The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 53: Chapter 53 - In Danger

Roxie sat on the edge of her bed with her phone clutched in both hands, her back so straight it hurt.

The house was quiet in the wrong way.

Usually, quiet meant her mother had passed out in the living room with the TV still flashing blue across the walls. Quiet meant Steve was gone or sleeping or too drunk to do anything except mutter insults from the couch. Quiet meant Roxie could lock her door, keep her lights off, and pretend the house was a normal house.

Tonight, quiet had teeth.

She heard him in the hallway.

A slow shuffle.

A bump against the wall.

Then his laugh.

Roxie stopped breathing.

”Roxie,” Steve called through the door, his voice thick and loose. ”You awake in there?”

Her fingers tightened around her phone until the case dug into her palm.

She did not answer.

Maybe if she stayed quiet, he would leave. Maybe he would get bored. Maybe her mother would wake up for once in her life and remember she had a daughter.

The doorknob turned.

Roxie shot off the bed so fast the mattress scraped against the frame.

The knob rattled again, harder this time.

”Open the door.”

Her throat closed.

”Mom!” she yelled, and her voice cracked so badly she hated it. ”Mom, wake up!”

From the other side of the door, Steve laughed under his breath.

”She’s sleeping, sweetheart.”

Roxie backed away from the door.

”She had a long night,” he said. ”You know how she gets.”

”Go away,” Roxie said.

Her voice sounded small.

The doorknob jerked harder. The old lock shook in the frame, and Roxie’s stomach dropped because that lock was cheap. Everything in this house was cheap. The door, the window latch, the thin wall between her room and the hallway, the whole stupid idea that she could keep herself safe by turning a little metal lock and hoping the world respected it.

”Don’t be rude,” Steve said. ”I’m just checking on you.”

”You’re drunk and high.”

”So?”

”So leave me alone.”

There was a pause.

Then his voice lowered.

”You always talk to me like that.”

Roxie swallowed, her mouth dry.

She looked around the room too quickly. Her cheer bag was on the floor. Her sneakers were near the closet. A half-folded hoodie sat on the chair. Her window was behind her curtains, old and warped from years of heat and rain. Her dresser was heavy but not heavy enough. Nothing in the room looked useful.

The doorknob rattled again.

This time the door popped against the lock.

Roxie flinched so hard her phone nearly slipped out of her hand.

”Stop!” she screamed. ”I said go away!”

”Open the door, Roxie.”

”No!”

”You think you’re better than everybody now?” he asked. ”Walking around in that private school uniform, acting like you don’t live here?”

Roxie’s eyes burned.

This was what they did. They took any piece of her that made her feel separate from this house and dragged it through dirt until she felt stupid for wanting anything else.

But this was different.

His voice was different.

The way he stood outside her door was different.

The way the knob kept turning was different.

Roxie’s hands shook as she opened her phone.

No service.

She stared at the tiny mark at the top of her screen and felt her chest cave in.

”No, no, come on,” she whispered, moving closer to the corner near her dresser where the signal sometimes came back. ”Please.”

The knob went still.

For a second, she thought he had left.

Then the door slammed inward.

The lock held, but the frame made a sharp cracking sound.

Roxie screamed.

”Open it,” Steve said, his voice rough now. ”Don’t make me break it.”

Roxie stumbled backward and hit the dresser. Her hip caught the handle, pain shooting down her leg, but she barely felt it. She yanked the top drawer open and shoved her hand inside, throwing aside socks, old receipts, a cracked compact mirror.

Her fingers closed around the small kitchen knife she kept wrapped in a shirt.

She had stolen it months ago after Steve cornered her in the kitchen and blocked her way for three seconds longer than he should have.

At the time, she had told herself she was being dramatic.

Now she pulled it free with both hands.

The blade shook so badly it flashed in the weak yellow light from her lamp.

”Roxie,” Steve said.

The way he said her name made her skin crawl.

She backed into the corner between the dresser and the wall, sliding down until she was crouched on the floor. Her knees pressed against her chest. The knife stayed pointed toward the door, but her grip was terrible. Her hands were slick with sweat. Her whole body started shaking, not the cute kind of shiver people wrote about in books, but the ugly kind that made her teeth tap together and her breath come out broken.

She hated him.

She hated this house.

She hated her mother most of all in that moment, and the guilt of that almost made her sob out loud.

”Mom!” she screamed again. ”Please!”

Nothing.

From somewhere beyond the hallway, the TV kept mumbling to itself.

Steve hit the door again.

The frame cracked wider.

Roxie’s phone buzzed in her hand.

One bar.

She almost dropped it trying to unlock the screen. Her thumb slipped twice before she found Zac’s name.

She did not think.

She called.

It rang once.

Twice.

The door shook again.

”Pick up,” she whispered, pressing the phone so hard against her ear it hurt. ”Pick up, pick up, please.”

A click.

”Roxie?” Zac’s voice came through rough with sleep. ”What’s wrong?”

She broke.

”Zac,” she sobbed. ”He’s trying to get in.”

The sleep vanished from his voice. ”Who?”

”Steve. He’s at my door. My mom’s passed out and he won’t stop, and I have a knife, but I can’t—” Her breath caught so hard she gagged. ”I can’t get out.”

Zac said something away from the phone. A thump followed, then the sound of movement, fast and messy.

”Where are you right now?” he asked.

”My room.”

”Door locked?”

”Yes, but it’s breaking.”

”Window?”

Roxie looked toward the curtain.

The glass reflected her own face back at her, pale and wet and terrified.

”I don’t know.”

”Stay low. Stay away from the door. Do you hear me?”

”I’m in the corner.”

”Stay in the corner,” Zac said. His voice was hard now, awake and dangerous. ”Keep the knife in your hand. Put me on speaker.”

”Zac—”

”I’m coming.”

Steve slammed into the door again.

The crack split higher up the frame.

Roxie screamed and dropped the phone onto the floor.