“No. I want you to try and be fucking respectful from time to time. No one wants to work for us, and now we finally have someone willing to give us a chance. I’m telling you not to fuck it up,” I scold him.
“Don’t you worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.” He grins brightly with a hint of mischief. “She’ll be falling in love with us by the end of the week.”
“Did you suddenly become a magician or something?” I scoff. It will take a miracle for that to happen, and certainly within a week.
“No, I just have a lot of hidden talents she hasn’t seen yet.”
God, I don’t even want to know what they are.
Chapter four
Gabriel
Wild night or night terrors?
~ The Next Day ~
“Where the hell are you, you stupid fucking boy?!” I hear his footsteps walking down the hall, doors being thrown open as he ravages through every room.
I duck deeper into the pile of clothes in my closet. He already came into my room but didn’t think about checking the closet. I just hope he’ll give up and turn back to whatever he’s been taking that makes him and Mom all sleepy. It’s the only time they leave me alone; the only time I don’t do anything wrong and need to watch my back.
The only time I’m safe.
“That little piece of shit. He’s going to pay when I find him!” he yells from farther away.
For a moment, I can’t hear him anymore, and I think, maybe, just maybe, he gave up. But then his steps grow louder as he gets closer until my room door flies open and smashes into the wall.
“I know you’re in here, boy. Get out now, and I won’t be so harsh on you,” he taunts.
But I’m not stupid. I’ve fallen for that trap too many times. And it’s always the same; whether I hide or don’t, nothing changes. No more playing his games.
I’m twelve now. Ms. Winslow said I could get emancipated at sixteen. She’s tried getting child protective services involved many times, but they never do anything. They never believe me because I’m a reckless child who gets into fights all the time. That’s how I end up with so many bruises every week. A black eye, split lip, a few broken bones. Yeah, totally makes sense.
But Ms. Winslow, she believes me. She helps treat my wounds and brings me to the hospital when I need stitches or a cast. She’s the only good thing in my life. My math teacher of all people. I hate math. She recently got me to join the hockey team at myschool, so that I’ll have a reason to be out of the house more often, away from my parents until I can leave for good.
Just four more years.
My closet door is ripped off its hinges, making me yelp in fear. The next thing I know, a hand grabs at my hair and pulls me out of my hiding spot. “There you are, you little fucker!” He continues to pull me out of the closet, then throws me on the floor in the middle of my room.
“You just cost me hundreds of dollars!” He kicks me in the leg as I huddle into a fetus position, trying to cover myself as much as possible. There’s no point in fighting back, it just makes it worse. I’m still not strong enough. But one day, I will be.
“What? You thought Mr. Baker wouldn’t notice the scratches you left on his car!? You thought you could get away with it? Like you thought you could get away with stealing my money?!” He kicks my arms, then stomps on my shoulder.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip hard until the copper taste fills my mouth. I will myself to stay quiet, to not cry. The less I respond to his assault, the sooner he leaves me alone.
It wasn’t even my fault that our neighbor, Mr. Baker’s car, got scratched. Lucas, his son, had gotten a new bike and asked me if I wanted to try it out. I’ve never had a bike of my own, and his looked cool, so I said yes. But then his older brother, Marcus, arrived. He’s three years older than us and a real bully.
He walked up to me and pushed me and the bike into the side of his dad’s car. Lucas quickly told him to leave me alone and told me not to worry, that he’d tell his dad he did it. But then Mr. Baker came out of the house, and Marcus told him I ran the bike into his car on purpose. To which Mr. Baker said he would have a word with my parents.
I immediately rushed home and went to hide in my closet, knowing what was coming next. It happens every time, whether it was my fault or not. It even happens if I miss a spot while cleaning the dishes. Really, they just use any excuse to hurt me.
I wish I could say my mother wasn’t the same. She may not be as harsh, but she still smacks me every chance she gets or burns things I love. And when she isn’t hurting me in some way, she’s too high to remember I exist. I think that’s probably the point.
I don’t even understand why they had me in the first place, since they claim to hate me so much. I don’t know why they don’t just let CPS take me away and send me off to a foster home. Wouldn’t it be better for them if I were gone? They wouldn’t have to deal with me or spend more money on food to feed me. They always say they wish they could get rid of me, so why won’t they?
And the only reason I took the money, which happened one time, was for hockeygear. Ms. Winslow had found someone who was selling their used equipment for fifty dollars. She wanted to pay, but she had already done so much for me. She still does. So, I told her I could get it. I knew what the consequences would be. But I wanted to prove I was capable, that I could take care of myself.
“You’re going to pay for this! Every fucking cent I have to spend to fix that asshole’s car! You’re always such a little shit! Always costing me money!” He kicks harder, over and over again. Everything hurts, but I keep it all in. Every sound. Until he kicks harder along my side and something snaps. I howl in pain, no longer able to contain my cries.
