I thought she was gone for good. I can’t believe she actually came back, but now I’m walking back to the porch tohave another kind of conversation. This time with a very pissed-off female who is only talking to me because she wants to keep her clothes on.
The irony is quite amusing. Usually it’s the other way around, the females that talk to me do so in hopes of me taking their clothes off. Could she be the one female that’s resistant to my charm?
“Sit,” I order.
“I’m not a dog,” she snaps.
“Please, have a seat, ma’am.” I gesture to the wooden rocking chair. “Why are you running away?”
“Why do you care?” If go fuck yourself was a look, she’s wearing it right now.
“Weren’t you scared the boogeyman was going to get you being all alone in the woods?” I’m trying to get her to lighten up a little so she will be more willing to talk to me.
“Once you’ve dealt with real monsters, the fake ones don’t scare you anymore.” She turns her head where I can’t read her expression.
Her response is like a punch to the gut. Definitely not what I was expecting. I’ve got to go a softer route; this might be my one chance to get her to open up to me.
“Listen,” I take a deep breath, “I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier.” I take a seat next to her and lean in facing her with my elbows resting on my knees so she can see my sincerity.
“Just earlier?” She eyes me questioningly.
“Fine. I’m sorry for making it seem like everything I chose to do was your fault.” That’s twice “sorry” has come out of my mouth. Ugh. I sit back. I’m not usually one to apologize.
She doesn’t speak so I continue. “I would be able to help you better if I knew your whole story. If you don’t want to tell me the dirty details, that’s fine, but I need to know the basics.”
She considers me for a minute. “How do I know that you won’t turn me in?”
“Do you really think I would’ve have gone to the lengths I’ve gone to help and protect you if I was planning on turning you in?” Surely she’s smart enough to know that.
“Fine, what do you want to know?” Annoyance seeps through her voice.
“Did you intentionally cause the explosion that killed your father?” Might as well get straight to the point.
“Yes.” She replies quickly and if I’m not mistaken, with a hint of pride.
I notice her hand moving like she’s rubbing the inside of her elbow out of the corner of my eye. “Why?”
She shifts away from me. What is she doing?
“You said I didn’t have to tell you the details. I think you already know why.” She turns her head away from me again.
Deep down, I truly do know why. Part of me wishes he was still here so I could kill him myself. He got off easy being blown up.
“Were you a kid when this started?” I clench my jaw; I already know what the answer is going to be, and it pisses meoff. Anyone who dares abuse an innocent child deserves to be kept alive and tortured in the most brutal ways.
“Yes.” Her whisper is so low, I barely catch it. She shifts uncomfortably and won’t look at me.
“Did your mother know about the abuse?”
“Physical, yes. Sexual, no. She did the best she could to protect me but he was a monster. I don’t want to talk about her right now.” Her voice trembles and I can tell she’s holding her breath, trying to suppress her emotions.
I change topics before I lose her. “The first time we met, you told me you couldn’t pay his debts. Did you mean your father? Is there anyone you owe?” There’s a palpable tension in the air, but it’s imperative I keep the conversation going.
“Yes, and no, I don’t owe anyone anything.” She finally looks at me, her glare slicing through me like a razor blade. Glad to know that.
“Who did he owe money to and how much?”
“I’m not sure who, I was never given any names. He always owed random people money and used me to settle his debts.”
