Page 25 of Nuts

The sound of screamo music filtered through the house.

Perfect.

He claimed listening to the vile filth calmed him. It didn’t. It seemed to transport him to a place that allowed him to escape from reality. When he returned, and eventually he always did, he was short-tempered and prone to violent outbursts.

I covered my head with my pillow and hoped that I could fall asleep.

Nervous with anticipation of what he might do, I tossed and turned while the annoying crap resonated throughout the house.

Eventually, I somehow relaxed enough that I fell asleep.

My door opening caused me to wake.

I opened my eyes and shot to a seated position. He stood just inside the room, leaning against the wall.

With a bottle of Jack Daniels clenched in his fist, he lowered his chin and fixed his drunken eyes on mine. “We need to have a talk.”

His glassy eyes and his inability to stand without the wall’s aid told me he was trashed. I knew better than to try to argue with him when he was in such a drunken state. A soft tone and a response that was supportive of his request was my only way to keep the situation from escalating.

I glanced at my clock.

1:22

“It’s almost two o’clock in the morning,” I said in a soft tone. “And, I feel sick. Can we talk tomorrow? In the morning?”

He pushed himself from the wall, and almost fell. He raised the bottle to his mouth, took a drink, and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand.

“We need to talk now.” He took another drink. “You’re going to be twenty-one soon, and you need to be the fuck out of this house before that day comes.”

My birthday was eight weeks away. By my calculations, I needed twelve stellar weeks of sales to achieve my financial goal. Nervous of what his next step might be if he didn’t find my reply favorable, I carefully formulated my response.

“I’ll do my best. I’m making some really good sales, and I’ve met my--”

He lowered the bottle and took a few steps toward the corner of my bed. “Did I ask you for details? Fuck no I didn’t. I don’t give two fucking shits about your stupid fucking job. I want results.”

My body tensed. I glanced at the bottle of whisky, realized it was almost empty, and swallowed heavily.

For fear of not having anywhere to go after they arrived, I’d never called the police on him. After our last talk had turned violent, I swore I’d never let him harm me again. Since that night, I held the police in reserve as my only salvation.

I looked up. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He waved the bottle in my direction. “Yes, Josh, I’ll be out by my birthday, or no Josh, I won’t. Which is it?”

I wasn’t going to lie to him, even if it was to get him to go away. If I did, the backlash that followed would be brutal. As much as I knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, I had to to give a truthful response.

One I was comfortable with.

“I’ll do my best.”

He leaned forward, grabbed the comforter, and yanked the covers off me completely. “Your best sucks.”

His glassy eyes and tense muscles told me he was drunk and hoping to start a fight. I jumped off the side of the bed and scrambled toward the dresser.

I yanked my phone from my purse. Prepared to give my verbal warning for what was next, I spun around, phone in hand.

I didn’t see it but something struck me on the cheek.

Hard.