He doesn’t spare me a glance. “You don’t. My work here is done.” And then he walks away like he was never here.
Throwing the pillow onto the couch, I move fast, locking the door again. Checking it twice more, just to be sure. The cold metal turns in my fingers for confirmation. It’s locked, but I can’t help checking it again.
I finish stripping off my skirt that’s barely clinging to my waist and run around my small apartment turning every light on and searching every corner. It only takes me a couple seconds, but not a thing is out ofplace. Not that I have a lot of furniture anyway—just the basics to get me by and a few boxes of belongings I brought with me from the rental I shared with my father. But my mind still races knowing that there was a strange man in here. Did he respect my personal belongings? Or was he just careful enough not to leave a trace? I couldn’t tell which one worries me more.
Grabbing the bottle of vodka from the kitchen, I scull directly from it, the burn a sharp edge I desperately need before lumping onto the couch. I stare down at the stark white envelope in my trembling hand. I’m half desperate to rip it open but also half wanting to throw it away.
Memories crash through my thoughts…
“How was your day at school?” my dad asks me as we skip along the path to get some ice-cream—our Friday tradition.
“It was okay,” I mumble.
Dad bends down so he’s at the same height as me, sensing that I’m holding back. “Charlie, what happened?”
“They’re stupid,” I say.
“Who is?”
“The kids at school. They tease me, Daddy.”
The protective side of him starts to show as his shoulders stiffen, and his face hardens. “What do they say?”
“They say my mommy left me because she doesn’t love me.” I sniffle. “Why doesn’t she love me, Dad?”
He scoops me up and pulls me to his chest. “Let’s get some ice-cream.”
Dad just finishedreading my favorite bedtime story: Cinderella. He tucks me in to bed, wraps the blanket around me like a cocoon, pressing along the edges, making sure it’s tight against me, and places a kiss on my forehead. “Goodnight, Charlie,” he says softly before turning away and flicking off the light.
“Daddy?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“Do you think Mommy is in heaven like Cinderella’s?”
“Go to sleep, baby,” he says and walks away.
“Where have you been, Charlotte?” Dad yells at me as I storm through the front door.
“Nowhere!” I shout back, taking the stairs two at a time as I try to retreat to my room, but Dad is quick behind me.
“Stop right there,” he says once he reaches me, turning me around until I’m facing him. “I’ll only ask once more. Where were you?”
“At Stacey’s,” I lie, trying to hide the fact I was at a party with older guys.
“Then why did she call twenty minutes ago looking for you?” he demands.
I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe a joke.”
“You think this is funny, Charlotte? You’re fifteen. You don’t know who is out there!”
“What has gotten into you today?” I bite back.
“You have to tell me where you are at all times. If not, you’ll be grounded.”
“Aargghhh!” I scream in frustration. “I bet Mom wouldn’t have been this strict.”
“If onlyyou knew,” he mutters under his breath. I want to ask him what he means by that but before the words come out of my mouth, he has retreated into his room, shutting me out once again.
