“What did you say?” he barks, his voice growing feverish.
I stand, wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes and murmur, “Nothing.”
Dad arches his chin as he glares down at me. “You can go to the stupid camp,” he says. “And you can go to your friend’s place on the weekends, as long as they send me a confirmation message. I know you, Noya. You’re a fucking liar.”
My eyes widen, bewildered. “What?”
This must be a joke. He has to be pulling my leg right now, and when my smile reaches my face, he will hurt me to prove something—anything. He’s lying. There’s no way Dad will let me stay at a friend’s place. The number of times he has reacted—and Saturday, he hurt Mum because I wasn’t in my bedroom.
I can’t accept this.
“On one condition,” he says with a smug look. “You give me your card.” I blink a few times as he reaches out his hand toward me. “I keep your card and use it whenever I want.”
“But what about the bills?” A spark of pain throbs across my cheek. I cup my cheek and lean into the pain of the slap that stings like a bee.
“Don’t you dare fucking talk back tome?”
“So—”
His eyes burn ablaze before I can finish. Lowering my focus, I nod instead. “Good. Now get your fucking card, Noya.” I scurry into my room, and while I grab my wallet from inside my bag, I wonder if giving him my card would prevent me from buying beer. As I return, I reach out, and once he swipes the card, I release my hold and take a step back. “Get out of my sight.”
As I enter my room, part of me wonders if I should have rejected what he said, taken a beating, and kept my card. However, the taste of freedom on the tip of my tongue causes me to do what he says. I can leave home on the worst night of the week instead of cowering in my room and waiting for the storm to pass.
Ineedthis more than my card.
Besides, I’m going to the bank in Central to open another account. I will transfer the funds to my new card. Dad won’t ask for my login or PIN, and I receive my monthly transactions via email. So, he will stop using my card when it declines.
As much as I hate to admit it, I fed my dad’s addiction, so I don’t hurt for a night. So I can be somewhere else…anywhere else.
Lying on my bed, I grab my phone from underneath my pillow and notice four new messages.
Samantha: Hey, I hope it was OK that I texted Ur dad
I smile.
Me: It worked out. I’ll see you bright and early on Saturday morning!
Samantha (immediately after I replied) texts: OMG! I CAN’T WAIT!
I turn away from the fading light in the living room and move on to the following message. I’m a little more reluctant to read this one.
Andy: Can I take u 2 work on Thurs?
Me: Sure
Andy: Sweet
I wonder what the reason for this is. Perhaps Andy feels guilty for getting angry at me last week when I told him Connerwas taking me to work. I’m not too fussed about his reasoning if that’s the case. Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf.
Conner: I told my mum you’re coming over on Friday. We’re ordering pizza…, so are you a pineapple-on-pizza girl?
Me: No. I don’t like cooked pineapple… Oh, and Andy is taking me to work on Thursday.
Conner: Is he taking you home?
Me: I don’t think so…
Conner: I’ll drive you home.