My eyes narrow to slits, and venom spews from between my lips. She’s part of the reason Penelope is dead. She didn’t believe Pen when my sister asked for help. “Don't you hit your father!” she shouts, taking his side as she clutches at her pearls. I throw my elbow into his stomach, and he grunts, doubling over in pain as my mother gapes at us. My reflexes are sharp now, honed, not those of the little girl he abused for so many years. Neil Pence aka the Thing aka my stepfather moves toward me and reaches down to cup my ass. “You look like one of the old bitches at the bingo hall.”

Just so I never have to hear that sound again. I want to gouge my ears out with a needle, just to make it stop. “The hell are you wearing?” he asks, his laughter this slime that coats my skin and poisons me. My throat gets tight, and I find it suddenly hard to breathe. It is an it, and it’s not even dignified enough for that. I refuse to give it any sort of gendered pronoun, or a non-binary pronoun like they. I just have to stop the world from snatching it away. Heather, though, her smile is like a radiant beam of sunshine. I don't even know what happiness looks like anymore.

Maybe Aaron was right, maybe you should've cut to Nantucket and run? Maybe none of this is worth it? How much more suffering will you have to endure to achieve your ends, Bernadette?īut I'm so damaged, and so broken. My skin gets tight suddenly, like I'm trapped inside of it with nowhere to go. I'd recognize that car anywhere: it belongs to the Thing. “What do you care?” I ask, and then the hair on the back of my neck stands on end at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. It's definitely not my usual daywear, that's for sure. “Where the hell have you been?” she asks me, standing up and giving my frock a confused look. I prefer the months of severe neglect, hands down. It's always bad when she's paying attention to me. Staring up at the dilapidated duplex in front of me, I sigh and head for the front door.īut then I walk in and find her sitting on the couch, waiting for me. Hael climbs back in the car and he and Oscar take off, leaving me alone in my own personal hell. “I'm not used to it, and it doesn't suit you.” “Well, don't,” I snap, scooting around him, and giving the big, tattooed car freak a wide berth. “What?” he asks, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. I have no idea what's going through Hael's mind. What the fuck? I give him a skeptical sort of look as I climb out, like one might eye a used car salesman.īut, you know, in a way, he's much worse than a used car salesman because I know what a salesman wants. “I'm not.” I grab my backpack and sleeping bag as Hael gets out of the car and comes around to … open my door.

Havoc at Prescott High by C.M. Stunich