my drunk mom to bed—and failing so much, and ironically I find myself in the same situation again.
But this time it’s with the Bull.
I push his body to the bed and he flops on it. His eyes can barely stay open. I lift his shirt, trying to get it off him, and decide it’ll never happen.
Suddenly his hand grabs mine and I fall next to him.
“You’re not going anywhere. Ever.”
“You’re drunk and out of it.” I take his arm that’s pinning me down on the bed and do my best to lift it.
He growls. At me. I shoot him a venomous look, which helps with nothing. After a few more attempts, I give in. I’ll have to wait it out.
“Say you’ll stay here.”
