Over the Edge by Brandilyn Collins

Author:Brandilyn Collins [Collins, Brandilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, Thriller
ISBN: 9781433671623
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
Published: 2011-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

WHEN I WAS TEN MY FATHER ACCUSED ME OF STEALING TWO dollars from his wallet. Never mind that I hadn't touched it, much less stolen the money. In his drunken mind two dollars were missing and I had to be the culprit. He threw my door open as I lay on my bed, reading. The smell of alcohol and sweat blew in with him. I jumped so hard my book slid onto the floor.

"Where's my money?"

His face was red and his hair stuck up. He planted his feet apart, leaning toward me. Now I could smell the whisky straight from his breath.

"What money?"

"You took it!"

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

A claw-like hand grabbed for me. I scooted out of his reach toward the headboard and cringed. "I didn't take anything, Daddy, I really didn't."

Desperate prayers welled within me. Please God, please, please.

"Two dollars!" Spittle flecked my father's lips. His voice turned hard and bitter. "I clothe you and feed you. Work hard to keep a roof over your head—and you steal from me."

No denials would stop him. He had his own belief and it was right simply because he thought it so. He jumped onto my bed and sank his fingers into my arm. Yanked me to the floor. The breath knocked clean out of me.

I don't know which hurt worse, the blows or accusations. One ripped my body; the other burned my soul. When my father finally staggered off, cussing, I crawled back onto my bed and curled into a ball, sobbing. "No, I didn't." My fist bounced against the covers again and again. "I didn't, I didn't."

For an hour I lay there crying until I finally fell asleep. When I awoke, head pounding and muscles aching, the injustice and helplessness of it all descended upon me in a smothering cloud. I started to shake. At any time in the future my father could once again determine his own reality. At any time he could come back, accuse me of something I hadn't done, perhaps something far worse. And what would I do?

How would I defend myself to a person whose ears wouldn't listen?

Neither did Brock listen now as I stuttered my story of the bottle, and the tick, and the man who'd gotten so close to Lauren. I sank into the couch, arm barely able to hold the telephone, battered by his vehemence. This hurt far worse than my father. There may have been no physical blows, but Brock had been the man who'd picked me up and helped me heal from my abusive childhood. For him to turn into a version of my father, to berate me in such a way, to not believe me—

I could not take it.

Lauren hung back, wide-eyed, hearing her dad's tone if not his words. "Go," I mouthed at her, but she refused to leave. And I didn't have the energy to make her.

"I told you not to bring Lauren into this!" Brock raged for the third time. "Checking her all over for a tick? Are you crazy? You scared her to death!"

"I was s-scared too.

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