“Straight ahead, down that hallway.” He nods his head toward the entrance leading out of the room. I get up and leave.
In the bathroom, the bile starts to rise just as I kneel down in front of the toilet. I vomit my breakfast, then sit down next to the toilet, my hand over my belly. I’m not showing. I looked it up, and I probably won’t start showing for another month and a half. God, time is running out.
Since I’ve decided to keep this baby, I’ve been toying with the idea of finding a way to run. It’ll take money and resources—two things I just don’t have. But I’ve got to figure a way to get it.
Maybe I can strip again. Just until I start to show. Find a way to sneak out of the house and back in without my father knowing it. He’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when I’m gone, though, which I personally find to be hilarious now. When I was sixteen, I could have skipped town in the middle of the night and it would’ve taken him two days to even know I was gone. Now I can’t sneeze without him knowing it.
The waves of nausea have passed, so I stand up and turn on the faucet to wash my mouth out. I do, swishing the water around and spitting it out. After the second go, I turn off the faucet… and I suddenly hear talking.
Where’s it coming from? I look around the bathroom and realize the noise is coming from the vents. Somebody from the other room is talking.
The nearest vent is near the door, so I kneel down and listen. It’s my father’s voice…
“Chapter is closed. Finally,” he says. “Little tramp caused me no end of problems when Nikita was alive.”
My stomach cramps and I have to cover my mouth as the bitter taste of bile comes back. I listen further, trying to hear the other voice, but I can’t make it out.
“She was a boil on his existence,” he continues. “You know, she’s the reason he didn’t get farther in the ranks. He was supposed to be my successor. He should have at least been a brigadier by the time he was in his twenties. But the little gutter trash kept herfoot on his neck.” He laughs. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. Men will move mountains for a woman who gives good head.”
He’s talking about Marla. He’s talking trash about Marla. My entire body starts to vibrate with hurt and anger. Of all the days in all the world, today he decides to talk trash about her?
My eyes start to sting with tears as his voice continues. I stand up in an effort to get away from it, to stop listening. I can’t. He’s just going on and on about her. I need to leave.
I walk out of the bathroom, and the second I’m in the cool air-conditioned hallway, a sob gets caught in my throat. I’m losing it. I’m about to completely lose my shit.
I walk out into the living room, struggling to keep from shaking, struggling to keep the tears away. I need to leave. Where’s the door?Where’s the fucking door?
“Hey.” I feel hands on my shoulder. I look up to see that Viktor is holding me. He peers down at me with concern. “You okay?”
I try to speak, but a sob stops me. I have to swallow it as the tears come running down. “Take me home, please,” I manage.
He doesn’t question it. He just nods and wraps his arms around my shoulders, then leads me out of the house.
