(no subject)
It's Saturday night. Chilly. Getting close to eleven.
He'll be back any time now.
She flicks her lighter on, a spark in the darkness, busy work for her hands. She knows all too well what the rumble of his truck engine sounds like -- even with music pouring out of the open windows -- and she doesn't glance up until she hears it pulling in.
Standing, she stuffs her lighter in her pocket.
"Well, heya, girl." He's drunk, as usual. As expected. His movements are slow and sloppy as he lets himself out of the truck. "What are you doing here?" He's practically stumbling, but he manages to sway to the foot of the steps and get a hold on her. "Hey there."
"All right, let's get you to bed." She barely manages not to grimace when he leans on her -- heavily -- and it's almost unbelievable that he made it home in this condition again. But it's far from the first time. Despite his breath reeking of alcohol, she lets him lean on her for support up the steps and into the house. "Watch your step." She has to physically steer him inside. "Watch your step."
"What the hell is that smell?"
It's gas, Wayne. She keeps steering him right through to the bedroom he shares with her mom. "Probably your breath."
He sneers his amusement. "Right."
"Come on." She helps him onto the edge of the bed, but he sprawls out on it almost immediately.
"You're beautiful."
Two words, and they make her nauseous. She ignores him, swallowing down that violently sick feeling, quickly unlacing his shoes and tossing them to the floor.
"Hey." Irritated, he sits up and raises his voice. "Hey. I just gave you a compliment."
"Yeah," she answers, not so much as meeting his eyes while she starts pulling the blanket up and over him. "I heard you."
"Aren't you gonna take my pants off first?"
He grabs her arm and tugs, forcing her to turn and face him, and for an instant she freezes. The fume of gas has nothing on the leer in his eyes or the tone of his voice. It has nothing on what she knows.
Too close, he opens his mouth again. "You are beautiful."
She jerks her arm away hard. "Goodnight."
After one last fleeting glance back toward the house, her motorcycle purrs to life. In seconds she's driving away.
The explosion behind her doesn't even make her flinch. Wayne Dodd won't hurt his wife or hit on his daughter again.
He'll be back any time now.
She flicks her lighter on, a spark in the darkness, busy work for her hands. She knows all too well what the rumble of his truck engine sounds like -- even with music pouring out of the open windows -- and she doesn't glance up until she hears it pulling in.
Standing, she stuffs her lighter in her pocket.
"Well, heya, girl." He's drunk, as usual. As expected. His movements are slow and sloppy as he lets himself out of the truck. "What are you doing here?" He's practically stumbling, but he manages to sway to the foot of the steps and get a hold on her. "Hey there."
"All right, let's get you to bed." She barely manages not to grimace when he leans on her -- heavily -- and it's almost unbelievable that he made it home in this condition again. But it's far from the first time. Despite his breath reeking of alcohol, she lets him lean on her for support up the steps and into the house. "Watch your step." She has to physically steer him inside. "Watch your step."
"What the hell is that smell?"
It's gas, Wayne. She keeps steering him right through to the bedroom he shares with her mom. "Probably your breath."
He sneers his amusement. "Right."
"Come on." She helps him onto the edge of the bed, but he sprawls out on it almost immediately.
"You're beautiful."
Two words, and they make her nauseous. She ignores him, swallowing down that violently sick feeling, quickly unlacing his shoes and tossing them to the floor.
"Hey." Irritated, he sits up and raises his voice. "Hey. I just gave you a compliment."
"Yeah," she answers, not so much as meeting his eyes while she starts pulling the blanket up and over him. "I heard you."
"Aren't you gonna take my pants off first?"
He grabs her arm and tugs, forcing her to turn and face him, and for an instant she freezes. The fume of gas has nothing on the leer in his eyes or the tone of his voice. It has nothing on what she knows.
Too close, he opens his mouth again. "You are beautiful."
She jerks her arm away hard. "Goodnight."
After one last fleeting glance back toward the house, her motorcycle purrs to life. In seconds she's driving away.
The explosion behind her doesn't even make her flinch. Wayne Dodd won't hurt his wife or hit on his daughter again.