Real Bad Things(44)

“It’s my car,” Georgia Lee said and walked into the room. Her heart thumped. She looked to the door, hopeful that Jane and Angie would return from wherever they’d gone to fight today.

Warren turned his attention to her. His mouth had a slick, bloody look about it. What looked like vomit trailed down his chin and the front of his shirt. And his eyes didn’t seem to focus too good. He gripped his head and winced.

“Where’s Mom?” Jason asked quietly.

Warren swung his attention to Jason. “. . . you say to me?”

“Mom,” Jason repeated. The word thrummed with anxiety.

Warren rubbed his head, as if just noting her absence. “Your mom’s at the bar. Where I left that crazy bitch after she hit me with a goddamn beer bottle.”

Georgia Lee’s keys were on the kitchen table. She’d have to move closer to him to grab them. Too close for her comfort, but what other choice did she have?

“Where you going?” Warren asked.

“To get my keys. To move my car.”

“You better get your fucking keys.” Warren gripped the doorknob as if to prevent himself from falling or doing something stupid. But that’s all he ever did or said: something stupid. “Why the hell are you in my spot?”

“Jane said you’d be gone all night. Sorry.” She bolstered herself for the walk to the kitchen table.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if I’m here or not. Don’t park in my goddamned spot.” He rubbed his head again. “You fucking women. Think you can just walk all over me. You, Jane, Diane.” At the mention of her name, he sneered. “Fucking cunt.”

Though Georgia Lee went to church and didn’t cuss herself—nor did her parents—the word did not shock her. She’d heard plenty of “good” boys and men unleash their otherwise chaste tongues over the smallest perceived slight. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. He scared her sometimes, but she wouldn’t let anyone talk down to her just because she was a teenager and a girl.

“Calm down,” she muttered. “I won’t park in your spot again.”

“What’d you say to me?” The words came out slurred.

She edged closer to the table, heart pounding, and grabbed her keys. “I said I’ll move my car.”

He slung an arm across the width of the door, still keeping one hand on the knob, effectively blocking her from leaving. The buttons on his short-sleeve shirt hung open almost to his stomach, and she could see his chest bones jutting out like weapons he could wield against her. His eyes seemed to misalign in their sockets, like a cartoon character’s. He squeezed them shut for a moment before shaking his head like a cat with an ear itch.

He stood there and gripped the door handle, so drunk, she imagined, that he’d fallen asleep standing up.

“I can’t move my car if you’re blocking the door,” she said.

Finally, his eyes flickered with renewed consciousness. He didn’t budge, didn’t smile, didn’t stare at her the way lots of men did, with their eyes like tongues, ready to strip her of dignity top to bottom. She didn’t know why, but this felt worse. She could walk away from whistles and low grunts and shit-eating grins from boys and men who knew better. But there was something worse in Warren’s eyes, something that didn’t want to consume her as much as destroy her. A man who would threaten a woman over something as simple as a parking spot was a man she didn’t want trouble with. Jane had told her that if he ever said anything to her or tried to pick a fight, she should walk away.

That’s how Georgia Lee was raised. That’s not how Georgia Lee ever behaved.

He dropped the arm that held the doorframe and leaned against the door, not far enough that she wouldn’t come unbearably close to him in the process of her exit, so close she could smell his body odor mingling with the scent of cigarettes, the sourness on his breath and vomit on his shirt, the sweat from his skin. She should’ve paid attention to her fear. Getting scared might have gotten her out of a whole heap of trouble. But seeing him there in the doorway, taunting her, trying to make her feel small, didn’t make her scared anymore. It made her mad.

“I need you to move,” she said.

“Just let her go,” Jason said quietly behind her.

“Go on, then.” He spit out the door onto the porch floor, swaying a bit in the process. “Ain’t nothing stopping you.”

She tried not to harbor hate in her heart, but every bit of hate she’d ever held about anyone roared through her bloodstream. She bolted for the door. He blocked her with his arm, strong despite his appearance. She slammed into him, caught off balance.

“Sorry.” He smirked. “I thought you was planning to stand there some more.”

This time, she shoved his arm away and ducked underneath, pushing him into the door.

He laughed, like she was just a toy to him.

A fire grew within her until she couldn’t bear to hold it inside any longer. “You’re no better than what gets put out on the curb on trash day. You’re nothing but trash. Through and through. And a coward. That’s the only reason you beat on women and kids.” Behind her, she heard Jason gasp or move. She couldn’t be sure. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Warren clutched her arm, squeezed it so tight it burned.

“Well, ain’t you a snotty little bitch?”