Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
The man from apartment six stepped up to him, and he looked so tall in there, showing up Scottie for the pathetic little shit he was. Mum’s asshole of a boyfriend looked up at his assailant, but he didn’t move, didn’t protest, didn’t try to fight his way out of it. Pathetic wimp.
I found Mum sobbing on the floor in the kitchen. Her lip was red and bloody, and her cheek was already swelling, but at least she wasn’t fucking strangled. Not this time.
“Stay there!” I told her, like she had anywhere else to go.
My slippers crunched on broken plates on my way back through to the living room. The man upstairs was still standing there, staring out the idiot on the floor.
“GET OUT!” I yelled at Scottie. “Seriously, Scott, get the FUCK OUT OF HERE! RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”
The vile prick dragged himself up from the floor and slid away against the wall with a sneer, daring to look at me like I was the piece of shit and not him.
“Bev fucking started it!”
He brushed himself down and loped off with a self-righteous swagger, as though he was the one in the right for throwing the damn punches. It still hurt me when he did that, every single time.
I pressed my back to the front door when I’d slammed it closed, eyes shut tight as I tried to come down from hyperdrive. I must have been as pale as a ghost as I gathered myself, choking back a fresh round of sobs. My ears were ringing, and I could feel my pulse in my temples, but it would be ok… Mum would be ok now… she’d be ok.
The man upstairs was in the kitchen when I opened my eyes. He was helping Mum to her feet, supporting her as she winced in pain with her hand on her side. Shit, it looked like Scottie had given her a punch in the ribs, too. No surprise, since it was his usual go to spot. Nobody could see the bruising.
Together we eased her onto the sofa as she gritted her teeth. I was sitting right beside her when I saw him reach into his suit jacket and pull his phone out. I watched him key in the emergency services number, but I choked out a wait before he hit call.
He looked at me, his piercing green eyes so hooded with rage that I felt the burn.
“There’s no point,” I told him, hating my words. “She won’t talk to them, and they won’t arrest him, and he won’t get convicted for it. He never does.”
I realised then that I’d never heard the man upstairs speak before. He sounded like an Etonian graduate when he did.
“The police won’t arrest him? Are you being serious? Of course they will.”
I shook my head. “Mum won’t talk to them. She always denies it. Always. They’ll barely even look at her when they get here, they’ve seen it so many times.”
I sighed. At least we’d got almost six months clear by now. I’d even dared to hope…
Mum was looking at the floor, not at me, and not at him, either. He crouched down beside her, staring until she met his eyes.
“Is this true? Will you really ignore the police if I call them?”
Her shrug said it all. Her voice sounded blubbery through her thick lip.
“Scottie is Scottie. He gets like this sometimes. It’s just how he is.”
The man upstairs raised his eyebrows, and his shocked expression confirmed my suspicions. He really didn’t belong here in this block, in this place, in this crappy life.
“That’s absurd,” he told her. “That vile piece of shit needs arresting and charging. I’m going to get the police over here. I’m sorry, but he needs to be held accountable.”
Mum grabbed his wrist as he made to dial in the number again.
“Please don’t do that.”
I wasn’t sure whether to shout or cry at her, so I did neither. I looked over at him instead.
“She won’t listen. She never does.” My voice burst into stupid racking sobs. “She never listens to me.”
It must have been like witnessing a car crash. The poor guy should have been watching Mastermind upstairs, or reading a classic highbrow novel, enjoying a quiet Thursday evening, but here he was, crouched in our shitty living room next to a smashed-up coffee table and two fucked up women.
“I still think I should call them,” he said, but I shook my head again.
“It won’t make any difference. She’ll just lie to them and tell them she fell.”
Mum found her fake brave face and gave him a smile.
“I’ll be ok now, thanks. It’s over. Me and Scottie are over. I won’t be going back to him in a million years. No chance. We’re done.”
She always fucking said that.
He looked almost as unconvinced as I was, but he got to his feet. What else could he do?