Just as a warning this chapter is a little bit darker so if you are easily triggered maybe skip it...
Abigail Taylor POV ~
"I guess it’s time to tell you the long and tawdry story of Abigail Taylor...
My biological dad was a deadbeat, locked up in jail for vehicular manslaughter when I was four. He died of testicular cancer while he was still incarcerated. I never really knew him, don’t remember him at all, and as far as I’m concerned am much better off with him six feet under.
My mom was a bitter, angry woman. Always. I can completely sympathize with you having to deal with your mom because I grew up never being good enough, doing good enough, for my mom. As I got older it felt more like she was jealous of me than anything. She always had a put down for me, whether it be about the way I had done my hair, or the outfit I was wearing, or little digs about my weight.
This only got worse when she remarried. I had hoped that falling in love again would dim some of her sharpness but my step dad was a mean man. I know he beat my mom regularly, the cheap make up she could afford did a terrible job at covering the bruises. But on the whole he left me alone.
Until I hit puberty that was.
At first it was hugs that went on a little too long. Then it was a kiss on the cheek which slowly crept closer to my mouth each time. Then it was the lock on the bathroom door suddenly disappearing so he could ‘accidentally’ walk in on me in the shower.
I told my mom the first time he came into my room at night and stroked my naked leg, but instead of the protection I sought, all I was met with was an increase of jealousy and harsh words. My step father took this refusal to listen to me as carte blanche to continue his violation of my innocence. One night she caught him pinning me down on my thin mattress, his acrid tasting hand clamped down heavily over my mouth while he pushed in and out of me. Instead of saying anything to him, she screamed at me, accusing me of trying to steal her husband while he smirked at me, wiping his dick off on my comforter.
That was about the time she started drinking heavily, relying on vodka to get her out of bed in the morning and whiskey to send her to sleep at night.
I eventually confided in the social worker at school and she helped me set myself up to apply for emancipation. My grandmother on my dad’s side died when I was fourteen and left me, as her only living relative, a fairly substantial inheritance. It was only when I tried to check my bank account a year later that I discovered my mom had squandered all my money away. I had nothing left. That money would have made a huge difference to my being able to support myself. So I got myself a job and started collecting evidence about my home life.
On my sixteenth birthday I filed the papers and moved out of home. My mom, I think, was relieved when I was declared an emancipated teen. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since the last day in court. I don’t even know if she still lives here, or if she’s still alive.
I met Dominick that same day, actually on the court room steps. He’d just been handed a fine for criminal damage - he’d been caught spray painting the side of a McDonalds.
He was full of that bad boy swagger that impressionable teenage girls can’t resist; with his shaved head and dark eyes, tattoo’s and piercings. He paid me attention like I’d never received before and I lapped it up.
By the time I graduated high school he was full of ideas for his record shop. I think he’d watched High Fidelity one too many times, but he couldn’t be dissuaded. The day he took me to see the empty store he’d found was the same day he got down on one knee and proposed. He managed to talk me out of taking the scholarship I’d been offered to go to college out of state in order to work in that shitty shop with him. We were also in a band together, and he painted such a wonderful life that we were going to lead together that I lost sight of who I was and what I wanted.
We were two weeks from our wedding day when I came home early one day and found him balls deep in some skank-ass groupie. You would have thought living and working side by side with someone you’d know if they were cheating on you, but I had no clue. I mean I’d seen him flirting with girls in the audience when we played, I’d even seen him flirting with this particular skank, but he always laughed off my worries telling me it was part of the role he had to play as lead guitarist.
The next day he was gone.
The apartment was in his name so I was left homeless. Derrick was Dominick’s friend originally but after finding me literally living out of my car, he offered for me to sublet his place because he wanted to move in with Chris but was tied into a long contract in his building.
And now it turns out Dominick had used my details illegally to apply for several shitty high interest loans and several credit cards, and to top it off I just found out all the money I was giving him to pay for things for the wedding was being spent on other shit too, which makes me wonder if me catching him cheating was done on purpose. And then of course he fucked off to Asia, leaving his poor father to try and clear up his fucking mess. I mean, he even sold his house and moved to some run down one bedroom place to try and clear the debt from my name!” I try to stifle a sob as I think about the things that old man has tried to do for me over the last couple of years.
Jake had moved from my desk chair during my diatribe, and was sitting on the bed next to me. He puts his arm over my shoulders and pulls me into his chest as the sobs grow.