Because of this, my mouth curled up in a small smile as I put my hand on the handle of my father’s door.
I turned it.
I pushed in.
I walked in.
I saw Georgia coming up out of a chair in front of my father’s desk, turning as she did to face me.
I also saw something out of the corner of my eye.
I didn’t get the chance to look that way.
Agony exploded from my cheekbone, coursing a path through my temple and eye.
Having received the backhanded blow from my father, I staggered to the side, hand out to catch my fall however that might happen, eyes blinking in an effort to regain focus taken away by surprise and pain.
I hadn’t succeeded before the next blow came. This one not a backhand but an open-handed slap across my cheek that cracked hideously through the room, the sound exploding in my brain.
I careened from that blow only to sustain the next one, another slap, followed by another. But that one was a closed-fist crushing punch that landed right on my temple.
Fighting to remain conscious but unable to remain standing, I fell to the side. Slamming into my hand on the silk carpet, my wrist taking all my weight, the throb of pain radiating up my arm, my hip hitting next.
My other hand to my face, cowering away from the possibility of another blow, I heard Georgia cry, “Dad! Stop with the face!”
“Fuck, you fucking stupid, goddamned fucking bitch!” my father shouted, on the second “fucking” grabbing hold of my hair in a painful grip and yanking back.
I made a mew of pain, my eyes opening to see his red livid face inches from mine.
“What the fuck’s the matter with you, you stupid, fucking bitch?” he asked in an enraged shout, his spittle landing on my face. “Christ! How have you not learned? It’s simple,” he yanked my hair with the last word and then again with each successive one, “you…do…as…you’re…told.”
My head jerking with each tug, my neck stretched taut in a reflexive effort to fight the jolts and beginning to ache, my scalp in agony, I tried to gather a single thought.
All I could do was notice that my sister was approaching.
I also vaguely noticed Tommy was there, not too far away.
And incidentally—so Tommy—not intervening.
“Dad, back off,” Georgia said in a calming voice.
Dad glared at me a moment before he yanked my hair one last time, like he was pushing me away from him, before he let me go and straightened.
I swayed with the wrench, flinching against the pain, and righted myself. But I didn’t move further because my father didn’t shift away and both Georgia and he were fencing me in.
Hazily, my attention drifted to my sister.
“Dustin Culver, Liv,” she said.
“What?” I whispered, that being the absolute last thing I expected her to say, not thinking I actually heard her say it and wondering if I was unconscious and hallucinating.
“Told you to date him, sis. Not break up with the fucker,” she stated.
I blinked up at her.
“The man’s running for state senate next term,” my father spat, and I looked to him. “Way he looks. Money he’s got. Brain in his head. His pedigree. His education. His ambition. He’ll be in Washington in four years, if he doesn’t run for governor. He could even fuckin’ make a play for the White House. That kinda future ahead of him, you get him addicted to your snatch, leadin’ him around by his dick, what’s that do for the Shades?”
I wasn’t certain I was hearing what I thought I was hearing.