Vic Vaughn is Vicious by J.A. Huss

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - DAISY

I wake up with a queasy stomach on Monday. I had big plans to go confront Lucille last week, but she was out of the office until today. So my life went back to the way it was before Vic.

Just me and Viv.

Work. Babysitter. And, even though I don’t want to admit it, some defeat as well. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I know that I should just be grateful for what I still have. And I am. I know it can always get worse. So my gratitude is real. But we were so close. So freaking close to this new family and once again, it was ripped away.

I also realize that confronting Lucille about the things she said and did seven years ago when she was my TA is pointless. It’s not going to change anything. And even if it does make me feel better, that relief will be short-lived. I understand that confrontation often makes one the lesser person.

But I don’t care.

Besides. I got a sign that week that this was the way forward. Someone dropped Vivian’s backpack off on my front porch last Friday. And what was inside the backpack? My sketchbook. The very piece of evidence I needed to have this confrontation today.

So fuck it. I do not care if I am the lesser person for doing this. I’m going to have my say with this woman and I’m going to do it today.

I arrive at the art building early. It’s a longish building because it acts as a gallery for student work. The hallways shoot off from the main gallery and Lucille’s office is on the second floor of the new south wing addition.

I expect her door to be closed. I expect to have to wait. I had imagined a sort of ambush in my head when I came up with this plan.

But plans. Right? What’s the point?

I stand in her doorway and watch her mess with an antique flat filing cabinet meant to hold large-scale drawings. I clear my throat and she turns.

At first she smiles at me—even opens her mouth, like she might say hello—but then she catches herself and frowns. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you know who I am?”

She raises one blonde eyebrow. “Should I?”

“Daisy,” I say. “Daisy Lundin. I was a student in a class you TA’d several years back.”

Now she does smile. “Oh. Hello.”

“You’re really going to pretend indifference?”

She places a hand over her heart. Like I’m offending her. “Excuse me?”

I want to say so many things to this woman. None of them nice. But I want to walk out of here with my self-respect too. So I’m going to choose my words carefully. I hold up my sketchbook. “I came up here on Halloween that year to drop this off.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. But I’m not going to argue about that. I just want you to have the facts so that when you think about me—if you’re even capable of self-reflection—you will know the truth. Even if you never admit it to me, you will know it. I didn’t steal your boyfriend that year, Lucille. You see, Vicious Vaughn was never yours. I’m not saying he was mine, either. But he wasn’t yours. He told me that himself.”

“Vicious Vaughn.” She sneers his name. “He played you good, didn’t he? He got you all hot and bothered. Even got into your panties. And you”—she shakes her head and points at my sketchbook—“you fell for it. Drew pictures of him. Carried his baby in your womb.”

“You lied about him. You lied about him because you were jealous of me.”

“Jealous?” She guffaws. “Of you? That’s a good one.” Her face goes serious. “Honey. Listen carefully. I warned you back then. And you were smart. You stayed away. I respected you for that. But when I saw your little girl with him that day, and I realized he hadn’t changed a bit, my respect for you vanished. In fact…” She tilts her head at me. “My interest in you was renewed. I’m not going to bother warning you again. But when a child’s safety is at stake, I have a civic duty to protect them. I am married to the mayor, after all. We protect all our citizens.”

She says all this like she is a queen talking about her subjects. And then the real meaning of her words lands. “You did this. You got him arrested. It was a misunderstanding. We had sorted it out with the CPS worker that night and—”

“No.” She nearly shouts this as her face morphs into ugly anger. “No. Your lawyer interfered with a legitimate investigation. And trust me, that social worker has been fired for cowing to his demands. That’s why this is happening. Because you people think you own this world. You think you can get away with things. You think that the laws somehow do not apply to you. Well, I’m here to tell you, you’re wrong. Reality check, Daisy!” She actually makes a check mark in the air. “You’re. Not. Special. You live under the same rules as everyone else.”

The venom in her speech is palpable. Her anger and, dare I say, hate fills the room.

It stuns me. I was not prepared for this reaction. This emotion. So I don’t even know what to say back.

“Are we done here?” she demands. It’s rhetorical. “Good. Please leave my office. I don’t want to be associated with you, Daisy. And I will be sure to let your family court judge and case manager know that you stopped by today. I will make sure they understand how you lost your temper with me. Showed a level of rage that alarmed me.”

“You fucking bitch. You planned this.”

“I planned this?” She makes a mocking gesture to herself. “I don’t recall asking you to come up to my office.” Then she lowers her voice and whispers, “I don’t recall asking you to drop your sketchbook off that night either. But there you were. Right time, right place.”

“What?” She’s nuts.

“Your daughter will need a new home soon. That hearing next week? It ends with your child going into foster care and Vicious Vaughn in prison.”

I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t, because I’m too busy trying to force her words into something that resembles sense.

Lucille picks up a framed photo off her desk and holds it up for me to see. “Did you know I married the mayor?” She looks down at the photo, sighs and smiles and lets out a contented, “Hmmm.” Then she looks up at me. “But don’t worry, Daisy Lundin. I will be there for little Vivian when you are declared unfit.”

Now I find my words. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

Her voice drops so low, it’s almost inaudible. “I’m talking about… revenge.” Her eyes are kinda wild. And even though I barely know this woman, I suddenly recognize her type.

She was dating Vic. Or, at the very least, fucking him.

And he already admitted to the kind of women who normally find him attractive.

The crazy ones.

Lucille is insane. With jealousy, or rage, or hate—I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter.

The only thing that matters is that she’s dead fucking serious right now.

She is trying to steal my child.

No. Correction. She is trying to steal Vic’s child.

I don’t really matter in this at all.

If she can’t have him, she’s going to ruin his life.

Vivi and I? We’re just the way she’s going to do it.