Free Web NovelChapter 27: Chapter 27 - Breakdown
Steve sat in the armchair like he paid rent.
He did not.
He had one ankle crossed over his knee, a cigarette between his fingers, and that lazy smile Roxie hated because it always looked like he knew something ugly and wanted her to know he knew it too.
"Well, look who finally came home," he said.
Roxie stopped near the doorway.
The living room was lit with candles. Not the vanilla kind rich moms placed around bathtubs in movies. These were half-melted things in chipped mugs and old jars, throwing weak light over the coffee table, the stained couch, the empty bottles near Steve’s feet.
"What is this?" Roxie asked.
Steve’s smile widened. "Your mom’s busy."
Her stomach turned before the bedroom door even opened.
Then it did.
Her mother stepped out first, robe loose around her shoulders, hair messy, lipstick smeared at one corner. Behind her came a man Roxie had never seen before, older than Steve, heavier, fixing his belt like he had all the time in the world.
Roxie went cold.
Her mother blinked at her, pupils too wide. "You’re home early."
"It’s almost midnight."
The man behind her dragged his eyes over Roxie once.
Roxie wanted to peel her skin off.
Steve chuckled from the chair. "Cheerleader, huh? Big night?"
Roxie’s eyes snapped to him. "Don’t talk to me."
Her mother frowned. "Roxxane."
"No." Roxie’s voice came out sharper than she planned. "No, don’t call my name right now."
The man from the bedroom gave a low laugh. "Kid’s got a mouth."
Roxie looked at her mother.
Really looked at her.
The robe. The candles. The stranger. Steve watching from the chair like the whole thing was entertainment.
She knew what this was.
She had known for years.
Knowing did not make it less disgusting.
"I’m going to my room," Roxie said.
Steve lifted the cigarette to his mouth. "That’s probably best."
Roxie walked past them before she said something that would get her thrown out.
In her room, she shut the door and reached for the light switch.
Click.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Nothing.
For a second, she just stood there.
Then everything inside her snapped.
She opened the door and stormed back down the hall.
"Mom."
Her mother looked over from the kitchen, already defensive. "What?"
Roxie held up her hand toward the dark hallway. "Why is the power out?"
Her mother’s mouth tightened.
Steve looked amused.
Roxie’s pulse started pounding. "I gave you the money."
"Lower your voice," her mother said.
"I gave you the money for the bill."
The stranger near the couch shifted like he was enjoying the show.
Roxie pointed at him without looking away from her mother. "And he needs to leave."
Her mother’s face changed. "Do not embarrass me in my own house." frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
Roxie laughed once, sharp and ugly. "Your house? You can’t even keep the lights on."
Steve stood from the chair. "Careful, sweetheart."
Roxie turned on him so fast her cheer bag slipped off her shoulder. "Call me that again and I’ll break the ashtray on your face."
The room went still.
Her mother grabbed her arm. "What is wrong with you?"
Roxie looked down at her mother’s hand, then back at her face.
"The electricity," Roxie said, voice shaking now. "Where is the money?"
Her mother did not answer.
That was the answer.
Roxie pulled her arm free.
Her throat burned, but she refused to cry in front of them. Never in front of them
"I’m paying it myself," Roxie said.
Her mother scoffed. "At midnight?"
"Yes."
"Don’t be stupid."
Roxie grabbed her bag from the floor. "I learned from you."
Her mother flinched.
Steve’s smile disappeared.
Roxie turned and walked out before anyone could stop her.
The screen door slapped open after her. Light from the candles spilled across the porch, weak and ugly, catching the cracked steps and the weeds growing through the path.
"Roxxane," her mother snapped. "Get back here."
Roxie kept walking.
The stranger’s voice followed next, rough and too comfortable. "Hey, cheerleader."
Her hand tightened around the strap of her bag.
She stopped at the edge of the yard and looked back.
He stood behind her mother in the doorway, one hand braced above the frame, shirt untucked, belt still crooked. Steve was visible over his shoulder, sitting in the chair again like he had bought tickets.
Roxie wanted to throw something at all of them.
The stranger smiled. "Gas station, right? I can drop you off."
Her mother looked between them, irritated, like Roxie was the one making it weird. "See? He’s being nice."
Roxie stared at her.
Being nice.
That was what her mother called a strange man offering to drive her teenage daughter somewhere near midnight.
Roxie almost laughed, but if she started, she might not stop.
"I’d rather walk into traffic," she said.
The man’s smile slipped.
Steve chuckled from inside. "Mouthy little thing."
Roxie’s eyes cut to him. "I’m paying the bill. Do whatever you want with the rest of your night."
"Don’t walk alone," her mother said, but it came out sharp, annoyed, like Roxie was inconveniencing her.
That made Roxie angrier than if she had said nothing.
Roxie turned and walked faster.
She did not take the main road.
The main road had streetlights, houses, and people who might recognize her cheer skirt under her hoodie. It also had cars passing slow enough to stare. Roxie knew exactly what she looked like walking alone at night with a bag over her shoulder and her face still half-made up from the game.
So she cut behind the row of houses instead.
The shortcut ran past the old drainage ditch, through a narrow path behind two fenced yards, then out near the gas station. During the day, it was ugly but fine. At night, it looked terrifying.
Roxie pulled her hoodie lower and kept walking.
Her sneakers scraped dirt and loose gravel. Somewhere to her left, a dog started barking behind a fence. A television glowed blue through a window. A woman laughed too loudly from a back porch, then coughed like her lungs gave up halfway.
Roxie kept one hand around her phone inside her hoodie pocket.
Her battery was at fourteen percent.
Amazing.
She had spent all night telling herself she was above Zac Prescott drama, and now she was walking through a dark shortcut to pay an electric bill her mother had turned into whatever that was back in the living room.
A branch caught her sleeve.
She yanked free and kept going.
Near the corner, voices drifted from the end of the alley.
Men.
Roxie stopped.
There were three of them near the broken fence by the old laundromat, standing under the weak light from someone’s porch. One had a bottle in his hand. Another leaned against the fence, laughing at something on his phone. The third looked toward the path.
Roxie stepped back into the dark beside a stack of old crates.
Her heart slammed once, hard.
The man with the bottle turned his head.
Roxie held still.
Her bag strap dug into her shoulder. Her phone pressed against her palm. Her breathing sounded too loud to her own ears, which was stupid because the men were still talking, still laughing, still wrapped up in whatever they were doing.
The third man squinted toward the path.
Roxie did not move.
A car passed on the main road beyond them, headlights flashing across the alley for a second. Roxie pressed herself closer to the wall.
The light vanished.
The man looked away.
Roxie waited until the group shifted toward the laundromat, then moved fast along the side path behind the crates, through the patch of weeds, and around the back of the gas station.
By the time she reached the bright glass doors, her legs felt shaky.
The bell above the door chimed when she stepped inside.
The gas station smelled like coffee, old fryer oil, and floor cleaner. The lights were too bright. What ’s important is that the station had a payment counter. Roxie knew because she had used it before, usually when her mother swore the bill was already handled.
The cashier looked up from behind the counter.
He was maybe in his twenties, bored, with one earbud in and a name tag that said MARCUS.
"You okay?" he asked.
Roxie hated that question.
"I need to pay an electric bill."
He blinked. "Right now?"
"No, next Christmas."
He stared at her.
Roxie closed her eyes for one second. "Sorry. Yes. Right now."
Marcus pulled the earbud out and nodded toward the counter. "You got the account number?"
Roxie dug through her bag.
Her fingers shook, which made her angrier. She shoved past a half-empty water bottle, loose hair ties, a wrinkled school flyer, and her wallet before finding the folded notice she had taken from the kitchen counter.
The paper was creased and stained at one corner.
Final Notice.
She pushed it across the counter.
Marcus scanned the page. "This is already disconnected."
"I know."
"You can pay it here, but they’re not reconnecting tonight."
Roxie looked at him. "What?"
He pointed at the bottom of the notice. "See? After disconnect, reconnection has to be processed. Usually next business day. Maybe morning if you’re lucky."
Roxie stared at him. "I’m still paying."
The bright lights buzzed above her. A freezer hummed behind her. Somewhere near the back, the slushie machine made a wet grinding sound that made her want to scream.
Marcus’s face softened a little, which was worse.
"I’m just telling you," he said. "Payment goes through, but service might not come back until tomorrow."
Roxie swallowed.
Her eyes burned.
She looked down before he could see too much.
"Fine."
She opened her wallet.
There was not enough in the main pocket, so she checked the zipper. Then the side pocket. Then the folded cash inside the tiny envelope she kept from babysitting.
Twenty.
Ten.
Five.
Singles.
Coins from the bottom of her bag.
She counted everything on the counter under the gas station lights while Marcus pretended very hard not to watch her fall apart.
Twenty.
Forty.
Fifty.
Sixty.
Sixty-five.
Seventy.
Seventy-three.
Seventy-four.
Her throat tightened so hard it hurt.
She counted again because she did not trust herself.
The money was supposed to be for her homecoming dress. Maybe a pair of shoes.
Now it was going into an electric bill that would not even bring the lights back tonight.
Roxie pushed the cash toward him. "How much still missing?"
Marcus checked the notice, then the terminal. "With the fee, you’re short twelve dollars."
Roxie stared at the counter.
Twelve dollars.
That was it.
That was the distance between her and being able to tell herself she had fixed something.
She reached into her bag again and dumped the coins from the side pocket onto the counter.
Pennies scattered.
A nickel rolled toward Marcus’s hand.
Roxie wanted to disappear.
The door chimed behind her.
Two boys came in laughing, one in a Bears hoodie, one carrying a skateboard. Roxie turned her face away fast and kept counting change.
Marcus looked at the boys. "Aisle three."
"We didn’t ask anything," one said.
"And yet."
They moved away, still laughing.
Roxie’s eyes burned harder.
Marcus counted the coins, then quietly took a card from beside the register and scanned something.
Roxie looked up. "What was that?"
"Store credit."
"I don’t need charity." freewebnσvel.cøm
"It’s twelve dollars."
"I said I don’t need charity."
Marcus met her eyes. "Then pay it back next time."
Roxie hated him a little for being decent.
She hated herself more for needing it.
"Fine," she said, voice tight.
He processed the payment.
The receipt printed slowly, like even the machine wanted to embarrass her.
Marcus handed it over. "Keep this. Call the number in the morning if it’s not back by then."
Roxie took the receipt.
Her hand shook.
She folded it carefully and put it in her wallet because if she did not do something normal with her hands, she was going to lose it in front of the beef jerky display.
"Thanks," she said.
Roxie walked out before the boys from aisle three could come back to the counter.
The bell chimed above her again.
Outside, the night felt colder.
The gas station had one metal bench near the side, under a buzzing light that attracted every stupid bug in the county. Roxie sat down because her legs did not feel reliable anymore.
The receipt was still in her hand.
Paid.
But the house would still be dark.
Her mother would still be there.
Steve would still be there.
That other man would still exist in the same world as her.
Roxie stared at the gas pumps.
Cars came and went. Tires hissed against the pavement. Someone laughed near the ice machine. The automatic doors opened and closed behind her.
She did not make a sound. She could not break down now. She could not.
She covered her mouth with her hand and cried anyway.
Silently.
Tears slid down her face and hit the receipt in her lap.
She tried to wipe them away, but more came.
Alone.
Just her on a gas station bench after midnight, with seventy-something dollars gone, the power still off, and a house she did not want to go back to waiting at the end of the road.
