Helpless
As if I didn't have enough problems without adding pest control to my list of debts.
I trudged through the old but clean kitchen to the small back office, where I could barely see my desk. Someday I would tidy up this little space, but sorry, office, today is not your day.
I sighed. Tomorrow wasn't looking good either, considering how many tasks they prioritized over tidying up the office. However, the atmosphere was different. As if something had moved or been moved. I just couldn't identify it.
I glanced at the safe in the corner, tingling all over. Forget the tingling. My body was sounding the alarm. Nothing seemed disturbed, but there was a hint of the bourbon Dad preferred, scenting the air.
That old bastard. It was the reason he changed the combination to the safe every week so often that he risked not being able to open it someday, how hard it was to remember them-just so he couldn't open it and borrow the money.
Because for him it was never stealing. It was borrowing, or more likely investing.
But not this time.
Fuck! I knelt down on the ratty old carpet, held firm only by dust and persuasion, and dialed the last combination. I closed my eyes. Damn, how long had I been using these numbers? So long that writing them down was pure muscle memory. Crap.
I'd been so distracted with bills piling up that I hadn't changed my usual schedule, and Dad had watched me empty the till last week. Fuck! His little gamer eyes didn't miss a thing.
And now, I was missing everything. Where there should be a neat but small pile of green money, there was only the bottom of the safe.
I leaned my back against the wall and turned my head as I stared thoughtfully at the empty safe. Well, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. \[...\]
A tear escaped from the corner of my eye and I wiped it away impatiently. As always, I couldn't let myself get carried away with sadness right now or I'd start crying and keep crying all night. Hall and Paul would find me a dehydrated husk tomorrow.
Too many things were going through my head. Pierre would be disappointed about the lack of chicken wings on the menu tomorrow, but I couldn't even afford a chicken feather right now, let alone a whole wing. Sure, the rest of the customers would probably be more disappointed when the beer ran out, but I couldn't even help it.
Still, what did all that matter if he couldn't pay the rest of the bills anymore? I had raised money with so many loans over the years, always desperate to keep the deeds to what was ours, avoiding remortgages in case we lost the house and the pub in various attempts to stay afloat, but now my lines of credit had dried up so much that I couldn't see them anymore.
I had nowhere to go and no more tricks to try.
A deep panic came over me and made me feel like everything was a thousand miles away as I looked around the office. I had papers piled up from years ago, and red bills covered my desk. Nausea turned my stomach.
Helpless. I had never really experienced running out of anything before. But this office, The Pour House, was little more than a mirage now. It would soon be gone.
And I tried so hard to hold on to it all.
I had failed. And that hurt.
I still hadn't moved when I saw a shadow in the doorway and Dad appeared staggering out, a huge photo in his hand. For an instant, I wanted to let go of the old hope I felt at the sight of him, as if he had suddenly reoriented his moral compass.
But today I knew better.
“You're not satisfied with the winnings? And now you're drinking them too?” my voice was harsh, but without real emotion. There wasn't a day that Dad hadn't drunk at least part of our winnings.
Today was no different simply because he had also stolen the proceeds.
“I got a tip about a Saints game. “ His eyes were glazed and unfocused as they met mine, and he slurred the words.
He slurred the words awkwardly. He was never a bad tempered drunk. But he did have regrets.
And the exaggerated slurring of words today meant he was particularly regretful.
I turned my head toward him and he eyed me warily. Yes, he was right. I had to be cautious.
“Do you have any data? “ I kept my voice calm as I stood up . Another good tip?
He shrugged, but avoided my gaze. “It didn't go so well.”