“Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Because,” he shrugged his small shoulders, “you do everything for me.”
Even at five years old, Tristan was aware that our mother did nothing. It broke my heart that he and Ivy had to grow up with this. But I had too, and I didn’t have anyone to look after me. That’s why I did what I could for them.
“I love you, Tristan,” I kissed his forehead. “Love you, Ivy,” I kissed hers as well. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Row,” Ivy scurried over to her bed on the other side of the room.
I hugged Tristan and I slipped out of the bed. I hugged Ivy too and closed their bedroom door behind me.
I leaned my head against the closed door. I was so exhausted, but I needed to shower and I had homework to finish since I hadn’t done it at the library. Trent had ruined my whole evening. Why couldn’t he leave me alone?
Choosing not to wa
ste my energy dwelling on it, I pushed myself forward and into my room. It wasn’t much of a room to be honest. It was more like a closet. My full size bed took up most of the space and the closet door was always open because it was impossible to close it. The walls were painted a bright aqua blue and the bedspread was purple. It was nothing special, but it was mine and that’s what mattered to me. I grabbed a pair of loose sweatpants and a sleep shirt.
I showered as quickly as I could, but took more time than I meant to because the hot water felt so good on my tense muscles. I never seemed to relax.
Before I headed into my room for the night I checked on my mom. She was still passed out on the couch. I hated her so much, but she was my mom, and nothing could change that. I watched her for a few minutes, noticing the steady rise and fall of her chest. I wondered how someone that drank so much was able to breathe like a normal person. It seemed like her breaths should falter or something. I wanted to yell and scream at her to get off her lazy ass and be a mom. But I knew that was pointless. I’d yelled and screamed at her more times than I could count and it never did any good. It usually resulted in me getting slapped in the face.
With a scowl, I pushed myself away from the wall.
I closed my bedroom door, locking it behind me.
I slipped beneath the covers, glaring at the textbook laying on the bed.
I wanted to put off my homework till tomorrow, but it would only bug me and result in even more lost sleep.
I pulled the textbook onto my lap and began to read the assigned pages.
Thirty minutes later, when I finished reading, I had to write a short essay to summarize what I’d read. Honestly, you’d think professors would have better things to do than grade stupid papers like this.
We were supposed to type this, but I didn’t have a computer, so I had to hand write it. I always did my typed assignments at the library before I went home. Hopefully I’d have time to type this up tomorrow, but tomorrow also meant even more homework. It was a vicious cycle.
Once the short paper was written, I tucked it into the pages of the book and dropped the book beside my bed on the thin strip of floor that served as the walking space in my room.
I reached over and turned the light off, bathing the room in darkness.
I lay in bed, unable to go to sleep even though I was exhausted.
I heard the front door slam closed and jumped.
My step-dad Jim was home.
I hated Jim with every fiber of my being, maybe even more than I hated my mom.
I listened to his heavy footsteps echo through the small house. When they started down the hall, I closed my eyes for a moment to ground myself.
Turning on my side, I forced them open, staring at the darkened shadow stopped outside my door.
I held my breath, counting in my head.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
Jim smacked me around some, but nothing too bad. What I couldn’t handle was when his eyes roamed up and down my body like I was piece of meat he wanted to devour. Even worse than that was when he touched me. Sometimes, when I was wearing a skirt, if I passed by him while he was sitting his hand would skim under the fabric and up my thigh. Other times his fingers would graze my butt or my breasts. He liked to play with my hair too. I’d thought about cutting it more than once, but my hair was the only thing I liked about myself and I refused to let him take that piece of me.
I held my breath, waiting for him to leave. When he finally did I was red in the face and black spots floated across my eyes.