Emerson
I wasn’t stupid enough to allow my father to maintain control of all my assets. I had a couple of credit cards, a smaller savings account in my name in a bank my father didn’t hold ties to, and a small stack of cash I kept hidden in my dresser drawer beneath all my bras.
I know those funds won’t last long and the cards will soon need to be paid. Which brings me back to the fact that I am jobless and without a source of income. One thing I did have was a trust fund I could access once I turned thirty. I guess my father thought by then I’d have my act together. Or should I say he believed I’d be his puppet, much like my mother.
Tonight is my second night at Comfort Inn, a hotel my father would call a rat hole. He had easily forgotten that he once lived in a rundown apartment in a small suburb of the city and worked for minimum wage. I have to play this out wisely, which means staying in a five-star hotel with a jet tub and heated pool was not in the cards for me.
Tonight is also the first time I’ve eaten a meal since the night before my father flipped everything upside down. I had entered my office to find the locks had been changed. He fired me while everyone stood around watching in the main lobby, like firing his daughter without hesitation gave some message to the rest of the employees.
Then he proceeded to have his bodyguard follow me back to my apartment and watch over me as I packed only my personal belongings and handed over my keys, not only to my home but to my car too.
How could I have been so stupid as to allow him to hold so much control over my life and everything in it?
I sit in the center of my bed, the starchy sheets and cover beneath me feeling stiff. I try not to imagine the things that have most likely taken place on this bed before my stay.
My burger and now cold fries sit in a styrofoam box in front of me as I pick at the half-eaten bun. My eyes are filling with tears as I quietly lecture myself on how dumb I was. I had no phone, though I could use the one in my hotel room. But again, who would I call?
Nic—he had nothing to say to me, but I can’t blame him. I am the one who lied, pretending to be uninterested in continuing anything more with him, all because my father made me feel as if I had to stop it. In the end, I am left without the man I was falling for, and my father's satisfaction of knowing that he had entirely held up his end of the promise. I did have nothing; he had all the control.
Gianna—I can still picture the disappointment in her eyes. It tears me apart each time I envision it.
I can’t even call my mother because as Gia has stated so many times before, she was my father's robot. She was most likely already directed to refuse any contact, and she would do just that for fear of also being tossed out on her ass without anything. Her possessions, her manicures, and designer clothes mean more to her than her pride or her daughter.
I push away from the remaining food and curl over onto my side. Tucking my hand beneath my cheek, I let my mind fall back to the weekend I’d spent at Nic’s—the way he’d held me through the night, nuzzling my neck, the whiskers on his jaw feeling prickly against my skin. I imagined being back in that very spot as I closed my eyes. The sound of the small refrigerator in the room hummed softly; in a way it reminded me of Jax’s low purr.
For a short time, I had something good, something that could have been real and I walked away from it because Hector threatened Nic through me.
A tear runs along my cheek and drops to my hand beneath as I give in to the exhaustion and fade into a deep sleep.
I wake sometime during the night to the sound of the television—a late night talk show where some lady is demanding that a deadbeat father continue paying for his child. I climb out of bed, grab the food that still sits in a box near the end of the table, and toss it into the trashcan on my way to the bathroom. Reaching into the shower, I flip on the water and slowly begin to shed my clothes, dropping them to the floor one by one. I grab the hotel shampoo and conditioner and climb beneath the lukewarm water.
I can feel my lower lip tremble as I mechanically move through the actions of washing my hair and body. I don’t even remember turning off the water or grabbing a towel before I end up back on the bed, sitting just at the end. I stare ahead at the orange-colored drapes and the tacky wallpaper that covers the room. Suddenly I feel like the room is closing in all around me. Shrinking, making me feel slightly claustrophobic and small.
I hurry off the bed, searching through my bag for a clean change of clothes. I don’t care what they are, I just know that I need to get out of this room.
I gather my purse and my keycard, slip my feet inside my tennis shoes, and hurry out of the room. The halls of the hotel are quiet as I walk toward the elevator. I still have no idea what time it is.
Staring at the floor of the elevator, I try to ignore the anxiety that is consuming me. The sound of the bell announcing my arrival on the first floor makes me jump before I rush forward and out into the main lobby.
My hair hangs loose and wet and my oversized shirt hits just above my knees, making the fact that I wear shorts beneath hard to notice. As I step outside, I tilt my head back and take in one deep breath.
I do this a few times before I finally take in my surroundings and instantly another emotion takes over. Fear. The streets are bare with only three men standing on a corner about fifty feet away. All three of them are turned in my direction, watching me intently.
“Hey pretty lady,” one of them calls out as he lifts his hand in the air and starts to walk in my direction. “You look like you could use some company.”
His movements cause me to step back, and I bump into the railing behind me.
“Don’t be scared, babe,” another guy yells out. “We’ll be gentle.”
I shake my head, gripping the handle as I start back toward the entrance of my hotel. The automatic doors should have opened but they remain shut, and panic hits me hard. I reach into my pocket, looking in the direction of the men only to find them closing in on me.
With my keycard in hand, I scan it over the sensor on the door and suddenly it slides open. I practically sprint through the entrance, spinning around to look back and almost tripping over the rug in the process.
All three men stand just outside the door, staring at me through the glass. Smiles, eerie and disgusting smiles cover their mouth. The lady behind the counter, who I hadn’t seen before, asks me if I was okay, but I don’t pause to respond. Instead, I take off toward my room as my body trembles with fear.
Once inside my room, I crawl in bed beneath the covers and pull the phone closer to me as I lift the receiver. With shaking hands, I dial a number I know by heart, and no longer fear being rejected.
“Em.” At the sound of Gianna’s voice I break as sobs rake through my body.