Wicked

Chapter 22

Faith POV: 

Grace colors on the floor of the family room while I fold laundry. I watch her carefully, before noticing her tap her marker on the paper over and over again as she thinks. The motion makes me pause, flashes of him clicking his pen over a sheet of lyrics coming to mind. I stare at her, freezing in place, before a loud crash makes me jump. I glance upstairs, feeling my stomach sink. 

I set the shirt I was folding down in the heap of laundry, before starting toward the stairs. I stagger into our bedroom, seeing him pacing as a hole lies in the drywall. I stare at the hole, wondering what enraged him enough to explode like that. He looks my way, panting loudly, before throwing his laptop at me. It hits my leg, before falling onto the ground. I bend over and pick it up, seeing the page upon it and wincing. 

Fists fly between Producer & Manager Scott Hendricks and Country Superstar Tim McGraw at the Grammy Awards in Los Angeles Sunday. 

I shut the computer, setting it down on the dresser as he continues to pace, bursting at the seams with anger. His breathing is uneasy, while his fists clench by his side. 

"What the hell did you say to him?" He spits out as I stand in shock. I narrow my eyes at him before shaking my head. 

"Nothing... I didn't..." I stutter, before Scott punches the dresser, causing pictures to tip forward and fall. I jump, my heart starting to pound in my chest as he loses control. "I told him he needed to leave. I didn't say anything else." I release honestly, as he looks at me and laughs ironically. 

"Fucking liar." He spews, as I wince. He shuts his eyes, panting loudly, before I watch him twitch, uncontrollable fury seeping through his composure. He punches the wall, making another dent, before storming toward me. He grabs my arm, pulling me toward the closet. 

"Scott... babe, I'm not lying. I'm–" I start to defend myself, trying to peel his fingers off my arm. He forces me inside before slamming the door so hard, it shakes the hangers on the rack. He locks the deadbolt from the outside, leaving me in the dark as I try to breathe. The light from under the door is my only reprieve, as the darkness brings me back to the backseat of dad's car. 

"Baby, wake up..." I hear my mother say, as I pinch my eyes closed. I honestly can't tell if they're closed, or if I'm staring into the dark. I sit on the floor, touching the carpet under me to remind me that I'm home, not in his car. "David, wake up!" She shrieks, as I flinch. I reach blindly for anything that could distract me, touching a fallen plastic hanger. 

I slip out of his bed in the tour bus, trying to navigate his bedroom in the dark. My chest grows tight as I hover on the edge of a panic attack. I reach for the wand on his blinds, turning it slowly. I let in just enough light to reveal the silhouette of the room and everything in it, before hearing him groan. I turn to see his eyes squinting, trying to focus on me as he pulls himself out of a deep sleep

"What are you doing?" His voice rasps, as I crawl back into bed, trying to play it off. He wraps his arms around me, shutting his eyes while seeming to drift off once more. I start to relax, feeling relieved, before I notice him look over his shoulder. "Did you open the shades?" He asks, before turning back to me. I open my mouth, but I have no clue how to answer. 

"It was really dark..." I let out, as he breathes deeply. He pushes a stray strand on hair behind my ear. 

"So, why are you scared of the dark?" He asks, looking exhausted, but somehow still focused one me. I look in his eyes, before looking at the shades once more. I shrug, letting my eyes return to him. 

"I'm not." I release as he nods. 

"So I can go close the shades then, right?" He says, as I feel like a deer in headlights. He watches me, raising his eyebrows. He knows better.