MAYA, a girl who goes through life with an unwavering smile-around other people that is. While juggling four jobs to support her father and a side hobby of modelling, Maya is rarely at home-to her content. Even through the mental and physical turmoi...
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IT TAKES ME a solid thirty minutes to reach home, and by the time I step through the door, the world outside is cloaked in darkness. I trudge into my well-lit house and set my work uniform on the table, eager to share my earnings with Dad.
"I'm back!" I call out, my excitement bubbling.
"Did you get it?" Dad's voice floats in from the living room, but I wish he'd ask about my day like he used to.
I wait until I'm in the living room with him before replying, "Yeah, here." As I hand him the glass bottle, he examines it briefly before asking, "What the hell is this?"
"Peach vodka...?" My heart quickens, and sweat beads on my palms. In slow motion, his face twists with disgust, and the bottle hurtles back toward me.
Instinctively, I bend my knees and shield my head with my arms, narrowly avoiding the shattered glass. A bottle collides with the wall behind me, creating a loud crash. I stand up, tears welling in my eyes, and take a cautious step forward to avoid stepping on the glass shards, my socks absorbing the spilled vodka that now pools on the floor.
Fear courses through me.
Dad advances just as I do, his voice sharp, "Did I ask for peach?"
I glance at my soaked socks, the puma logo now a darker shade of gray. "No," I mutter. He did, but arguing would only make him angrier. I don't want to provoke him.
He grasps my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "What did you say?"
"No, sir," I grit out, louder this time.
"Then why the heck did you bring me peach?" My silence meets his question, and I'm at a loss for words. What can I say?
"Huh?" He shoves me.
I struggle to find an answer, anything to ease his anger. "I-I..."
"Huh?" Another shove, and this time, I lose my balance. I stagger backward until my foot catches a piece of glass, causing me to slip and fall onto my hands and butt.
Despite my best efforts, tears stream down my cheeks. I don't sob or make a sound, though, as that would only irritate him further. "Go get me whiskey," he commands. I push myself up with my hands, grab my keys, and head for the door. "Don't set foot in this house without it," he warns, his words echoing in my ears.
I drive back to the club and cross the parking lot to the front door. I can't even remember the drive here. The "Open" sign is unlit, no surprise considering it's almost six in the morning. But I notice Micah sitting on one of the couches with some other men.
