The Street Racer's Loner

NINE

Chapter 9: A Letter.

Ezra Rivera

She reached out her hand towards me and in it was a small blue envelope which peaked my interest. 

"She asked me to give you this," she gestured for me to take it and slowly I grabbed it staring at the front of the envelope, the letters spelling out Ezra were written in a neat slightly cursive handwriting on the front. I wonder what is on the inside.

"You are the guy she's seeing, right?" The girl asks as she peers at me trying to study me.

Not bothering to answer her question I head back to the back. Glancing at the piece of paper, I shake my head to clear my head deciding to read it at my house so I shove it into my pocket.

Xavier grabs my shoulder, "hey man any plans tonight?"

Shaking my head to his question no, he grins with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Great."

*

*

Getting home around five and walking through the living room, I could tell something was off.

The coffee table was clean.

Too clean.

For the first time in years, in fact the whole room was clean, no remains of powder, no empty beer cans and bottles. No lingering residue of vomit in the corner. It was spotless. Cleaner than I've ever seen without me having to do anything.

Skeptical, I rushed to the kitchen, only to find it clean as well. I did a 360 turn, to observe the room carefully not believing my eyes. On the counter a lone container filled with a brown substance, low-key looking like some sort of cake. Confused I slowly made my way over and carefully started opening the container.

"What are you doing boy?" a very familiar deep voice came from behind me. His voice was one I'd recognize in my sleep, freezing on the spot letting go of the container, the sound of it snapping close echoing in the room. I turned to see my father.

"I asked you a question boy and I expect an answer," he spoke walking closer to me and even though he wasn't gritting his teeth it sounded like it.

I stayed silent and that seemed to agitate him further, "Answer me boy else I'll beat it out of you," he glared deeply as he threatened me. Something was off about him too.

I subtly scan his body and realize he's standing upright on his own, his movements are controlled, his eyes aren't blood shot, his beard is trimmed and his words weren't slurred. The man was sober for the first time in four years he wasn't under the influence of alcohol or drugs. It made me both ecstatic and terrified.

SMACK!!

I heard it before I felt it. My head swiveled to the left at the force the slap to my face held. Then the harsh stinging pain arose, burning the skin of my right cheek. Gingerly bringing my hand to softly clutch my cheek and slowly turned to face him. His eyes were brimming with rage.

"Don't disrespect me boy and answer my fucking question or I'll hit you again," he spoke his voice calm but tense and his threat was crystal clear.

"I w-wanted t-to see wh-what's in the b-box," I let out stuttering my way through the response.
With Daxon Rivera fully sober from the looks of it, his strike hurt ten times worse than when he was drunk. Father let out a snarl and I flinched back. I could now see he was clenching his fists hard so hard that his knuckles began to turn white.