Pistol

Chapter Four

Steph ran out of small talk somewhere about the time her bottle ran dry. There was nothing inherently wrong with the company her parents kept, but politics and sports were two of her least favourite subjects. Even more tiresome when she literally didn't know what people talked about half the time.

Ivan left the BBQ with her brother after dinner was served to attend another function, and as much as he offered for her to join them, Steph declined. She would have given her left tit to leave the house with a valid excuse, but the fiery blister on her right heel said 'go home'.

It's going to be flip-flops for the next week with that one.

The clock ticked past nine as she sat on a two-seater with her father—who had also run out of alcohol fuelled interest. He leant over and whispered in her ear. "Ten bucks says your mother has me here until everyone else has left first."

Steph chuckled. "You know she can't help herself when it comes to one-upping people," she whispered back.

He nodded, a broad grin on his tired, and weathered face. Her father had made his fortune in a niche market. He had seen an opportunity, a gap in supply, and simply been that guy who was in the right place at the right time. She'd always respected him for the hard work, and effort he put into his passion—he always ensured that the family was looked after before his own needs. The way he was now—relaxed in an early retirement—made all the long days worth it in her opinion.

"New Years Eve tomorrow, huh?" He eyed her with a mischievous grin. "Any plans?"

"Not sure."

"Dave up to much?"

"I broke up with him, Dad."

A smile flickered on his lips. "Good. He was an ass."

She slapped his arm playfully. "Dad."

"It's the truth." He tipped his head, and shrugged.

"Don't tell Mum, okay?"

"You should know by now you don't need to worry about that."

Steph wrapped her arms about his neck, and gave him a squeeze. "I think I might head off, you big knuckle-head."

He pulled back and nodded. "Go. Be free. Just don't forget about those you leave behind on the battlefield."

She giggled, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you later, Dad." Her mother eyed her as she rose, and crossed the room to her bag. Steph squatted as strategically as possible in a tight skirt, and reached under the table to retrieve her leather bag.

"Are you going already?"

Her head connected with the edge of the table as she straightened. "Could you not wait until I had stood?"

"I didn't realise your co-ordination required such concentration."

Steph sighed, and waved her mother off. "Anyway, it's not soon. I've been here for four hours."

"An early night by your standards." Her mother crossed her arms, and toyed with the long necklace she wore.

"Love you too, Mum." She scowled. "See you later."

Steph bit down on her lip, and stifled the words she longed to scream at the woman. Why did her Mum have to be so darn critical all the time? What did she do to deserve such disdain from her own parent? She swept out of the room, and toward the front entrance, eager for the salvation that lay in the empty streets between the Peterson's house, and home.

Her heels clopped down the front steps, and along the concrete path as she flicked the top buttons of her blouse open with one hand. The calm, night air seemed to amplify the sound of her shoes as it sent each click echoing back at her from the four corners of the front yard. She tugged her bag over her shoulder, thankful for the band-aid she'd managed to get from Ivan, and swung around the front gate. Her heart leapt into her throat, and her feet stalled.