Saturday, Indi’s dad invites me to come over Sunday night for a birthday dinner. I guess that means I have to get her something now. I’ll admit I did lay awake half the night wondering what sort of gift she’d like before he even asked me. I suppose my mind was already made up.
“Mum, can I borrow your car?” I ask walking into the kitchen.
“No,” Fuckwit says cutting in on the conversation.
“John. That’s not nice,” my mum replies. “Why can’t he borrow my car?” He clears his throat and squirms in his seat. As much as I hate him, I almost want to laugh. He’s usually very calculated with his attacks against me. Guess he’s slipping.
“If he can’t look after his own car, why should we reward him by letting him use ours? How is he ever going to learn his lesson?”
“That’s a little unreasonable,” my mum says holding her hand against her chest like she’s hurt or shocked by his words. If only she knew, ‘unreasonable’ is his middle name. “Carter had no control over what happened to his car. Why should he be punished for that?”
“You’re right, Elizabeth,” he says in his fake-arse full of shit voice. Placing the paper he was reading on the table, he rises from his chair, making his way towards her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he adds sliding his arms around her waist. My mum smiles up at him. Fuck, he has her hook, line and sinker. Of course he doesn’t apologise to me. Arsehole.
“My keys are in my handbag, sweetie,” she says smiling at me. I shift my gaze and hold it on Fuckwit.
“Thanks, Mum.”
“You can wash your mother’s car when you get home to thank her for her generosity,” Fuckwit grunts. Christ I’d love to smack that smug look right off his face.
“He doesn’t need to do that,” my mum says frowning.
“It’s okay, Mum. I don’t mind washing your car for you.” I walk out of the room before either one of them have a chance to say anything else. Or more importantly, before I say something that may upset her.
After two hours of walking around the damn shops, I finally find the perfect gift for Indiana. I’m not used to doing shit like this. I hate shopping. I hate buying fucking gifts, period. It’s something I’ve never done before. With my mum, I always gave her money. I’m sure there were a lot of things she went without, but she needed money more than anything.
I’m grateful the lady at the jewellery store offers to gift-wrap it for me otherwise she’d be just getting it how it is. I have one more thing to get before I get the hell out of here.
When I arrive back home, I stash my purchases in my room and head outside to wash my mum’s car. I don’t mind doing things for her, but I hate that he has asked me to do it. Just another thing that cocksucker can gloat over.
An hour later I’m done. I empty the bucket, wash the sponge and start to roll up the hose when Fuckwit decides to come around the side of the house. “Before you put all that away, you can wash my car as well,” he snaps.
“What?”
“You deaf as well as dumb?”
“Neither,” I reply through gritted teeth. I’d love to knock this prick out. If it wasn’t for my mother, I wouldn’t hesitate. “I didn’t borrow your car, so why should I wash it?”
“Because you live in my house, eat my food and use my electricity, that’s why, smartarse. You’re nothing to me and you’re not a damn charity case, so if you want to continue to live under my roof, you’ll do as you’re bloody told.” I exhale an exasperated breath while counting to ten in my head. The longer I stay in this house with him, the harder I’m finding it to keep my cool. “Get it done,” he adds before walking back towards the house. “You better do a good job as well or I’ll make you redo it.” I hate him with a fiery passion. What I’d really like to do is ram this damn sponge down his fucking throat.
Snatching the bucket off the ground and heading towards the tap, my gaze moves towards Indi’s room. Great. She’s fucking standing at the window looking at me with a sympathetic smile on her face. I don’t want or need her damn sympathy. I hate that she just witnessed that cocksucker handing me my balls.
Once the bucket is full and I add the detergent, I slap the sponge onto the hood of his car. “Hey. You want a hand?” Indi asks from behind me, making me jump.
“What are you trying to do, give me a damn heart attack?” I grumble.
“That’s a little dramatic don’t you think?” she says sarcastically, placing her hands on her hips. I love her attitude. “I was only trying to be nice.”