Four Walls (Book One) ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Three

I lie in my bedroom, my eyes wired shut. The door is locked, lights turned off. I hug my pillow to my chest, hoping the commotion in the living room dies down soon.

It's been a while since this has happened. The last incident was over a year ago. Box-dyed red hair and mascara-stained cheeks flicker in my mind like a flame in the wind. What was Evan's mother's name? Mackenzie? Meredith?

I can't remember for the life of me. Normally, my memory is as sharp as a tack, but not tonight. Not with this drunken brawl taking place just twenty feet from where I sleep.

Hank has a woman over. I don't know her name. They've been drinking. I saw a handle of tequila in the fridge when I came home from school today. Hank doesn't usually drink tequila. Beer and whiskey are his go-to adult beverages. I'm guessing the Patron was requested by his lady friend.

I don't know how the fight started. I don't really care. If I had to guess, he said or did something stupid—not unusual for Hank—and she didn't like it. Then he probably got mad at her for being perturbed with him. That's how it usually goes—he's allowed to get angry, but god forbid anyone else does.

She was the first to raise her voice. Then the yelling began. Then I heard the familiar sound of a slap. I pray to god she was the one to hit him.

Except I know in my heart that wasn't the case.

Now she's screaming. I overhear something about calling the police.

Another slap. The crackling of broken glass.

I toss my pillow aside and stand up, unable to take it anymore. I barge out of my room, run down the hall, and find Hank standing over the woman. She's lying in what I assume was the bottle of Patron, her face already bruised from being smacked around. Her tear-filled eyed meet mine as she mouths the words, "Help me."

"Stop it, Hank!" I exclaim, moving toward the door. If he charges me, I want to dash outside into the night, not trap myself inside the house.

He glares at me. "Go back to your room, you nosy little—"

"Call me as many names you want," I interrupt. "Believe me, I've heard them all before."

"Go back to your fucking room!" he hollers. He's drunk. Really drunk. He's sweating booze and can barely stand without toppling over.

I decide to use this to my advantage. I may not be strong, but I'm agile. If I can coax him out of the trailer, I can not only outrun him, but also get him away from the poor woman on the floor.

"How about you kiss my ass?" I retort.

His cheeks turn crimson with rage. He stumbles toward me, his steps heavy and slow. "You need to watch your god damn mouth, you ungrateful little—"

"No," I say, "you need to watch your mouth. Don't talk to me like that."

Chuckling, he shakes his head. "You know, when your mom left, she didn't want to take you. Something about a 'clean break' or whatever. I told her that if she left you behind, I would kill you, and you know what? She walked out that door, anyway."

Tears sting my eyes as I wrap my fingers around the doorknob. He's lying. He has to be lying.

"So why am I still here, Hank?" I ask.

His lips twist into a sinister smile. "Oh, believe me, you won't be for much longer."

He lunges forward and attempts to grab my wrist. I dodge his advance, push open the door, and sprint outside. He follows me, but in his inebriated state, he struggles to descend the stairs. He falls to his face, the earth crunching beneath his weight.