A Vision of Green (Florence Vaine #2) (28 page)

Sam puts his arm out and stops the movement of both our swings. “Why would you be ashamed for the actions of another person? You can't hold yourself accountable for what your father does, not only is it wrong, it's ridiculous.”

“
Yeah well, I'm sort of ridiculous, aren't I?”

Sam studies me calmly. “You're upset. You're not thinking straight, Flo. A good night's sleep and you'll be able to look at the whole thing more clearly.”

“
If you s-say s-so,” I mumble.

Sam stands and takes my hand into his, pulling me up from the swing. He keeps hold of my fingers, picks up my school bag, throws it over his shoulder, and begins walking me home. Neither one of us say a word, and the quiet companionship seems to soothe me. There's something extremely calming about this man, my Guidance Counsellor. Sharing some quiet time with Sam is more reassuring than a thousand well-meant words.

When we reach the house I open the door with my key and Sam goes to check each of the rooms.

“
He's not here,” he says, coming back down the stairs. I sit down on the couch in the living room.

“
I'm not sure whether that's good or bad.” I tell him.

“
I'd feel better if you let me bring you to John's, at least there you'll be safe. I'd keep a watch over the house, only I have urgent business to take care of tonight.”

“
What kind of b-business?” I ask, curious.

Sam says nothing, only smiles serenely.

I let out a sigh. “Can you at least tell me if you know anything about Ingrid's disappearance?”

He perches himself on the edge of the couch. “Myself and the other Nephilim have been investigating that matter. So far we have found no evidence as to whether she was abducted by human or supernatural means. We're still looking though, still watching the forest, which has been deceptively inactive in recent days.”

“
Why deceptively?”

“
Usually, when creatures such as those trapped within the woods are quiet, there is plotting going on. We're just not sure what they're planning nor when they'll put that plan into action.”

I rub my arms, which have become cold all of a sudden. “Hearing that, my dad doesn't seem quite so scary any more.”

“
No,” Sam agrees, before asking, “Would you like me to call Frank? He'll come and stay on the couch, in case your father returns. He's been very worried about you.”

I shake my head. “I already t-told you I can't face him, not after what happened. I need a few days.”

“
Your safety should be more important than saving face, Flo,” Sam says, mildly scolding.

“
I have a key for my room, I can keep it locked. Dad will probably be angry when he gets home, but once he realises he's not getting in the door he'll soon tire and go to bed. By the morning he'll have forgotten about the whole thing.” This is a blatant lie, because no matter how many drugs Dad does, or how much he drinks, he never seems to forget.

Sam watches me for a long moment, considering. When he finally speaks, he seems resigned. “Have it your way then. You know my number. Call me if you need anything.”

“
I will.” And with those words he leaves me sitting in the softly lit room, with nothing but my own fears to keep me company. Getting rid of Sam was easier than I thought it would be. Although I don't really understand why I want him gone. I guess I just want to be alone now, even if it means being the recipient of Dad's anger when he gets home.

I lean back into the soft upholstery, closing my eyes, it smells of day old cigarette smoke and spilled beer. The next time I open them it's morning, with sunlight streaming through the lace curtains. When I glance around the room a jolt of surprise and shock hits me. Dad's sitting on the armchair facing me, silently watching. I run a hand over my face and look away from him, away from the manic calm that seems to surround him. The fact that he came home but didn't wake me is odd in itself. Usually he'd start yelling for me to get up, or he'd drag me off the sofa without ceremony. This - this is something I've never seen before.

His fingers dig into the soft material on the arms of his chair. “I've tried to be good with you Flo, tried to be patient, but you just had to keep on pushing me,” he says, his voice darkly melodic.

Cold sweat slicks itself over my skin as I swallow. I don't say anything, can't say anything. Suddenly, he slaps his hand down on his knee, making a loud smacking sound. “Is this how you repay me for raising you? For feeding you all these years and putting clothes on your back? You run off and let the police take me in? Tell your little boyfriend lies about me?”

If I could speak I'd tell him that I was dragged up, not raised. I'd also mention that I've been feeding and clothing myself on a pittance ever since I could walk. Not to mention that I hardly had to tell Frank anything, he was clever enough to figure most of it out for himself.

The tension in the room builds higher the longer it takes me to reply to him. It comes out barely a whisper. “I n-n-never lied.” My voice gains more sound when I continue, “And I wasn't the one who forced you to go drug dealing to school kids. That w-w-was all you Dad.”

“
That w-w-was all you Dad,” he mimics. “You can't even fucking talk Flo, you're pathetic.”

I jump up from my seat, seventeen years of rage gets released when I yell, “You're the pathetic one. You Dad. Not me. You're all black and brown and grey, everything that's bad about the world, that's you.”

At this he rises to meet me, marches across the room and slaps me right on the face. He pushes me down onto the floor and kicks me in the stomach. Pain shatters through me. He leans down, fisting his hand, getting ready to punch, when I do something I have never done before. I fight back. I duck away from his fist, and kick out at his foot, knocking him to the floor.

Once he's down I scramble to get away from him, crawling on the carpet. He grabs my foot and pulls me back, his grip is hard, bruising. He hauls himself on top of me and brings his fist down on my ribs, after three punches I lose count. His breaths are the only sound I can hear, heavy and wheezing. When he's done with me he stands up. My entire stomach feels like pulverized meat. I let my head hang to the side, the itchy carpet scratches against my sore cheek where he slapped me.

I open my eyes to see him standing there, looking worn out and vaguely regretful, as usual. “You always have to push me. I tried to warn you, but you pushed Flo, you pushed,” he mumbles, his voice low.

Then I hear more words, only they don't come out of his mouth, they come from his head.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I just want it to end, just want to not
hear
any more
.
It's her fault for pushing me. Her fault. She knows I've got a bad temper.
Oh no, this is the telepathy thing again, providing me with a glimpse of Dad's thoughts, the same way I caught a snippet of Frank's. It surprises me that he actually feels guilty, but his thoughts seem like crazy ramblings, mostly incoherent. They don't make much sense to me.

He leaves the room and I hear him slowly climb the stairs, going into Gran's old bedroom and shutting the door hard. It feels like the entire house shudders. I lie there for a long time, trying to think past the pain. It's not easy, and I can't even bring myself to move. Most of the hurt is in my centre, but it doesn't feel like anything's been broken. This is probably because Dad is so weak these days. When he was younger and less ruined by drugs he was able to beat me harder.

I finally manage to sit up. Tears stream down my face, making it sting. After a few minutes I hear Dad coming back down the stairs, he stands in the open doorway to the living room, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“
I'm going to stay with a friend for a while,” he says, his voice devoid of any feeling at all. “I'll be gone a few days.”

I just look at him, silent. He turns away and opens the front door, closing it gently behind him. I exhale once he's gone, feeling relief at his departure. I struggle my way up the stairs and run a bath, stripping down and sitting in it until the bubbles dissolve and the hot water goes cold. I continually dab at my face and stomach with a damp cloth. There's a small bit of blood, but it disappears, blending into the bath water.

When I go into my room I find my phone in its place in my drawer, countless missed calls and text messages from Frank pop up on the screen. The last one says that Sam called him to let him know he found me and that I was okay. He still wants me to call him back and let him know I'm all right in person though. If he doesn't hear from me by lunch time he's coming over to the house, he says.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, there's a bruise surfacing on my left cheek, but most of the damage is hidden beneath the towel I wear wrapped around me. Even so, I can't let him see me like this, which means I'm going to have to ring him. I sit on my bed, trying to build up the courage to dial Frank's number.

When I finally press the call button it barely chimes once when he answers and breathes heavily, “Flo, thank God. I've been so worried about you.”

“
No need to w-worry,” I reply, making a conscious effort to keep my voice steady. “Dad went to stay with a friend for a few days, so I'm fine.”

Frank is silent for a long time. “Did he touch you?” he asks, his voice dark.

“
No,” I lie. “He just ranted at me, then left.”

“
Okay. I'm coming over, I don't want you to be alone.”

Shaking my head fervently, even though he can't see me, I say, “Don't do that. I'm sure you've got other stuff on that you need to be doing. I'll be fine, I'm just going to rest today, maybe sleep for a while. Didn't you p-p-promise Ross and Layla that you'd drive them to the airport?”

“
I did. But that won't take long.” He pauses and there's a pregnant silence. “Florence, can I ask you a question?”

Oh no, it's always serious when he uses my full name. “Of course,” I answer, trying to sound breezy.

“
Has your dad been telling you not to see me?” he asks.

“
What makes you think that?” I reply, avoiding giving him a straight answer.

I can hear Frank breathing softly on the other end of the line. “It was some of the stuff he said yesterday. Seems like he's had it in for me for a while, only you decided not to tell me about it. I'm thinking that's the real reason you decided to call things quits with us.” There's only a mild accusation in his voice. I can tell he wants answers, but doesn't want to push me.

I decide to tell him the truth, since I'm so sick of lying all the time. “Yeah, he's sort of been blackmailing me. God, that sounds so awful when I actually s-s-say it out loud.” I pause, but Frank doesn't say anything. “You see, he said he'd plant drugs on you and have you arrested if I continued seeing you. I was so scared of him ruining your life that I went along with it. I'm so sorry Frank.”

When Frank speaks again, it's clear that he's trying to hold back his anger. “Don't – don't apologise for him Flo. God, I'm going to kill him for doing that to you, where is he staying?”

“
I have no clue where he is,” I say honestly. “B-b-but you can't go after him, then you really will get into trouble and he'll have won anyway.”

“
Flo, I have to show him that he can't mess with you, with
us
. He needs to know where the line is drawn, because men like him are too dumb to know when to quit.”

He's right, that could be the motto for Dad's entire life,
too dumb to know when to quit
.

“
Can we talk about this on Monday when I meet you for lunch? I'm really too tired for this conversation right now,” I say on a sigh, trying to buy myself a few more days. Hoping that by then Frank's anger will have died down and he won't be so dead set on getting back at Dad.

There's a stretch of quiet, before Frank finally accedes, “Okay then. What are you going to do with yourself for the whole weekend?”

I try to put as much of a smile into my voice as I can muster. “Relax, I guess. Do some homework, take some bubble baths, watch Buffy re-runs.”

“
Sounds like fun. Especially the bubble baths,” Frank's voice is warm now. I exhale in relief that he's no longer on a rampage about Dad. “You wouldn't be interested in some company for that particular activity, would you?”