"I can't believe you're doing this to me!"
Annabelle Martins just laughed on the other end of the phone, ignoring the despair in my voice and the obvious accompanying tears. "I don't give a shit, Tawnya. Reggie's dead and the house is mine so you have three days to get your shit and get the fuck out."
The dial tone ringing in my ear was my indication that the conversation had ended. I was still too stunned to put the phone down but I finally sank to the floor, setting the receiver down. My father was scarcely six days buried in the cold ground and my stepmother was kicking me out of the only home I'd ever known. I wanted to cry, to rage but nothing came out. I was numb because as horrible as her news had been, the realization that my father had betrayed me was much worse. He had always promised me the house and the bank account but the new will said differently. Everything was hers and hers alone. I was homeless.
I grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and tipped it back, drawing comfort from the alcohol. I'd need every ounce I could swallow in the next few days and I intended to start now. I now had no home, no job and pretty soon, with the help of my friend, Jack, I'd have no sense. Sounded like fun ... The phone rang next to me and I picked it up.
"Hello."
"Tawnya! You okay?"
My stepbrother, Ryan. Someone I definitely didn't want to talk to just now. "What's up, Ry? Call to gloat?"
"You know I'm not like that, you asshole! She just told me what she did."
"Well, congratulations. You'll have a beautiful house to bring your whores back to."
"Tawny, are you drinking?"
