Igniting Her

Chapter Thirteen

Staring at my old worn house, I try to figure out what my past self could have done to deserve such horrible karma. Wednesday at noon, my house should be empty and quiet. Instead, Richard's truck is sitting in the driveway, and I can see him through the window. He is watching television, in the living room, right by the stairs, scratching his hairy, disgusting beer belly laid back in his recliner chair. Fuck. It felt like I had the shittiest luck in the entire damn universe.

I had put off coming home for as long as I could, even facing a serious talk with The Thomson’s. Fuck, that had been an hour of arguing before they agreed to not report it. Just like the twins, Andrew’s parents agreed to let me handle things for now, unless it happens again. The plan was to avoid Richard as much as possible, so I came home when the ass was supposed to be at work.

The books I need for my Business Math class are in my room. There is no way I could afford to buy the $300 textbook again, so I had to go in that damn house. I seriously considered leaving and coming back tomorrow, but I am tired of not sleeping in my own bed.

“Argh,” I groan out letting my head whack against the steering wheel. It was time to pull up my big girl panties and go inside. I couldn’t completely avoid Richard forever, he lives in my damn house.

Pulling my bag from my car, I drag myself up the drive way and slump up the stairs.  Grabbing the door handle, I threw back my head and let out a deep breath, “Please don’t let this turn into a shit show,” then I quietly opened the door.

A tiny gasp escapes me to find, standing right there in the kitchen, staring at me slipping through the door is Richard. I am prey, frozen anticipating attack, facing the threat with bated breath, ready to flee.

The sick bastard smirks at me, “Finally home, eh?” He rasps grabbing a beer from the fridge. I simply nod my head, cautiously watching his every move. The swelling in my cheek has finally gone down, leaving the yellowing bruises and scabbing cuts as the only proof of Richard’s actions.

Casually he leans against the counter, sipping his beer completely unfazed, while I want to bolt but fear sudden movement might startle him to react. Slowly I began to step backwards towards the stairs and he raises a brow to me like I am crazy.

“Jason stopped by looking for you,” he mumbles between sips. “Fancy me surprised considering I thought you were with him, like you usually are after our disagreements.” No remorse, or guilt, and barely acknowledging what happened.

Technically he asked nothing, so I have no obligation to answer. Anger starts to simmer in my stomach at Richard’s aloof behaviour, even though I should not be surprised considering he never admits to any fault. Instead of letting him egg me on I keep moving backwards towards the stairs, never breaking eye contact. He just regards me, his grey eyes lit with humour like I am funny for acting this way. Who knows, maybe the bastard was so drunk he can’t remember what he did.

I am half way up the stairs, just turning my back to Richard, who hasn’t moved from his relaxed position in the kitchen. “Jason left a gift for you, so I put it in your room.”

“Thanks,” slips from my lips before I am dashing up the rest of the stairs and decimating the distance to my room. I shut the door and lock it firmly, even sliding the security chain I added years ago, into place.

The thought of Richard invading my room fills me with panicked disgust, ready to purge anything he had his slimy hands on. Nothing seems out of place, only the new gold gift bag perched on my desk, at the end of my bed.

Reaching into the bag my fingers are met with a luxuriously soft and fluffy stuffed animal. I pull it out and find a brown bear with huge eyes, clutching a stuffed heart. I stare at the gift incredulously, ‘I love you’ embroidered in gold cursive on the red surface causes outrage to course through me. To think Jason has the gall to proclaim love after his betrayal and years of callous indifference when it came to how his actions would effect me. Fucker wouldn’t know what love is even if it bit him in the ass. My first instinct is to shred the mendacious stuffy, to vent my anger on it, but I realize Jason does not deserve even the energy it would take to destroy the gift.