I don’t know if they were ever happy together. Whether if things would have been smoother between them without a teenage daughter in the mix. But deep down, I never really thought the problem was me.
I tried to stand up, knowing the time I had to get out unscathed with my dinner salvaged was vanishing by the second. Unpredictability had become predictable by then and the only safe place was out of hitting distance. I wanted to get out of the kitchen, go up to my room. But I wasn’t quick enough.
His meaty fist slammed down on my shoulder, driving me back into the wooden chair and I forced myself not to fight him.
Right then I was too tired, too hungry to care whether I did the sensible thing and inside the gym bag on the table, I had my way out ready to use. I wanted him to push me. I wanted him to see exactly what I’d do.
“I asked you what you think you’re doing?”
“Eating my bloody dinner you arsehole!” I glared up at him, knowing I should have kept my head down instead.
He stepped closer, hand raised back and I tensed for the blow, but his fat, loathsome fingers connected with my plate, swiping it off the table in a clatter of broken dishes. My fork skidded away across the tiles, underneath the fridge, and I hated that I felt myself flinch as the plate shattered on the tile floor.
I wasn’t afraid of him. I was afraid of what I’d do to him if I let myself.
When Pierce threw the family album out and every other picture of Mum in the trash, he said she was a dirty con artist, tricking him into marrying her so he’d be burdened with looking after me when she was in the ground.
He sounded like he thought she died on purpose, just to spite him. As though it was her fault she had a brain hemorrhage after the fall.
I would have blown the whistle on him years ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from what used to be my home. It should have been mine, but Mum hadn’t left a will – hadn’t expected to die young. None of us had seen it coming.
Lack of foresight meant everything had gone to Pierce, as her husband of less then a year. I hadn’t been able to stand him then, and it only got worse when Mum was gone, but I couldn’t just walk away.
There was no way I was letting the monster steal all of my mother’s things. I made a promise to myself on the day of her funeral one way or another, one day, I was going to get him out of here, even if I couldn’t get my home back. And I promised myself, I was going to take his shiny reputation down too.
But somewhere along the line, he started hitting me, and ruining his reputation, taking back what was mine ceased to be enough. I wanted him dead more than I wanted anything else in my life.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my egg fried rice sticking to the side of the fridge. It pissed me off that he’d wasted my food when I was achingly hungry when I had nothing else to eat in the entire house.
“I was having my dinner!” I growled, screeching my chair back as I got to my feet. “That’s all I was doing you fat, ugly troll!”
He’d never liked lip from me. Sometimes, though, it was a struggle not to give it to him. Some days I didn’t care if it made it worse. Maybe I was just looking for an excuse. If he pushed me far enough, I could say it was self defence when I ended him.
Pierce was red-faced and snarling.
“Not yours, is it? You filthy little leach. Nothing in this bloody house is yours!”
I had to bite my tongue. It bloody well was mine. Everything should have been.
All those reviewers would have a field day if they knew the lorded Pierce Sutherland made his eighteen year old step daughter work bar shifts to pay rent in her dead mother’s house, and didn’t let her eat any of the food in the cupboards or the fridge.
He was paying for my schooling, he said. So I owed him.
My fists balled by my sides. I couldn’t take it any longer.
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d advanced on him, my hand reaching out for his shoulder to spin him around. I was small, but he was unathletic, and I had more strength despite his size. The gun was right there on the table. I didn’t even have to get it out of the bag. He’d go down like a sack of potatoes if I hit him hard enough and God I wanted to smash his smug face in.