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All I care about is Zoey.
Knowing that she’s safe and healthy is the only thing that really concerns me.
Mind you, my aunt does have days where she makes life less than bearable. Anytime my mother’s name is even mentioned, I either get a snide comment or an evil side-eye. So far, she hasn’t hit me, but I can tell she’s dying to lay her hands on me. In my aunt’s eyes, I’m the reason Roy killed her sister. She believes I must have done something to piss him off for him to retaliate the way he did.
She doesn’t blame the deranged monster who almost killed his entire family by the side of a road.
No.
You can’t curse a dead man for his wrongdoings, but apparently you can take it out on the girl who still bears the scar of his bullet on her body.
According to my aunt, I’m the one at fault, especially since it seemed dear old Alice told her sister Lucy of her plans to kick me out of the house the minute we got here.
It was stupid of me to think my mother was only talking trash for the sake of hurting me that day in the car. I honestly believed we were leaving Roy as a family so we could start over after the way he hurt Gage. Apparently, Alice had plans to start her new life with my brother and sister without me. I think I would have been okay with that decision if she would have stepped up to the challenge of being a good mother to my siblings, but with Alice, history had a tendency of repeating itself. Sooner or later, some other lowlife would have come along, and she would have forgotten Gage and Zoey in a heartbeat. Without me there to look over them, I couldn’t imagine how that would have gone.
But that is neither here nor there now. She’s not here to cause more damage to our lives, and to my bitter agony, neither is my sweet little brother.
It’s only Zoey and me against the world now.
If I have to cower and nod whenever Aunt Lucy yells at me just because she’s in a mood, or if I have to swallow down my puke anytime my pervy uncle gets up from his seat just as I’m passing by so he can rub his junk against my ass, then so be it.
These are the thoughts that tumble through my head as I iron a stained T-shirt that should have been thrown in the trash years ago, but as Aunt Lucy always says, if it isn’t broke, you keep it. Maybe that’s why she stays in her loveless marriage.
“Are you almost done in there? Dinner won’t fix itself, you know,” my aunt hollers above the loud television show she’s been watching all morning.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply on cue since no other answer will win me any brownie points with her.
I quickly iron the last two shirts and pack their clothes in their respective drawers before putting the iron and board away. I walk into the kitchen, bypassing Lucy on her recliner as she laughs at some joke a guy made on TV. I open up the refrigerator and sigh in frustration when I find little inside that will enable me to cook a meal for six people.
I hate this part.
I have to ask my aunt for money just to feed her own family. Somehow, she always manages to twist it in a way that makes it seem like the reason why her refrigerator and cupboards are always empty is due to having two extra mouths to feed.
Of course, I have lived here for close to two years now, so I know the real reason.
You see, Lucy is what you call a stay-at-home mom. At least, that’s what she tells people. In reality, she got hit by a bus when she was in her twenties and has been living off disability and the money she got from her settlement case. Uncle Dave, on the other hand, earns his living from working at the post office. He’s bragged more than once about how it’s his government work that really keeps a roof above our heads. Whatever they both bring home, I know it is enough to pay for their four-bedroom house, but I also know for a fact that they could all be living much better if my uncle didn’t gamble so much of their money away.
Not that Lucy says anything about it.
To her, it’s my and Zoey’s presence in her home that has them counting pennies.
Damn it.I hang my head for a moment, mentally preparing for the fight to come. I’m so tired of it.
I loosen my shoulders and put on a fake smile as I walk to the living room, mentally preparing myself for the words I know will come out of her mouth. As I get into the room, though, Lucy is on the phone, cackling away with someone. I stand rooted to my spot, waiting for her to get off the phone.
“God. Stop being such a creeper, Layla. I can feel you breathing on my neck.”
Sometimes I fantasize that it’s my hands around her neck instead of my breath, but every time I do, guilt immediately surfaces. She gave us a home, so I should be grateful, and I am. I just wish she would show us a little kindness too. Unfortunately, in this family, kindness is a luxury no one seems to be able to afford, which is something I should have learned from my mother. After all, her and Lucy are practically the same. I guess I could blame their upbringing, but at what point do people just decide to be assholes, make bad decisions, and keep blaming it on past events instead of being decent?
“Anyway, that was Dave on the phone. He’s going to bring home some fried chicken for dinner. Guess you’re in luck tonight,” she mutters, throwing me a narrow-eyed glare as if my very presence pisses her off.
The smile that springs free on my face is immediate. Thank God.
If he’s bringing dinner, then I don’t have to ask her for money. At least not for another day.
“Hmm. You know what would go great with fried chicken?” she muses, staring at me. “Some mashed potatoes and collard greens.”
Fuck my life.
