Four Fun (Four)

The men stay quiet while Rachel and I talk. Understandably, she’s upset, and it takes a while to soothe her. Apparently, things were much worse before Bill passed out. Bill himself wasn’t doing anything to her, but with his encouragement, our mother was harassing her for hours.

“I wish you’d called me sooner,” I say.

“She usually stops when she realizes I don’t have money.”

“Has she locked you in your room before?” I keep my voice calm even though I’m raging inside.

Rachel looks down at her lap, which is all the answer I need.

“It’s okay,” I say, putting my arm around her and pulling her close. “You won’t need to go back. You can stay with me.”

As angry as I am about the situation, I’m so glad to finally have my sister out of that house. It killed me to leave her behind when I moved out, but she was a minor, and there was nothing I could do except check in frequently to make sure things were okay. Now that she’s eighteen, no one can make her go back there.

When we get to the house, Khalil offers his bed, saying he’ll sleep on the couch, but the guest bed is a queen, so there’s plenty of room for Rachel to share it with me. I don’t want her to be alone.

Our mother sends a couple of text messages to each of us, and I have Rachel block her number. Even though I don’t block her, the messages eventually stop. Maybe she passed out for the night next to Bill.

“This house is so big,” Rachel says, once we’re in bed. “You live here now?”

“It’s just temporary,” I say. “I haven’t been able to find an apartment, but I’ll find something for us very soon.”

“Is one of those guys your boyfriend?” she asks.

“No … they’re just my friends.”

With Rachel’s arrival, all of the sex games I’ve been enjoying in this house are going to stop, and that’s okay. My priority is taking care of her, getting her to school and work, and making sure she graduates. Nothing else matters right now.

47

I’m not helpless

It’s a fitful night of sleep, filled with so many restless nightmares that I don’t wake up right away when the commotion starts.

There’s a blaring horn, soon overlaid with a bell, and then a repetitive thump. As I come to, there’s a flurry of movement in the hallway, letting me know for certain that I’m not dreaming.

“Stay inside,” Devin says, hurrying past me as I move to the stairs. A rush of panic hits me, but when I look out of the front window and see what’s going on, fear is completely erased by rage.

Returning to my bedroom, I pull on a sweatshirt and shorts, and give Rachel the same instructions Devin gave me, “Stay inside.”

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice thick from sleep.

“Mom and Bill are outside. Stay put. I’ll make them leave.”

“How did they —? Oh shit, I’m sorry, Becca. She has a tracking app on my phone.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” I say as I turn to leave.

All four men are outside, Khalil and Devin on the front porch, Shane and Marcos in the driveway, where Bill is leaning against his shitty beat-up truck and my mother is standing in front of it, yelling at the men.

“Where are my daughters?” she says. “Where are they?” As soon as she spots me, she rushes forward, but Shane puts himself between us. “Where’s Rachel? She needs to come home.”

“Why? So you can lock her in her bedroom and steal her money?” I say, practically spitting my words at her.

“You had no right to take her! I’ve been worrying about her all night!”

“You were not. You only ever worry about yourself.”

My mother tries to advance on me, but Shane makes an excellent barrier, moving as she does, keeping us separated. “Rachel owes me money, though if you want to pay it, that’d be fine. Looks like a pretty fancy place you’re living in.” She surveys the house — and the men — with a gleam in her eye that makes me sick.

“Rachel’s staying with me, and neither of us are giving you any money, so you can leave,” I tell her. Devin and Khalil have come to stand beside me, offering unspoken support.

“Rebecca, dear —” Her voice changes to a sweeter tone, as if that will have any effect on me. “Bill needs the money, and it’s not much to ask. I’m sure you can afford it if you’re living here.”

“Leave,” I say, anchoring myself in a wide stance, hands on hips.

She shifts tactics again, looking over her shoulder before saying, “Bill’s going to be really mad at me, Rebecca, and he gets mean when he’s angry.”

“Does he hit you?” Shane asks, sending a death glare in Bill’s direction.

“He’s your problem,” I say, interrupting before she can answer. I don’t know about Bill, but I’ve seen past boyfriends push her around. I hate that it happens, and I used to feel bad for her, but she chooses it, over and over again. She should’ve put her children first, but she kept bringing losers home, one right after the other, and she’s damn lucky that none of them ever hit us — or worse.