Ignoring common sense, which was probably a really stupid idea, I stepped out from behind the dumpster, openly gaping at this perfect car.
Well, almost perfect.
It was dinged up pretty bad, the red paint was faded from dirt and grime, peeling off sporadically across the body. It needed work, that's for sure, but it was still a thing of beauty.
"Wow," I breathed, closing the distance between myself and the lamborghini. I walked around the car until I was by the drivers side and peered through the window that had been smashed in, perhaps recently as there was glass littered about. There was no one inside.
That's strange… I whirled around as I heard a skittering noise behind me, tense as fear began to arise. Was the driver back? Would they think I had smashed the window? I frantically looked around, only letting out a sigh of relief once I had located the source of the noise: a bird freaking out by my sudden appearance and flying off to God knows where.
The "danger" having passed, I turned around to regard the lamborghini once more. The purring of the engine had ceased entirely, and it had only done so when I had entered the alleyway.
Had I imagined the purring altogether?
I shook my head. It had to be real.
But engines just don't purr by themselves.
Tabling that thought, I wondered aloud, "who the hell leaves a lamborghini just fucking lying around with a smashed window?" I frowned at the glass that lay both in the interior and on the ground around the car. I gently opened the driver's door, poking my head inside to examine the interior for any further damage. It seemed the few things that were wrong with the car, that the eye could see at least, was the smashed window, dinged up body, and shitty paint.
I ducked out and shut the door, walking around the perimeter of the car, peering anxiously at it - leaning in close, examining the tires, headlights, backlights, everything that I could see, really, without having to crawl under it.
I arrived back at my starting point, by the drivers door. "Is there anything wrong with you?" I asked softly, opening the door and carefully picking the pieces of glass out of the seat. Once I had done so, I sat down in the driver's seat, lightly running my hands over the steering wheel. "God, you're a thing of beauty." I murmured, fingers dancing over practically everything.
However, something gave me pause."Hang on," I said, suddenly aware of an object in the middle of the steering wheel. I hadn't thought much of it initially since most cars had their company logo in the center, but this one looked different.
"What's this?" I inquired, rubbing my thumb over the logo, attempting to remove the grime. After a moment or two, the dirt fell away and I inspected it closer. "Is that….a face?" I stared, puzzled, at the face, which seemed to be conjured of various shapes. "What are you?" I breathed.
I fumbled quickly for my cellphone, turning it on and hitting my favorite number in my contacts list.
"Sup, Angie?"
"Izzy," I practically squealed, "come to the alleyway by the gas station. There's something you absolutely have to see."
There was a long sigh, "can't you just tell me over the phone?"
I pouted, "c'mon, where's the fun in that? Besides, seeing is believing, and you're definitely going to wanna see this."
There was another sigh this time, but it was reluctant."Fine, on my way. But this better not be another one of your dumb stories, Angie," she teased.
"It's not, I promise."
"Righto, be there in a sec." The line clicked dead and I grinned widely, leaning back in the chair. I couldn't wait to see her face when she saw what I found.
"Is that a lamborghini?"
"Noooo," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "It's a 2016 Ford Fusion. Yes, it's a motherfuckin' lamborghini," I snorted, stepping out of the car and gesturing grandly to it.
Meet my other best friend, Isabelle Rodriguez. She's my age, and she's a 5'3 Latina with a fiery temper, rich caramel eyes, and chocolate colored locks that were riddled with blonde streaks. Currently she was standing frozen, mouth agape in awe, in front of the lamborghini.
"Holy shit," she gaped, walking forward to touch it. "Who does it belong to?" She questioned, looking at me.
I shrugged, "donno. I checked everywhere in that car and couldn't find any sort of registration. My guess is that someone abandoned it."
"Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?" Isabelle looked at me as if I was stupid. "It's a fucking lamborghini, Angelica, whoever owns this wouldn't just 'abandon' it."
"I'm not stupid," I said flatly, crossing my arms. I knew it was an idiotic hope, but I really hoped it was an abandoned lamborghini so that it could be mine.
Isabelle pulled out her phone, "let's take a picture of it, put it online, and see if anyone claims it."
"And you called me ridiculous," I muttered. "Anyone's gonna claim it, it's a fucking lamborghini. It's hella expensive."
"It can range from $530,075 and up," she stated, staring at her screen. "It's also a 2016 lamborghini aventador lp750 4 superveloce cost."
"That's very specific," I blinked.
"I googled it," she supplied with a shrug. "Okay, bad idea, I admit, let's not list it online. Let's just…... Check around online and see if anyone's reported one as missing."
I nodded, "but we can't leave it here." I couldn't help the hint of hope creeping into my voice.
"Angelica, no."
"Angelica, yes."
"No."
"C'mon Izzy," I begged. "It looks shitty, lemme take it home and fix it up. Dad's not gonna be home tonight - he's going to some whore's house to probably get laid and if not, get drunk, maybe even both."
Isabelle sighed, "okay, but we gotta wait until it gets darker to move it." She finally admitted, "but you might wanna get that gas can back to your dad, before he gets suspicious with your prolonged absence and tries to beat your ass."
I nodded, "good thinking. I'll be back later tonight when he's gone."
"You want me to babysit this car?"
"I was kinda hoping…." I said slowly.
Another exasperated sigh, "fine."
"You'll love it, it's a beauty." I grinned.
Isabelle tried to look irritated, but a smile tugged at her lips. "Just get outta here," she whacked me lightly.
I jogged back down the alleyway, my spirits higher. I swiftly retrieved the gas can and began my now long journey home...Long because I wasn't strong enough to carry the gas can back to my house for more than like thirty-seconds, before having to drop it and drag that sucker across crooked and annoying sidewalks.
As I got closer to home, my spirits dampened as reality started to set in. The sun had started dipping towards the horizon, and so dad was gonna be pissed that it took me so long. With luck he wouldn't realize how much time had passed. That hope lifted my sense of dread, but only slightly. Either way, he was going to find a reason to be pissed off at me.
My house soon came into view, and for perhaps the millionth time, I was thankful for the fact that my house was pretty much on the outskirts of town and thus we had no neighbors. It would have been an odd sight indeed to see a 6'0, 17 year old girl struggling to get a metal gas can to her home, which looked as if it had seen better days.
The vibrant navy blue paint had since faded to a dull blue, cracking and peeling intermittently. Parts of the siding hung precariously, some of the shingles were tacked haphazardly on the roof, and the windows were outdated, looking ready to shatter at even the slightest wind gust.
The yard wasn't in any better shape; everything was overgrown. The lawn hadn't been trimmed in a long time, broken tree branches littered the yard, and random pieces of paper and abandoned beer cans lay scattered about. The only thing positive looking were the trees that were distributed at random intervals about the lawn.
I grimaced at the sight, and even more so as I trudged through to get to my front door. The porch sagged under my weight, and I got the feeling that I should work on replacing it sooner rather than later so I didn't fall through at a later date.
Since dad had long removed the doorbell, and by removed I mean forcefully ripped from its socket, I had to knock. Several times.
Of course, he didn't answer.
I really should've asked for that key…
"Dad?" I yelled, "dad, I'm home!"
The door screeched its objection as it was ripped open, nearly pulled off its hinges. My dad glared down at me, and I stared up at him with a hint of defiance.
"You're late," he growled, reaching down and ripping the gas can from my grasp.
"It's heavy," I answered flatly, crossing my arms.
"That's no excuse," he said, eyes narrowing distastefully as he took in my appearance. "Why do you dress like that? Put something decent on, you look like a slut."
My lips pressed into a thin line. I should be used to this treatment by now, but his words still stung. "Oh you would know, wouldn't you? You fuck a different one every night."
In hindsight, I shouldn't have said it.
But at that moment, everything that I had been so carefully holding in from this morning just spilled over before I could stop it.
As soon as the words flew out of my mouth, I flew to the ground. My cheek throbbed painfully from where he had backhanded me.
"Don't fucking talk back, you little piece of shit." He snarled, walking over and kicking me in the stomach for good measure. I groaned and instantly doubled over so that I was curled into a ball.
"Get up, you fucking drama queen." He grabbed me by my right wrist and pulled harshly upwards.
"Stop it!" I cried out, struggling to escape his vice like grip. "You're hurting me!"
"I don't care." Another sharp tug on my wrist. "Get up."
"Stop!" I sobbed, tears stinging my eyes as his fingers dig painfully into my wrist. "Please stop, dad, it hurts!"
There was a blow to my face and another swift kick to my stomach, forcing the oxygen from my lungs. I wheezed as he pulled upwards again, and I tried, failing to get to my feet. My efforts were rewarded with two more kicks to the stomach, and I tried to protect my head with my free hand as he attempted to hit me in the face once again.
"Weak," I could hear him breathing heavily, meaning he was tired. That was new, usually it took him longer before he was tired of beating me to kingdom come.
He finally released my tortured wrist and I immediately collapse to the ground in a heap. "Pathetic." Venom dripped from his voice. "Useless." I hear his footsteps fade away as he takes the gas can to the garage.
Once I'm sure he's gone, I struggle to get up, tears streaming down my face and gasping for breath. I fall twice more before I'm able to attain footing on the third try, shakily standing up.
Once I'm sure I can walk safely without instantly collapsing, I stumble into the house, wiping my tear streaked face, desperately trying to get to the stairs and to the sanctuary of my room.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
The furious voice stopped me in my tracks, "I-I'm just going up to my room to change like you told me to," I stammered, slowly turning around to regard my father.
He didn't say anything as he walked towards me, and I shrank away. His breath stank of alcohol as he leered over me.
That explains why he got tired so quickly, he's already fucking drunk and more than likely hasn't taken a nap today.
"Give me your phone."
W-what?"
"Give me your fucking phone." He leaned forward, and I fell on my ass from trying to avoid close proximity. I fumbled for my phone out of my pocket, offering it up to him. He yanked it out of my grasp without another word, walked away from me into the kitchen. "Go get changed, you ungrateful shit." He called back.
He couldn't resist making one more insult, could he?
I winced, scrambling to my feet, pain shooting through my head. I'm going to need to take a painkiller…
I ran, to my best of my ability, up the stairs and into my room, closing the door and slumping against it.
Harsh sobs racked my body as the barrier that I had been using to keep the tears at bay finally broke.
I can't take this anymore.
I crawled to my small nightstand that sat by my bed, yanking the drawer open so fast I almost pulled it off its axles. I plucked out my pocket knife, flicking it open to the biggest blade that I had.
I stared at it, biting my lip harshly.
I'm so sick of the pain,
Of the tears
Of just everything.
God, why can't it all just stop?
Everything settled into my chest like a lead weight. My heart felt like it had fallen into the pit of my stomach.
This isn't how a dad should treat his daughter.
My eyes flicked up to the door, as if he was going to burst into the room to beat me again for even thinking such a thought about him.
I just wanted it all to stop.
I looked at the knife one final time, before I began a routine that I wished I could break.
"Angelica Hollis! Get your ass downstairs right now!"
My eyes shot open. When did I pass out?
I sluggishly pushed myself up to a sitting position, grasping at my bed to help me pull myself up the rest of the way.
"Angelica!"
"Comin' dad," I yelled half-heartedly, I froze as I realized I hadn't changed yet. I yanked a baggy white t-shirt off the floor and shoved it over my head as I stumbled to the door and slowly opened it. My eyelids felt heavy, and I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.
"Angelica fucking Hollis, hurry your ass up!" The voice made me jump, adrenaline kickstarting, sleepiness wearing off as I picked up the pace.
In my rush, I slipped on the rug at the top of the stairs…...and instantaneously went catapulting down the stairs, going head over heels in a somersault.
Under different circumstances, this would be funny.
Correction: It was funny.
The downside: It only served to piss off my dad more.
"Fucking clumsy," his voice dipped so low as he continued muttering that I couldn't hear it. I sat there at the bottom of the steps, mildly dazed, giggling lightly. "Get up," he grumbled.
I staggered to my feet, head throbbing.
I forgot to take a painkiller.
Shit.
"Go get dinner started," he walked away from me, wandering into the living room.
Right. I scurried quickly into the kitchen. "Anything particular you want?" I called.
"No."
Okay then…
This was the worst part of making him dinner, he never gave me an answer.
Then, and here's the funny part, he'd get pissed off when I didn't make him exactly what he wanted.
Excuses to be more of an asshole to me, methinks.
I poked my head into the freezer, taking out a piece of chicken that was wrapped in plastic. "You're getting chicken tonight then." I muttered. I would eat later, when I didn't have to deal with someone glaring at me hatefully.
I quickly got everything in order, turning the stove on high so that the chicken would cook faster as I dragged the milk carton from the fridge to pour him a glass of milk.
Fifteen minutes later, the chicken was done, and I rapidly put it on a plate, cutting it up just how he liked it.
I didn't trust him enough to give him a knife, especially with his mood today.
Once I was sure I had everything to his satisfaction, I took the glass of milk and plate of chicken out to my dad, where he lay stretched on the couch, staring numbly at the TV.
As soon as he realized I was in the room, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if I had decided to poison his food. Oddly enough, he took his food without a word and didn't make a comment entailing something along the lines of 'this isn't what I wanted'.
I silently exited the room, heading back to the kitchen to hide until he was done. I heard a faint buzzing noise sound from the cupboard.
Please don't be another fucking bug stuck in there again. I silently pleaded, approaching the cupboard cautiously as if whatever was inside might burst out and attack me. It's not that I was afraid of bugs, I just really fucking hated them.
When I yanked open the cupboard door, I automatically took a step back to avoid having the potential bug fly into my face.
That didn't prepare me for what I saw, though.
It was my phone.
I looked hurriedly back towards the direction of the living room but heard nothing but the TV and the occasional clinking of silverware. I turned back to my phone, snatching it quickly to see who texted me.
"We still on for 2nite?"
The text was from Isabelle. I sighed in relief.
"Yeah," I typed back. "Dad confiscated phone, but I'll come to you as soon as he leaves."
The phone buzzed again as she texted back. "Gr8"
I glanced anxiously at the doorway before quickly deleting the three texts and returning my phone to its original spot. What a weird place to put it. I stared at the stove where the time blinked 5:30.
He wasn't going to leave for another half an hour, unless his new toy thing tonight called him earlier.
"What are you doing?"
I jumped, whipping around to see my dad standing there, for once not glaring. "Checking the time," I said lamely, unable to think of something else.
He isn't glaring.
It hit me like a brick.
Wait, why?
His eyes…
Shit….
He was looking at my wrists, and I quickly turned them so he couldn't see them anymore.
"You couldn't do that from sitting at the table?" He asked finally, walking over and putting his cup and plate into the sink for me to take care of.
I shrugged, slipping between him and the sink to start washing his dishes. Thankfully, he didn't pursue the topic further, instead choosing to amble out of the room back to the living room.
However, before he exited the room, I heard a faint mutter of "attention whore".
I rolled my eyes and sighed.
That was close.
Excitement prodded at me, bubbling up like a fountain being turned on, despite the stress from the events of today.
I was finally going to be able to have a real look at the lamborghini, without fear of impending death courtesy of my father.
The trick was how to hide it.
Fortunately, I knew just the place.
