Page 17 of Prince of Pain
“Your allowance.”
“What about it?” I asked, knowing exactly where this was going. “Are you cutting me off?”
“We think it’s best if we lower it. You seem to be using most of it for partying, which isn’t what it's for. Maybe you’d be able to find a job or go to college if you had an incentive,” she said carefully, and Dad eyed me seriously, his voice low as he spoke next.
“And we’re not covering your car expenses anymore either. You keep driving while under the influence, and since you don’t think you need a job, we’ll give you a reason. You want to drive that nice car of yours that your sister bought you out of the goodness of her heart? Pay for it yourself.”
The thought of being stuck here all the time made me want to claw my eyes out. I’d one hundred percent kill myself if I was stuck within these walls for the rest of my life.
“You can’t take my car away!” I screeched as pure panic filled me, and I was surprised Dad let Mom take the lead. He was so good at telling me what to fucking do.
“We’re not taking anything away, we’re just handing the responsibility to you.”
“Fuck you!” I shouted, throwing my coffee across the kitchen, the liquid flying everywhere on impact. “I can’t afford that!”
“Do not speak like that to your mother,” Dad warned as I shoved back from the table.
“You want me to get a job? Do my thing for the community? Fine. Don’t get mad when you find me selling my pussy on the sidewalk. I give it away for free, so I might as well make money off it.”
“Tempest, don’t be ridiculous.”
“You think I’m joking? I got railed by three guys last night. Imagine what I could’ve charged? What’s the going rate, Mom? You’d fucking know,” I snapped, stomping towards my room with Dad hot on my heels.
“Watch your mouth!”
“Why?” I demanded as I spun around in the hallway. “Are you going to hit me? Fucking do it!” I was heaving, his eyes softening a fraction.
“No. I want you to calm down and respect your mother. What the hell’s going on with you? This is getting out of control. What drugs are you coming down from?”
“Fuck off. I’m an adult.”
“Is that right? You want to be an adult? Pay for your own shit. I’m done funding this lifestyle for you. And you know what? If you want to live here you need to play by my rules. No drugs in this house, no boys over, and you’re going to start pitching in around here. Everyone else works full-time or studies, and it's not fair that you don’t have to help when you do nothing all day. You want to eat? Eat what we cook for you. You want to go somewhere? Walk. Anything you need like a roof over your head, food, water, and electricity is already paid for, so you can figure out anything else yourself.”
He barged into my room, my eyes going wide as he started yanking my drawers open and tipping them out on the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
“Checking for drugs.” He didn’t stop as I pummeled my fists into his shoulder, screaming at him to get out. Mom was crying somewhere in the house, and I wasn’t going to be surprised if someone called the cops on us.
Dad snatched up all the small baggies from the floor, going through my closet next and yanking clothes out everywhere, pausing when he found an old syringe I’d stashed.
He turned to me, fury in his eyes. “What the fuck is this from?”
“None of your business!” I tried to snatch it, but he held it out of my reach, and a look of defeat crossed his face.
“You’re doing hard shit now? Who’s selling to you? There’s no way in hell the Psychos and Devils are giving it to you.”
“Dad—”
“Who the fuck is selling you meth? Are you high right now?” He was yelling but he didn’t sound mad, he sounded completely destroyed.
I choked on a sob as my emotions tore me apart, not knowing how to answer him. I’d tried a lot of shit over the years and I knew that would disappoint him.
“Get out of my room,” I begged, and he finally left without pressing for more.
I slammed the door and slid my back down it, crying as I looked around the carnage he’d left behind. My room was trashed, the contents of my closet and drawers all over the floor.
I pulled my phone from my handbag that I’d dropped on the floor on the way in, flicking through the messages. So many contacts, none that actually gave a fuck about me.