A Deeper Grave. Debra Webb
Westminster Drive
Wednesday, October 19, 10:00 p.m.
Fern Parker turned up the volume until the music vibrated in her earbuds. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend her parents weren’t right down the hall screaming at each other. Ever since they moved into this shitty house in this shitty neighborhood all those two ever did was fight. It didn’t matter that she and her brother had lost nearly all their friends or that they couldn’t even go to the mall or any damned where else without being pointed at and whispered about. The worst part was moving to a new school. Fern hated the place, she hated the other kids and she hated the teachers. All her parents cared about was proving who was the guiltiest.
She hated them both. Hated her life.
Fern pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut a little tighter. God, she wished she had some weed. Maybe she’d have some later. He had bought it for her before. Last time it was beer. A smile softened her lips. He was so damned hot. Maybe tonight they’d have sex. He’d pretended not to want it as much as she did, but she knew. He was only trying to be a gentleman. Older guys were like that. She didn’t care that he was older. He was watching out for Fern and her family like a guardian angel. No one else cared.
He deserved something for all his trouble. Besides, Fern was tired of being a virgin. Tonight she was going to be bad. Just let her parents try getting in her shit for being bad. “I hate you both,” she muttered.
Something touched her arm and she jumped. Sage. Her crybaby little brother.
“What do you want?” she demanded, removing an earbud. He scared the crap out of her sneaking around like that. She should have locked her door.
“Can I sleep in your bed?” He stared up at her with those puppy dog eyes all shiny with tears. You’d think he was five instead of ten.
Hard as she tried not to care, she regretted yelling at him and for one second she almost said yes. She loved the little brat even if he made her so mad sometimes. He always got scared when their parents argued. Then she remembered the guy she’d promised to meet after her parents crashed. No contest.
“Get out of here!” She snagged her brother by the arm and escorted him into the hall. “Leave me alone,” she warned.
“Pleeease,” he whined.
“Go away!” Fern slammed the door in his face.
She felt bad again for about a second. He was her little brother and she loved him. She’d gotten in seriously deep shit sticking up for him. Her school record was ruined. She rolled her eyes. Who cared? It wasn’t like she was going to Harvard or Princeton now the way her father had always promised. She’d be lucky to get into a state school with financial assistance.
Her whole fucking life was falling apart and it was their fault. She glared at the wall that separated her bedroom from her parents’. The whole city knew the awful things they had done. All the jerks who’d ever pretended to be her friends had turned their backs when the government seized their home...froze their assets. A sixteen-year-old girl shouldn’t even have to know about those things much less be living them.
It wasn’t fair. Her parents had ruined her life. She and her brother would never recover from their bullshit.
Frustrated, Fern stormed from her room and down to the kitchen. Maybe she’d see if her father still kept a stash of beer in the garage fridge. She didn’t bother turning on a light. The layout of the house wasn’t that complicated. It was maybe a fifth the size of the home she’d grown up in. This place sucked in every way.
A quick twist of the dead bolt and she slipped into the garage. At the fridge, she opened the door, light spilled out around her and she spotted the Budweiser. She smiled and reached for one. Standing in the vee the open fridge door made, she twisted off the top and took a long, deep swallow. Something stung her neck. She jerked. Swatted at whatever it was. The half-empty bottle of beer hit the concrete, shattering and splashing foamy liquid over her legs.
“Shit.”
Before she could step away from the mess, an arm locked around her waist and a hand closed over her mouth. She told herself to struggle but her muscles wouldn’t work. The light from the fridge faded to darkness.
“Good night, princess.”