Hiding Sparrows

32. Like old times

Jack watched my reaction to the honorific, staring at me as I flinched, curled in on myself. This visit was different to his last, and he knew it. He'd planned it. When he'd arrived the first time, I'd been thrown off, but annoyed. I hadn't been scared of him. Acted abrasive.

It had gotten under his skin, clearly. The weed, the music, sitting on my couch like he owned the place. And now, his words. He was reminding me of our history.

"I don't call you that anymore, Jack," I said, but I stumbled on his name. My tongue tied in knots.

"Ah, see, I noticed that," he said. "But the thing is, Red, I never gave you my consent to call me by my name. Did I?"

Consent.

He was twisting words again. I could see how he did it, too. Using the terms that should empower as a way to demean. Hoarding his control over me.

I could see it, but I couldn't stop it. Or the claws of fear that clutched at my chest. The smell. The music. His face. His words. Each tugging me right back down the dark hole I had crawled my way out of.

He smiled, proud of the fear he had managed to instil. Slowly, watching me, he lifted the joint again and took another drag, then blew the smoke out like a vintage tobacco ad. I scrunched my nose up and walked across to the window to slide it open. My error was that the window was closer to Jack, and I felt him lean across and rub my leg gently. Gritting my teeth, my heart pounding, I turned to look at him.

Jack lifted the joint, nodded at me. "Want a hit, pretty girl?"

I silently shook my head.

"Aw, come on," he said with a smile. "I won't charge you for it. It'll be just like old times, hey?"

"No thank you," I said, my voice tight and shaky.

He sighed, and opened his arms, leaning back against the couch and curling it around the cushion beside. "Oh well. I suppose you do already owe me a lot, don't you?" But before I could respond, he patted the cushion. "Come here, pretty girl. Sit with daddy for a minute."

As if driven by their own accord, my legs carried me toward the couch, but before I could sit, he grabbed my arm with his free one, and pulled me down beside him. I whimpered at the sudden forceful move, but he just smiled, wrapping a sweaty arm around my shoulders.

"Where's my toy been all day, hmm? Out working hard to get me my cash, I hope."

This close, I could smell the weed on his breath. Could see his wide pupils, the hazy manic that took over. I said nothing, curling in on myself.

"How have you been getting along, Red?" He asked, leaning in to speak into my ear. I shivered.

"I don't- I haven't got it all yet." I said.

"You haven't got it all yet...?" He paused, prompting me with a sickening grin.

I swallowed, hard. Then, I repeated... "I haven't got it all yet, daddy."

The word felt foreign, and prickly in my mouth. Bitter, like a taste I'd tried so hard to remove, but which lingered. It caused Jack's smile to deepen, showing his yellowing teeth amongst the malice.

"Mmm, that's a girl," he said, then pressed his lips to my cheek. The gesture wasn't affectionate, though. It was possessive. When he pulled away, he said, "You know, I would said I'm disappointed to hear you haven't got my money yet, Red. But, I'm not."

"Why is that?" I asked quietly.

He stroked my cheek. Then, took a hold of my chin, and turned my face to look at him. Looking into my eyes, he said quietly, "If you fail to pay up, I get to collect my debt in some other way. Perhaps I'll take my toy back with me to Melbourne then? Get you back to what you're good at. You'd be rewarded, of course."