Undeniable Desire

I stared frantically at the eight letters on the payment terminal. "'Declined'" The woman with her hooked nose behind the cash register looked at me with disapproval. I didn't need to be able to read minds to know what she was thinking, Street Dirt. I smiled uncomfortably and felt the stress race through my body.  "The card is probably dirty can I try again?" I asked desperately. I was sure there was enough left on it to pay for the groceries. Yesterday I had gotten my paycheck. The cashier briefly nodded. I could hear people behind me in line sighing. Fleetingly, I rubbed the edge of my shirt over the bank card's chip and stuck the flimsy thing back into the little machine and hopefully keyed in my code again. Not much later, the false tune sounded again. "Declined" I muttered under my breath my eyebrows knitted together. The cashieress chewed her gum irritably. "I don't understand I-" "Listen girl, I understand it can be difficult at home, but I don't have all day. If you can't pay you leave the store, yes?" I felt my cheeks turn red with embarrassment and nodded slowly. The cashier took the bag of groceries from me and made it disappear behind the cash register. "Have a nice evening" muttered the cashier. I was too stunned to say anything back and walked toward the supermarket exit, confused. I didn't understand, there were mere hundreds of euros of savings in my account. It had taken me years with several jobs at once to get the money together. Tomorrow I promised myself I would pay a visit to the bank. With a frustrated push against the worn door, I walked out of the supermarket, into the darkness and cool wind. It was a cold summer evening and I was grateful for the refreshing breeze. During the day, the heat was barely tolerable. My stomach rumbled loudly at the thought that the refrigerator would be practically empty when I got home. What made it worse was that two people had to eat, my father and me. The chances that my father had bought food for us were next to zero; he was probably sleeping his hangover off again, as usual. Before I could continue brooding, the shrill sound of my cell phone rang. Clumsily I picked the little thing out of my pocket and answered without looking to see who was calling. "'This is Jemma?" I bit my lip impatiently, the soft breeze gently blowing my brown hair back and forth. "J-Jemma dear" Sounded my father's raspy voice on the other end of the line. "Are you almost home yet?" I frowned at the slight panic I heard in my father's voice. It was strange that he was calling. He hated his cell phone and was against all this "modern crap" as he would put it. "Yeah, I'm just leaving the supermarket." I muttered. "Is everything okay? Why are you calling?" I asked somewhat suspiciously. I decided not to tell him anything yet about the credit card being declined because then he would get worked up and I knew all too well what would happen if that was the case. "Yeah sure don't worry little one." he sighed audibly. "Just come home soon, it's dangerous on the street, it's already dark you know." I smiled softly. He hadn't used that nickname since I was eleven, which was almost twelve years ago. My twenty-third birthday was coming up in a month. "I know Dad, just take it easy. I'll come home as soon as I can. See you later, yes?" I felt in my bag, looking for the keys to my bike, as I walked to the red pile of scrap. "See you later sweetheart" he took a deep breath "I love you" before I could reply a long beep sounded. He had ended the call . Confused I looked at the screen of my cell phone before putting the thing back in my pocket. With an uneasy feeling in my stomach, I started my way home. ⋯✦⋯ Less than fifteen minutes later, out of breath, I arrived at the small row house with white chipped paint that I called my home.  The flowers I had planted in our small front yard last summer looked withered and the grass had already lost its color. To any bystander, the house would look ominous, but I think I found a sense of comfort in that ominousness. I threw my bike against the side of the house as usual and hastily locked it. I walked up the small steps to the door, which creaked under my weight.  I noticed that all the lights in the house were off, strange. Perhaps Dad had already fallen asleep-which I wouldn't blame him for-it was after all after ten. I put the keys in the lock but to my surprise the front door opened by itself. Frowning, I looked into the dark entrance hall. Surely I was sure I had locked the door when I left for the supermarket. The faded doormat with "Welcome Home" on it looked at me mockingly as I closed the door again behind me. "Dad, I'm home" I called through the house as I hung my vest on the coat rack while humming. No answer. So he really had fallen asleep. Just as I wanted to go to the kitchen to get something to drink, I heard a faint rumbling coming from the living room.  On my toes I crept through the corridor to the living room. Not wanting to wake dad while continuing my way. In the dark I could distinguish the vague silhouettes of the worn sofa and the painting that I had hated since childhood "the woman with the evil eyes" my Mom called it. When I was younger I used to get nightmares of it, but my dad refused to ever put the painting away on the attic. In the far corner of the living room, I could see Dad sitting in his favorite chair. I smiled softly, but that smile quickly disappeared when I saw the silhouette of a man standing behind the chair. In the darkness, I could see the man's white teeth twisted into a cruel grin. My heart beat like a whirlwind in my chest, wild and fast. Panic pumped through my whole body and as calmly as I could I walked backwards. I had only taken one step back when I felt something cold press against the back of my head. My whole body froze, realizing it was the barrel of a pistol. "One word and I'll pump a bullet through that pretty little head of yours, understood?"