irrevocable

{Twenty-Seven}

No Body No Crime // Taylor Swift

Holly

I make it to work ten minutes before my shift. I'm not usually an early bird to clock in, but I needed some space after spending the last day and a half with my mom. I'm starting to wonder if she's delusional. My dad has never been the misunderstood bad guy. He's just a bad guy, plain and simple. There's no excuse for any of the toxic shit he's done all my life. Not that Mom has made excuses for him, she's just accepted it. It's who he is, and she knows he'll never change. She hasn't been in a position, financially or physically, to leave him.

Even now that Jackson is breaking his back to help us get away, she's relatively unbothered about the whole thing. I tried to explain that Dad has a gun —something that didn't shock anyone— and actually used it on someone. Mom looked off into the distance and shook her head.

"I always wondered if he'd do something of this nature," she said. The outrage I thought I'd witness wasn't there. She'd resolved years ago that he was exactly this type of man and it was only a matter of time. I should probably be understanding. I should probably expect some type of Stockholm Syndrome in her. But I'm so angry at her right now. I can't even talk about how angry I am. The little girl who hid in the woods with Jackson knew this was the type of daddy she had. How does a little girl see more than her mother?

I guess I wasn't blinded by love or obligation the way my mom was. I guess I should give her grace. But not right now. Right now, I need space.
So, I decided to go to work, even though my boss told me to take time off. I left way before I needed to be here and drove around, thinking, wondering what would happen next. Wondering where he was lurking and when he'd make his presence known.

I shut off the engine and grab my bag. I might as well head inside even though I still have a few minutes. If I wanted it, I'd have the entire day, no questions asked. But I think if I spend any time with anyone in my life—because everyone in my life is wrapped up in this drama—I'll lose it. So, off to work I go.

I lock the door with the key—neither the remote lock and interior manual lock are working—and drop my keys into my purse. I turn around to head into the employee entrance and come face to face with the last person on Earth I ever want to see again.

"We have a deal to discuss." Dad smirks down at me. He looks more disheveled than usual. His beard lays against his chest in a tangled mess. His hair, usually greased back into a neat braid or ponytail, now frizzes around his face like a mane. He's wearing a wrinkled black t-shirt smelling of booze and body odor. Boots covered in patches of grease peek out of jeans equally dirty with whatever he's been working on, probably his motorcycle if I were to guess.

But it's his eyes that give me the most pause. He's trying to scowl, to intimidate me. But his eyes show fear. And I can't find it in myself to care.

"Nothing to discuss with you, Dad. I've got to head in to work." I try to brush past him. A futile effort because he reaches out and grabs my arm. It's his signature move. I knew it was coming but I wasn't about to give in without a fight.

"This is more important." He leans in a little closer, the scent of booze even stronger now. It's pouring out of his skin.

"You're drunk." His hand tightens around my arm. "Let go."

"You need to come with me."

I look around the parking lot, seeking a visual on his cab or his motorcycle. Nothing. I look back at him, brow wrinkled in confusion. How did he get here, walk?

"We're taking your mom's car." He smirks again. "Looks like your boy fixed it up. Not as big a pussy as his mom said he was."

I tense my jaw to keep from lashing out at him for the way he's talking about Jackson. I shouldn't be surprised about any of this, but he continues to shock me with his disregard for others.