Good Girl

Chapter 14

Abby’s PoV

I came home to an unlocked house with all of the lights on. It was about 8:30, because it took me awhile to walk from J.C.’s to my place, and we hung out for about four hours. I couldn’t have called my mom because she had taken my phone, and calling would make her suspicious. So I walked home for about half an hour and saw that the door was unlocked, blah blah blah. I almost shat my fucking pants when I saw mom’s boyfriend, Jamie, sitting on the couch. 

Shit, I thought. Okay, I’m just gonna walk to my room quietly. Please don’t see me, please don’t see me, please don’t-

“Hey, Abby!” Jamie slurred. “C’mere real quick.” 

I, like a douchebag, pretended that I didn’t hear him. 

 He didn’t like that.

“Don’t you try and sneak past me, you little bitch!” he shouted as he got up and staggered over to where I was standing.

He grabbed my arm and held me in place, and I didn’t even bother trying to squirm, because when he was this drunk, he didn’t take too kindly to resistance.

“Okay, girlie, you know what I need you to-” he backhanded me hard in the jaw. “Pay attention! I need you to go to the gas station and pick up a six-pack.” 

I debated on whether or not I should tell him for a moment. Like an idiot, I decided I would.

“I-I can’t just get you beer, Jamie,” I explained shakily. “I’m only fourteen, they won’t let me-”

I stopped abruptly when I looked up to see the burning anger in his eyes. He pushed me against a wall, put his knee on my chest because he knew I’d run (frankly, I’m surprised he could balance), and punched me square in the mouth. 

I choked out some blood as he took his knee off of me and pulled my face up to look at him by my jaw, which hurt like a bitch, by the way. 

“You’re gonna go…and buy me a six pack. Got it?”

I froze in place, weighing my options.

If I go and try to buy beer, I’ll come back empty-handed, and that would piss him off.

If I stay here, he’ll-

“You little fucking cunt!” he shouted as he punched me in the stomach.

Yeah. That.

I hunched over and spit up a little, gagging more as I realized how deep in shit I was.

I slid down the wall, knowing that any sudden movement would hurt even worse, but getting knee-level with that psycho was a bad choice. 

He pushed me over onto my side and kicked me in the ribs, not enough to break anything, but just enough to make me puke a little and knock the wind out of me. 

I knew he was yelling at me, but all of the sound just blurred into a low ringing in the back of my head as I sat there limply on the floor. 

Finally, when he walked away, I got up the strength to stand up. When he fell asleep on the couch, shitfaced drunk, I walked out the back door and quietly closed it behind me.