Control

Wren

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yell, nose flaring, heart pounding as I stare at my father. “How could you do this to us? To me?”

He opens his mouth, an attempt to justify the stress and the pain he’s caused me but he closes it.

“I’m so sick of this, dad. I work, i take care of you. I care about you, I look after you, and how did you ever repay me? You took my fucking debit card and took money from my account to spend on booze.”

Today was supposed to be stress free. I had clocked out around 3AM this morning, exhausted, tired, with that strange encounter with Nico Ravelli on loop in my head as I stumbled into the small apartment I share with my dad.

I had gone straight to my room, didn’t even shower, I just went to bed. Too tired to turn on my phone or even check for any messages or memes my best friend Imani may have sent.

Then I woke up this morning, ready to do the house chores when I turn on my phone and the first thing I saw were debit alerts. My father had took money out of my account to spend on alcohol.

At that moment I felt the blood drain out of my face. All I wanted to do was scream, break a few things, and scream some more. How could he do this to me?

I’ve been working my ass off, ignoring my social life and putting everything that’s more important to me on hold just so I can take care of me and what did he do? Took my money. Money that I worked hard for.

“Wren, I’m sorry. I just—“

“You just what?” I yell, shoving my fingers through my hair and yanking at the roots as I breathe through my nose.

I don’t blame him. It’s my fault. I had accidentally let him use my card once for a medical emergency and I didn’t think he’d still remember my code, but he’d kept it. Saved it. To buy booze!

“You know what, Dad, I’m so sick and tired of being the one who gets to clean up your mess! I’m twenty one dad. I’m not supposed to be working so endlessly just to take care of you. It’s not fair.”

“What’s the big deal? I don’t get it, why are you yelling because I spent a few bucks on booze.”

“A few bucks? Are you kidding me?” We’re standing face to face now, yelling at each other. “Dad, you took $400. That’s not a few bucks. That’s electricity. That’s water bills. That’s groceries. And should I remind you you’ve quit your sixth job in three months.”

“Are we seriously doing this, Wren?” My father asks, like he’s the one who’s supposed to be angry and not me.

“Yes, dad, we’re doing this. I’m angry, I’m tired. And I have every right to be angry. So you don’t get to tell me or make me feel like I have no right being angry,” I say, wiping angry tears from the corners of my eyes.

I watch as he sighs, shame sinking in as he avoids my gaze.

“You’re gonna get a job, you’re gonna sober up, and you’re gonna be the father I want you to be. Mom’s gone and she’s never coming back and it’s not your fault she left you for another man.”

I see the hurt in his eyes but it’s suddenly gone as he flares up, anger replacing the hurt.

“I know I messed up, Wren, but you don’t get to talk to me like that. I’m still your father. And I deserve some respect from you.”

“Right.” I say shaking my head as I turn around. “I’m done.”

I walk out of the living room, my debit card in my hand as I head toward my room. I slump down on the edge of my small bed, my elbows on my knees as I facepalm, crying into my palms. They are silent tears at first, but then it turns to sobs and full blown tears slipping down my cheeks.

I’m so tired. So stressed out. So exhausted. There are times I want to walk away, to leave him and his mess behind, but then I’d reconsider when memories of that night comes flashing through my mind.

Five years ago, Mom had packed her stuff one night and said she was done. She left me. Left him, because she’d found a new lover. Turned out Mom had been seeing someone else a few months earlier, this rich guy who’s an entrepreneur and that’s who she left us for. It hurt. It hurts so much every time I think about it. And that was when dad started drinking as a way to cope with the loss and the pain.

It started with a few bottles, then a couple more until it became a habit. We weren’t really poor, we were doing okay. But when mom left and the drinking started, the few money we had, dad spent it on drinking. It was the worst years of my life. I wake up some nights cursing my mom, hating her for leaving me with him. I was sixteen, and instead of doing what other girls my age were doing, I was busy taking care of my dad.

I wipe my eyes and stand up, grabbing my toiletries as I walk out of my room and to the bathroom down the hall. The living room is quiet, Dad must have stepped out, hopefully to turn a new leaf and do something with his life.

I take a shower, spending a little too long as I scrub away traces of last night, of Sovereign. When I step out, I feel new, a little better. Throwing on a pair of jeans, crop top, and jacket, I put on a pair of sneakers, tie my hair up in a bun before leaving my room, making sure to lock it behind.

***

The bell on top of the door jingles as I step into the cafe. It smells like fresh coffee, baked goods, and something that feels like home. I see Imani behind the counter, a big smile on her face as she hands a customer his order. As he turns to leave, Imani sees me, grinning like I’m just the right person she’s been waiting for.

“Who this?” She teases, leaning forward as she drums her fingers on the countertop like a drumroll. “If it isn’t Wren fucking Foster. Girl, where do you walk out of?”

I giggle, sliding into the stool opposite her. “Hey, baby.” I say, blowing her kisses and waving. Always the drama queen, she catches it, fake gasp as we both burst into chuckles.

Tonight, her curly hair is in a messy bun, her lips are painted a dark red, complimenting her beautiful brown skin. She’s wearing the cafe uniform, a dark red polo shirt, an apron, matched with a black short skirt. She looks good for a Saturday morning.

“Your usual?” She asks, already brewing a cup of coffee.

“You know it.”

“Tough shift last night?” Imani asks, her arms her on the countertop as she leans forward like we’re about to exchange secrets.

I tug my jacket tighter. “You know how it is at the bar. Drunks, bad tippers, and creepy guys who think you’re part of the drink specials.”

Imani makes a face. “Ew. Girl, I swear, I don’t know how you do it. I’d have flipped a table by now.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Trust me, I think about it at least once a night.”

“You should quit and come work here with me. Worst thing I deal with is a hipster who wants his oat milk steamed at a specific temperature.”

I smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Tempting, but you know those tips keep me afloat. Rent doesn’t pay itself.”

Imani frowns but doesn’t push. She grabs my brewed coffee and froth milk on it. Imani and I have been friends since we were kids. Our moms used to be friends and we usually hang out at each other’s houses. That’s how we became tight.

But as much as I love her, I can’t tell her what kind of job I really do. Not that she would judge me, but because part of working in Sovereign means I can’t tell people what really goes on in there. Hello, NDA.

So to protect her and myself, I had to come up with a job that’s simpler and also involve late night shifts. And a waitress at a bar is the perfect cover.

“So…” Imani begins, eyes wide and full of mischief, as she slides my cup of coffee toward me. “Any luck with one of these fine ass patrons? With ass that fine, I’m sure you’ve got hot men lining up to tap that.”

I laugh, raising my cup of coffee to my lips. I think about telling her about Nico Ravelli, the strange pull between us, and the electricity I felt up my spine when we brushed fingers, but I talk myself out of it.

I open my mouth, ready to brush it off, but then, the bell jingles, signaling the presence of a new customer. But then I feel the change in the atmosphere, like someone powerful has just walked in and sucked all the oxygen in the room.

Slowly, I turn around, locking eyes with a pair of cold gray ones.

And just like that, I can’t breathe.