His Ruin, His possession

Chapter 4

Celyn

Another round done.

Unwinding the bloodied tape wrapped around my sore knuckles, I looked up as the door to the locker swung inwards, watching as Jimmy, the underground manager, strutted in.

“Your winnings for the night.” His deep voice rumbled as he slid a thicker wad of cash towards me. “You did good today.”

I took it, wordlessly acknowledging his compliment.

I waited until he had left to count the money, satisfaction thrumming through my veins.

$800.

It's more than I usually made, which was good as I'd be able to sort more bills this way.

Pocketing $200 in my bra, I kept the rest in my bag.

During the walk back home, I slammed down headphones, listening to heavy metal music pound through the speakers.

A brief pause occurred, interrupted by the notification message from Ivar.

My heart skipped a beat as it always does whenever I get his text.

Of course, I tell myself that it's simply a coincidence or a trick.

It's been two weeks since that night at the rooftop and even though we've hung out a couple of times since then, I can't stop thinking about his last sentence.

I think that's why I like you…

As much as I didn't want to be, that admission did something to me, shaking the foundation of my revenge.

I stopped in front of a brown, old, rotting porch with glitter painted into the edges, mentally steeling myself before stepping into the compound.

Each time I walked through the lawn which used to be always lush with green flowers and neatly trimmed, once again, I'm reminded that Dad is gone.

The minute I stepped foot past the doorway, I was instantly hit with the smell of vodka and the putrid smell of urine.

Oh, s**t.

It's one of those days.

Grabbing the strap of my bag, I pulled it over my head, stopping halfway when an irritated voice echoed through the house like a whip.

“Goddamn it!” She stomped, angrily closing the distance between us, the pungent smell of vodka wafting off her pores. “You're late.”

“Sorry, Mom,” I muttered, avoiding her gaze.

It gets her agitated if I do that.

“Oh, for shits sake, stop calling me that!” She spat out, her limp brown hair flapping around her face. “The landlord came by today, and I had nothing to give him, so I had to stand there looking like a fool because of you!”

The money in my pocket dug a hole through my pants, but I knew better than to give it to her when she was like this.

She'll just use it to refill the alcohol bottles.

“Sorry, Ma. I don't have any money.” I mumbled before brushing past her to head over to my room.

I had barely taken two steps when a fierce pain bloomed across my skull, as she gripped my hair and used it to jerk me backwards.

Taken by surprise, I screamed, whirling around in an attempt to pry her hands off but I couldn't.

I don't know how it's possible given her slight frame but when Mom's drunk, she's stronger than the Hulk.

“Where do you think you're going, young lady? I haven't given you permission to leave.” Tipping my head forward with the grip on my hair, she hissed in my face. “Where's the money?”

Stubbornly facing her eyes, I kept my lips shut.

All that gave me was a blow to the face, knocking me down to the floor.

“I do a lot of things for you, you ungrateful brat, and the few times I ask for something in return, you start to think you're better than me?” She ranted, kicking at my stomach and ribs repeatedly until I could feel blood coating the insides of my mouth.

I so badly wanted to get up and fight back. Just one move would disarm her and end the pain crawling up every part of me but I don't.

Because of a stupid promise I made to Dad.

I promised to protect and keep them safe…even if it means from myself.

However, I know that if I stay here much longer, I might pass out on the floor.

“Wa…wait…” I croaked out, raising a trembling hand. “Take…it…”

Reaching into my pocket, I tossed the remaining $600 watching her eyes light up like a kid who just got candy.

Almost immediately, I became nonexistent the moment that money touched her hands.

Which was good since all I wanted was to crawl down the hallway and into the safety of my bedroom.

I managed to do that, gritting my teeth through the burst of pain I felt each time I moved a muscle or turned too fast.

Flipping all the locks on my door to keep them out, I went to the bathroom, flipping on the lights as I did so.

The image I saw on the other side of the mirror made me suck in a deep breath.

The bruises I had sustained at the fight were minimal, but this…

It looks like I narrowly escaped being pummeled by a truck.

Angry red and purple bruises ran down the side of my face and lower jaw where Mom had hit me.

When I pulled up my shirt, it was even worse, slipper-shaped footprints crisscrossing all over my torso.

Overwhelmed, I leaned forward over the sink, my hands tightening around the edges.

Letting myself have a moment of weakness, I lowered the walls that separated my emotions from reality.

A tear slipped down my face but it didn't stop there, quickly followed by another.

And another…until I couldn't hold it back anymore, falling to my knees to bawl my eyes out.

In that moment, I hated everyone I've ever known, cursing fate for bringing me into this world but most of all, I hated my father.

Why did he have to leave me?

He was the one good thing in my life and now, I don't even have that.

Except this driving need to avenge his death and hope that it brings me some semblance of peace.