Paying Daddy's Debt(3)

I don’t remember the accident, but some deep part of my brain must. I only know what I’ve been told. I was trapped in a car for ten hours while emergency services had to saw the car in half to get me out. I was only four at the time. It was hours before they found the car with me and Mom inside. Her car slid down a hill after hitting a patch of ice. They said she died on impact.

Tears fill my eyes as I think about the woman I can’t remember. I can only wonder what she was like. How could she have even been with a man like my father? Even if it was only a fling. My father has said before I’m a lot like her, and I know for certain I would never be with someone like him. I don’t understand. Or maybe that’s why he said it. She wanted nothing to do with him and neither do I.

I can’t remember anything before waking up in the hospital alone. Child services stood over my bed. No one had any idea what to do with me. They tracked down my father, who took me in. But I still don’t understand why. I have a feeling it has something to do with his own father, who was rich. I’d met him once when I was five, after he’d put me into a fancy private school. I think the reason my father took me in was because I was a ticket for him to get back in with his own father. He died soon after, but my schooling had been paid for.

He must have left my father some kind of money, because for a brief moment my father went on a little bit of a shopping spree. But he burned though it eventually with his gambling. All the things he bought he slowly sold off to further his addiction, leaving us with nothing in a run-down apartment.

All I know is, after the accident, I can’t stand being crowded in, feeling that I might be trapped with no place to go. It’s suffocating, and my father thinks letting me keep the windows open is coddling me. The man has never coddled me in my life, so the thought is laughable. Maybe it is only hurting my progress, but what does it matter if I want the stupid window open? As if he cares about it at all. Or if he does, he has an odd way of showing it. Or maybe I am like my father, because I have no feelings for him either. When I leave here I will never look back or try to make contact with him. He will just be a person who was in my life for a period of time and nothing more.

When I hear the front door, I lean back inside and close the window, trapping myself inside. Taking a deep breath, I turn and go over to my backpack, pulling out the money I made from helping Mrs. Joyce today.

I think she’ll be the only person I’ll miss when I move. I told her I was worried about who would help her when I was gone, but she simply gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me she had it handled. I pull open the bottom drawer of my night stand and freeze when I see my little wallet is gone. Panic wraps around my throat, and I drop my hands on the table in front of me, unable to move. I try to work air into my lungs, but my chest only tightens.

Tears fill my eyes and run down my face. It’s gone. Everything I’d planned has been taken from me. When I hear my bedroom door open, I turn to see my father standing there. His cheap suit looks more worn than normal. He looks tired, like someone took a few swings as him. A bruise on his right cheekbone is new, and his lip is split.

“There a problem?” he asks, a hint of humor in his voice. He’s looking for another fight. I won’t give him one. I’m not sure if I have the will to argue in this moment.

I don’t even think I can talk if I want to. The tightness in my throat is too much. I want to run, and I need air. My hands start to shake.

“You’re eighteen. Consider the money I took as payment for your room and board.”

More tears fall down my cheeks, and for once I see a little compassion cross his face, a trace of guilt for what he’s done. My father has never been outright mean to me. Neglectful? Yes. But never cruel.

“I needed the money, Jasmine.” He shakes his head and walks over to my window, opening it and catching me by surprise. “I owed someone. You want to visit me in the hospital?”

I shake my head. I may not know love toward my father, but I don’t want him hurt. I don’t want anyone hurt.

“Dinner in the microwave?”

“Yes.” I finally get a word past my lips.

With that, he turns and leaves. I drop onto my bed and the tears keep coming. The open window offers no comfort.

I’m trapped.





4





Ash




I stand outside the dirty building and shake my head. I double-check my phone and make sure I have the right address. My private investigator gave me all of the info, but I needed to be sure. After I’ve confirmed it, I walk up to the door and hit the buzzer on the stoop for the top floor.

There’s no answer, so I try again. Right when my patience runs to its thinnest, there’s a voice.

“What.”

“Mr. Gold. I’m Ash Carpenter. I’d like to talk business with you.”

“Fuck off,” the guy says, and the line goes dead.

I hold the buzzer down again, and this time I don’t wait for him to speak.

“I owed your father some money and I’d like to talk to you about how to repay that debt.”

There’s a half a second of hesitation before I hear the lock click. I grab the door and head to the top floor, ignoring the filth along the way. This is no place for Jasmine. She should be in a palace. Not some run-down shithole. Her father should be working two jobs to make sure that’s happening, not pissing away all his money.