Page 2 of Blood and Thorns (Twisted Ever After #1)

Arabella

Pulling my jacket tighter around my shoulders, I stopped at the bus stop directly outside the bar.

The glass had been smashed, as had the seats, so I settled for standing in the corner, the sky so dark I couldn’t see a single star.

Luckily the bus was right on time, and the journey back home wasn’t more than twenty minutes.

Being past midnight, Dad’s garage was locked up tight, the shutters down to protect his clients’ cars inside. We lived in the flat directly above, which was convenient.

“Dad?” I called as soon as I opened the door, grimacing at the stench of beer.

Frowning, I entered the living room, only to find him slouched in his favourite armchair with his head resting against his chest. Pulling out my wages, I placed everything on the table beside him. I kept the tips for myself. “Dad?”

“Where… where the fuck have you been?” he slurred, swiping his arm out to push me back. Several bottles stood by his feet, clinking together when he adjusted his leg.

“Working.” Just like I did every night.

Dad finally looked up, his eyes bloodshot and his face flushed from the alcohol. “You earn good tonight? ”

“I’ve put the money on the table.”

With a grunt he reached for the cash, quickly counting it before throwing it on the floor. “What the fuck is this?” he snarled. “This isn’t enough. How are we supposed to survive on this? This doesn’t even pay your fucking rent, never mind enough to keep the garage.”

I didn’t look at him as I picked up the money, placing it neatly back on the table.

“How did your game go?” I asked, already knowing the answer from the amount of empty glass bottles. During the day he ran the garage below, repairing and maintaining cars. At night he liked to hit the poker tables.

“I lost.”

No shit.

“How much did you lose?”

Dad chewed on his tongue, taking a moment to reply. “Five grand.”

I closed my eyes for a second and prayed for patience. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

He threw his hands up. “I’m trying, Ara! I promise you I’m trying, but we needed the money, and I thought I’d win.”

“Dad, where the hell are we?—”

“Do you have a way to find that money?” he interrupted, the armchair’s springs squeaking as he repositioned himself.

Only then did I realise he’d fallen asleep clasping a half empty beer.

Some of the liquid had splashed onto the fabric, and I made a mental note to clean it tomorrow before he realised and blamed me. “If you don’t, they’ll come after me.”

Guilt sunk my stomach. “When do you need it by?”

He licked at his teeth. “Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?” I fisted my hands, my blood running cold with dread. “That’s not even a week. How am I supposed to find five grand in four days?”

Dad sneered, “This is why I told you to fucking dance; that’s where the big money is for someone as useless as you. Not working at that fucking bar. Sometimes I think you’re just as useless as your mum.”

I flinched. He only ever spoke to me like this when he’d had a drink. Every other time it was like we were acquaintances at best, and strangers at worst.

“I’m nothing like mum,” I whispered through the weight suddenly clogging my throat.

She left us broken, abandoned. I refused to be like her.

“You’re not even using your education. What the fuck was the point of going off to Uni if all you do is serve drinks?

I told you English Literature was a waste of time, not that you even finished the degree.

” His grip on the bottle shattered, sending liquid and glass shards everywhere. “Fuck, look what you made me do!”

“Stay still.” I quickly grabbed the glass, wary of the shallow cut across his palm.

He didn’t listen, instead slapping the hand against the fabric on the armrest. “Can you find the money or not? Because if not, then I’m fucked, and you’ll be alone.”

“Dad, I’ll?—”

“See, this would never happen if you agreed to marry Gabriel like I told you to!”

That was just another reason I’d declined Gabriel’s proposal. He thought he could buy me, offering my father money before even speaking to me.

I’d loved him once, but even before I’d caught the lying prick cheating the idea of being his wife had filled me with dread. Dad had begged me to marry him, and then take the money and divorce. But the idea had turned my stomach .

“I’ll get the money,” I said, knowing I had no choice.

Dad frowned at me, and I realised he’d aged so much these past few years. His hair was more grey than brown, and his eyes always seemed sunken. Exhausted.

He nodded, seeming pleased by my answer. “Good, you owe me.”

You owe me.

For as long as I could remember, he’d always said that to me.

Everything I ate, or wore, he reminded me that I’d always owe him.

That my life wasn’t a gift, as if I had any choice in being born.

Then I hit eighteen, and any sort of parental responsibility he felt simply vanished.

And now he didn’t care, so long as I continued to pay my way.

I dreamt about leaving. Of escaping this life… but I always found myself stuck. Trapped by a twisted sense of responsibility to make sure he was okay. That he ate, that his debts were paid on time, and he didn’t get into too much trouble with loan sharks.

At the end of the day, he was still my father, and he’d stayed with me when he could have left.

Just as he’d said, I owed him.

“Don’t worry, I know I’ll win on the next one.” His eyes that were so hard only moments ago had softened. “Trust me, Ara. It’ll get better, baby girl. I promise.”

I tried to smile, but it came out weak. Dad borrowed money to get into the poker tournaments, but he lost just as much as he won.

When he won, he splurged, and when he lost, he’d borrow more.

It was a vicious cycle that I couldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried, or begged.

He’s had his arms broken, and the tip of his pinky finger removed with a pair of shears.

His car had been burned to nothing but the frame, and the garage below trashed in warning.

But still he borrowed money, and still he gambled .

Grabbing the blanket, I carefully tucked it around him. He’d already fallen asleep, his snores quiet as I gently removed any remaining glass shards, as well as the bottles. After making sure he was okay, I finally climbed the stairs to my bedroom.

It was a converted loft and offered me a little bit of my own space.

Tossing my bag on the floor beside my bed, I ducked my head so I could get to my desk.

The entire bedroom was small, sloped on both sides so dramatically even I couldn’t stand straight.

Kneeling by my desk, I shoved my used notebooks to the side, mostly filled with stories and ideas that I knew would never be read by anyone but me.

At one time I had a passion for storytelling, but that died when I was forced to come home from university to find Dad beaten almost to death.

It took three months for him to recover, and in that time the guilt had been crushing. If I’d have been here, it wouldn’t have happened. I could’ve helped. Stopped the situation from escalating to that point. So I never went back.

Ignoring the slight pain in my arm at this angle, I stretched further until my fingers brushed against the box I kept hidden for emergencies. With a thump it fell, and the contents scattered on the carpet.

“Shit.” I scooped up the money and watch, taking my time to count every single note twice. It was everything I had, all my tips saved over the last three years. It was my emergency stash, for when I finally got the courage to create a new life somewhere else.

Somewhere I could start again.

Be whoever I wanted to be without guilt haunting me every step of the way.

With shaking hands I placed the money Dad owed on the side, but it wasn’t enough. Which meant I was going to have to sell Gabriel’s stupid watch, and that left me with nothing. No backup. No emergency fund.

Three years of saving, of dreaming about another life far away, gone to a man who didn’t care that I was his only child.