The Liability

Chapter 7

Louisa's POV:

I could smell the liquor from his hot breath as he approached.
He had me backed against the door as he looked down at me, our bodies close to touching.

He leans down to eye level, his arms rested on either side above my head, as he is positioned in a relaxed lunge: searching for something, like the answer he needed was behind my hazel eyes.

I stare back with less urgency, and more complexity: anger, confusion, and questions.

Frankly, I was scared, I have no idea why he is in here, or what he could possibly want with me. but I didn't want to know.

before I can break the silence he backs away still analyzing me.

"I'm Hugo"

I almost laugh. no shit.

"yes, that much I've gathered."

no expression.

He starts pacing.
gosh, I hate pacing. I hate it so so much, this is the second time he's done this. please stop pacing.
The more he pivots walking back and forth the more my stomach is in knots. I don't dare move.

It wasn't long ago —-
I remember bits and pieces, most of the memories regarding this I managed to push to the back of my head, hiding it in an unrecoverable area.

It started when my dad had picked me up early from school; when I used to go that is. He drove quickly flying through stop signs and red lights, I can recall my younger self holding on to the side of my car seat with a grip so strong my knuckles were white.

Next thing I remember is my dear mother lying asleep in a casket. Now I, being much older know she wasn't sleeping, she was dead.

My father paced at the back of the church house through the entire ceremonial mass, not once moving closer to her as I cried tapping her profusely trying to wake her up.

The ride home was quiet.

My eyes were red and puffy from crying. As young as I was, I may not have understood what had happened, but I could gather that this was goodbye, I wouldn't see mom ever again.

We got home and he shoved me in the door as I still sniffled from all the crying, expecting him to also cry was poorly calculated, because he left immediately to get drunk while I by myself.  (He hadn't hired René yet) when he came home which was much later, I had tucked myself in bed, and was fast asleep. That's until I awoke to a madman shouting "it's your fault" in my ear.

That's all I remember, the eerie feeling I got. The pacing that set me off.

I chew anxiously on my bottom lip to hold back tears and my nerves at this recollection, holding myself to the present.  this seems to do very little at the moment.

It feels like an eternity, my lip no doubt swollen. Perhaps he forgot he was even in this room, or that he even had an audience, he seemed so lost that he wouldn't know if I had jumped out the window.

He turns back towards me, and when it feels like I have no lip left he breaks the silence.

"Stop"
Huh?
I can't understand what I'm doing wrong so I look around wondering what he is referring to.

Until I see nothing I look back bewildered.
He sighs bringing his fingers to his temple as though he were having a headache. But I think it something else.

"I don't understand"
I continue to chew my lip.
His eyes darken, and suddenly I feel threatened. No glint or speck of light dared to cross his eye.

He finally says through gritted teeth, "stop chewing your lip"
haha, what?
"Your kidding"
His eyes dart back to mine
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
No, he definitely doesn't
I blush

He steps back to the spot where I'm pressed against the door, but this time, he had a bit of human.

He raises his thumb and grazes it lightly across my lips, his hot breath making the hairs on the back of my neck stand, and I cannot help but look down at his thumb.
"You bruised yourself "
He steps back with a tsk tsk rolling of his plump lips.

My face flushed, and I felt as though two cats were bouncing around in my stomach leaving me unnerved and rattled

"Oh and new clothes are in your closet, your previous ones, well they were... distasteful." He speaks cautiously

Most people would be offended by such a remark. But he is right.

I look down at my feet embarrassed.
They were distasteful. No one ever says it to my face. Probably because I haven't met enough people to even have the opportunity to hear an opinion. A proper one.

I shook my head. This doesn't make him a good person.

He looks at me waiting for a response, but before I could respond or open my mouth. Something else happened. Far too quick to process. Far too quick for him and I to process. But, mostly me.