Blow - Kim Karr Page 0,88

of life.

My father was up to his typical fuckery, but that night the sounds were louder than usual. He was fucking some whore in our living room. He never took his women into his own room. No, they always stayed in the main parts of the house and it was always late at night. I didn’t understand it. We’d moved back to California by then and his room wasn’t the same room he’d shared with my mother. Maybe it was the bed, or the memories. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was used to the endless women, but since my mother’s death he hadn’t been overly vocal, and I’d grown used to that too.

That didn’t mean I didn’t know what he was doing. The occasional “Oh yes” was hard not to hear, and the “That’s it, don’t stop” told me more than I needed to know. Sure, I heard him often enough, but nothing like I’d endured during my childhood. And to be honest, I didn’t care about those women or what he did to them.

Up until that night, the very idea of having sex made me physically ill.

But that night, his grunts and groans turned me into someone else. He was calling this woman Susan. He was begging her to take her clothes off. It was his and my mother’s wedding anniversary and I thought he’d really lost it. What kind of game was he playing with this woman? Her name couldn’t possibly be Susan.

When he said, “But baby, I need to be inside you,” I lost it. I couldn’t take it anymore. Although I knew better than to leave my room, I did it anyway. I was seventeen now. What was he going to do? Whip me with his belt? I doubted it. Kick me out of the house? I could only be so lucky.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I stormed right out my door and right into the living room. I didn’t think about what I’d be walking into. Or maybe I didn’t care. Who knows?

My father was strewn on the sofa with his uniform pants at his ankles and those black tied shoes that echoed throughout the house whenever he walked were still on. A naked woman sat on top of him, facing those damn shiny shoes. He had a nearly empty whiskey bottle in one hand and the woman’s ponytail in the other.

The sight sickened me.

She was riding him but stopped when she saw me in the entryway. “You want to join us?” she purred.

My father jerked her ponytail. “Did I tell you stop?”

“No, sir,” she answered. She was young, not much older than me.

“Did I tell you to talk?” he said, even harsher.

Had he been like that with my mother?

God, I hoped not.

The thought sickened me and I swallowed the lump in my throat. I dropped my gaze and looked away. Wanting to escape, I moved toward the front door on shaky legs. I had to get out of there.

I was almost free when he snapped, “Gabrielle.”

I froze. Even as a near graduate, he still frightened me.

“Don’t be so weak,” he muttered.

“I’m not weak,” I shot back.

He looked at me like he had when I was younger and disobeyed him, like when he’d whipped me with his belt—the same belt that was now at his ankles—and in that moment I was weak. However, his words were nothing like the “you will be obedient” speech I’d received with each lashing. No, his slurred words cut deeper than that belt ever had. “You might want to stay and watch to learn a few things from a pro. Being good at sex is the only thing you’re going to have to offer a man.”

Sex. His whole being seemed to be about sex. I hated him. I hated my sister for being weak and leaving me with him. And in that moment, I hated my mother for letting it go on so long. Why wasn’t she stronger?

And what was it about sex that turned him into the monster he was?

With nowhere to go, I ran to one of the gyms on base where I’d been training with a number of new recruits. In the years since my mother’s death, I was determined to be strong. Stronger than my sister or my mother ever were.

Strength wasn’t only physical—I knew that. But I also knew it would protect me. And I needed something to protect me.

The place was open twenty-four/seven and I knew someone would