Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
I want peace.
Not long later, I’m still on my side, in the fetal position, staring off into the dark and stewing in the too-familiar ugly feeling in my belly until the bedroom door creaks open, a sliver of light slicing across me. My eyes scream as he flicks the light on. I squeeze them shut.
“Vi?”
The bed sinks near my hips as he sits.
“Violet?”
I open my eyes halfway, seeing him hover over me. I shield them. Old me would’ve given him shit for the blinding light.
“I need the title for the car.”
“Huh?”
“Need all the paperwork. Got an opportunity and I just got to –”
“The car isn’t paid off. I have four more payments to make.”
My heartbeat is picking up pace.
“Gimme the paperwork, Vi.”
“But it’s not paid off yet, Ray.”
“I have an opportunity and-”
“A car has to be paid off to get one of those loans.”
Not only that, I don’t want to get one of those loans. I don’t need my car getting repossessed right when I’ve finally paid it off.
“Fuck! How do you not have that paid off yet?” he snaps.
He reeks of booze.
I rear back deeper into my pillow. “What’s going on?”
Typical for him to blame me that the calendar isn’t where he wants it to be. Everything wrong in Ray’s life – somehow my fault.
He stands, thrusting his hands through his blond hair. He looks furious, or maybe freaked.
My eyes are still adjusting, but I squint at him, waiting, trying to assess what’s what.
He’s a mess. Definitely freaked out.
Those calls last night, him staring out the window looking paranoid – is someone after him for money? Did he borrow money? Gamble? What?
“I need money, Vi. I have this opportunity and it’s not gonna last longer than 24 hours. I saw this billboard for online instant approval loans.”
“The car has to be –”
“Paid off. Yeah, I fuckin’ heard ya.” He storms out of the room, slamming the door, leaving the light on.
I get out of bed and turn the light back out. But it won’t be over this easily; I know better.
I’m proven right ten seconds later. He’s back, flicking the light on again.
“You need to ask for an advance at work, Vi. Tell ‘em it’s an emergency. We need seven or eight k. Before you leave the office tomorrow.”
“I can’t get an advance like that, Ray. I can’t get any advances. They cut me off after the last one.”
“You work your ass off for that fuckin’ place and they won’t help you when you’ve got an emergency?”
“What’s my emergency?”
By the time I realize how much venom is in my voice, it’s too late to take it back. He lunges at me, fist pulled back ready to strike.
I don’t even flinch. I’m waiting for it. I wouldn’t say I want it, but it’s almost like… here it is. I knew this day was coming. It was inevitable.
I stare at him. Directly into his eyes.
He flexes his fingers and then his arm drops. He doesn’t strike, instead he drops his head into my legs and lets out a big, broken sigh.
I don’t move. I stay there with his head in my lap, ugliness slithering through my veins.
Here we go. Here we go again. A-fucking-gain.
“Shit got fucked up,” his muffled voice tells me. “If I don’t have six thousand dollars by dinner time tomorrow, babe, the people I owe to – they’ll break something. My leg. Jaw. Dunno. And then if I still don’t come up with it… I don’t fuckin’ know what’ll happen to me. Well, I do know, but I don’t think you need me to say. If I have seven or eight k, I can pay it back and use the other grand or two to get us ahead.”
This happened once before, just over a year ago. It was almost exactly the same. Him in a panic and me being stupid enough to ask what I could do. Him putting his head in my lap. Me putting my hands in his hair and rubbing his head while he told me that he fucked up. He cleaned me out that time when I cashed out my company stock and handed thirty-five hundred over to him to get him out of trouble with a gambling debt. He promised he was done and that he’d get help by joining a gambling support group.
Since then, he’s bled my savings account dry, racked up my credit cards, and he’s left me struggling to get to each payday.
“Our account, the money is there from our budget, right? I have a car payment due in a couple days.”
He knows how much money has to be in there based on the budget that’s magneted to the fridge, hiding behind the calendar. I update it each payday with the amount that can be spent after bills are paid.
“It’s gone.”