𝐃𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐒, jax teller

𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏, first hits

❛ It's who you are. Abusive. Gross. Vile. ❜

chapter thirty seven.

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SCARLET COUNTS each of her father's step above her head, knowing that when it reaches 12 that he'll be stood directly in front of the basement door with the set of keys for the various locks hanging on his finger. Even through the large metal door, she's able to hear his low, angry mumbles but she struggles to make out the words fluently, her mind too consumed with terror.

Her chin wobbles as the door is pushed up, revealing her father dressed in his usual attire; a dirty wife beater clinging to his out of shape body while old joggers hang onto his waist. A cigarette dangles from his lips as he shoves a set of keys into his pockets before he stubs his cigarette out on the wall while his other hand pulls a string that causes a single lightbulb to flicker on in the basement. It hangs on a small lead a few steps from Scarlett and it illuminates her surroundings further. But she doesn't dare to move her eyes from her father as he begins to descend the creaky basement stairs. Dust and splinters fall to the floor as his large combat boots beat down on the shaky wood.

Scarlett's eyes burn into his boots and her body tenses more each step he takes, until eventually he lands on the cold concrete of the basement and a agonising silence washing over them as Scarlett takes her eyes up her father's body to look at his face. She sucks in a deep breath, trying to push on a hard front as she studies her father's expression. His face is flat, no wicked smile or beaming eyes. He just stares at her emotionlessly until he blinks and snaps himself out of whatever trance he was in.

"Well, well," He begins, rubbing his grubby palms together before folding them over his chest, "This is giving me a real sense of nostalgia."

She swallows before shaking her wrists slightly to move his attention to the chains linking her to the ceiling, "Fairly sure these weren't here last time."

"Oh, they were," He chuckles, rocking back on his heels, "Just didn't get the chance to use 'em before you scuttled away."

Her head tilts, "Can you really blame me?"

He dismisses her question, "You're mother was heartbroken when she woke up and found your rooms empty. Utterly heartbroken. She loved you dearly."

"That's funny," Scarlett scoffs, "As seen as she hasn't spoken to me once since I got back into town. Can she still speak, or has all the cigarettes clogged up her throat?"

She watches as a flash of anger washes through his eyes but he manages to keep himself calm before replying, "You managed to turn your own mother against you, Letty. Why the hell would she talk to the useless daughter that fled and left her childless?"