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Peter smiled. “You know one of my fondest memories was when you would giggle. It didn’t matter how long we’d heard our parents yelling at each other, or we’d seen him slap our mom, I would seek you out. Tickle you or tell you a stupid joke and you’d laugh.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“I miss it.” He dropped his head down, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
“I need to do my homework,” I said.
That girl was gone. She’d died many years ago when the reality of who she was and the prison she lived in became apparent.
“I know something went down that day. I’m not saying anything to Dad, but if it did, then you need to be careful around the Monsters. They’re not good people.”
“And we are?” I asked. “I seem to recall coming home this evening to another doctor visit, Peter. That doesn’t make us good people. We’re just as bad as them.” There was no way I could ever accept that we were good.
I couldn’t believe it when I walked home and there was the doctor, looking irritated once again. These visits were coming more regular as I got closer to graduation. This only confirmed my worst fears. They had found me a husband. One who wanted to make sure I stayed untouched.
I fucking hated it.
“Dad got a call from the driver. He said a boy was paying particular attention to you.”
I laughed. “I’m starting to think this is my driver’s way of getting his kicks. I don’t get it. Why do I get punished and yet every time he’s proven wrong, he gets nothing?”
Peter opened and closed his mouth. There was nothing for him to say because I was right, and he was so very fucking wrong.
“That won’t happen again.”
“Because you’re going to side with me over Dad? Please. I wasn’t born yesterday.” I didn’t want him here. “I really need to finish my assignment.”
Peter nodded. “One day, I hope you find the chance to giggle again.”
I didn’t laugh. Any sound of amusement that came from my lips was all fake. Happiness was an emotion I wasn’t allowed.
My brother left my bedroom and I wished I could breathe easier, but I couldn’t. I got back to my homework, hoping the distraction would be enough to help me through it. The sick feeling was back. The tension mounting.
At some point, I heard the doorbell rang. I’d stopped checking to see who it was long ago. My presence was never required, and if my dad needed or wanted me, I was always marched to where he requested me.
I finished all of my homework and put it back in my bag.
With that done, I walked to my window and looked out over the garden. We had two guards patrolling the grounds, not that it was a mansion like the four main houses that dominated this small town.
This also wasn’t the smallest house either.
At the sound of a throat clearing, I turned to see Irene standing there, hands clasped firmly together. My dad punched her in the face three days ago, and still, she had a smile on her lips and was more than happy to serve.
I hated this life.
No, I hated my father. If I was a man, I’d have killed him.
“Dinner is served, Miss Emily.”
Tapping my fingers against my thigh, I thought about complaining of a stomachache, but I would be hurt for it. If my dad had sent Irene, it meant this was a demand.
I followed behind her, playing the meek young woman I’d been trained to be. My mother was useless. She was probably in some part of the house, passed out on pills and vodka, her poisons of choice.
My shock came in double time as I arrived at the dining room table. My father glared at me, his gaze staring down at my modest dress. Within his walls, I wasn’t allowed a pair of jeans or a shirt. My wardrobe was dresses. A woman was only ever granted those. Even my mom, when she was having one of her blank days, had to look the part.
Speaking of, my mother sat at the dining room table, looking very much involved.
It didn’t surprise me, what did were the other eight occupants. Each of the Monsters’ Crew and their fathers.
“I’d like you all to meet my daughter, Emily.” My father moved toward his left side, pulling out a chair for me to sit.
Now the sickness was in my throat. I didn’t give anything away, though. I walked toward him. He helped me into the seat, his hand going to my arm, his nails digging into my flesh, providing me with a warning. I was to play the meek girl, or else I’d suffer. I was going to get a beating just because I wasn’t wearing a nice-enough dress.
