AllFreeNovel
Share Us
PROLOGUE
Scotty
12 years old.
“Stop yelling at her!” My cry echoed in my empty room, not boisterous or strong enough to penetrate the four walls imprisoning me. Even knowing my efforts were pointless, I still screamed until my lungs were sore and my throat was raw because it was the only thing I could do.
It wasn’t the first time I was locked in the cage that was supposed to be my bedroom. Refusing to agree with my father had consequences, and confinement was just one of them. I had lost my TV, my freedom, my bed, and even gone to sleep hungry on a wood floor with no blankets. It was awful, but it was either that or hurt my mom, and nothing would make me harm her.
My brother Shane not only listened to everything my father said but he also seemed to enjoy participating in the abuse and watching our mother cry. He joined in when Dad was degrading her, and I’d even seen him laugh as she flinched when Dad raised his hand. If I thought Shane liked hurting our mom, that was nothing compared to how much he enjoyed torturing me.
He was bigger and stronger, and it didn’t matter how hard I fought back because I always lost. Shane would tell Dad, and then I’d get punished for being a pussy and taught a lesson on what a real man is. If I wanted to carry on his legacy of being a sleazy defense attorney, I needed to stop caring about anyone else’s feelings and focus on winning.
Shane thought he was learning from the best because if he could stand by and watch as the woman who birthed him was broken down, he’d get pleasure laughing in the face of a victim as he tore them to shreds on the stand.
I would have rather licked dirt off the bottom of my father’s shoes than follow in the footsteps he left behind. I fantasized about living on the streets, but my mom said it was too dangerous, so we stayed. I didn’t understand why she put up with him, but it didn’t matter. We were all each other had, and I’d rather die than leave her alone.
The house suddenly got quiet, and the front door slammed so loud the walls shook. I barreled to my window that was nailed shut and peeked out to see Shane and Dad walking to his Mercedes. They were probably going to the country club so Dad could drink and smoke cigars while his asshole friends encouraged him to continue being an asshole. The same powerful friends who made any accusations against him magically disappear.
“Hey, Nugget.” My mom tapped her nail on the door, and I ran to my closet to pull up the secret compartment we’d made, and grabbed Harry Potter. I flipped through the pages until a key tumbled out, then I slid it under the door. Metal scraped, the knob turned, and I saw her sitting on the floor, her arms outstretched and pushing the door open as if the wood was still in its natural form, rooted deep in the earth.
“Are you okay?” I leaned down and inspected her face, the sight of defeat making my eyes watery, just like hers. I got my reddish hair from her, too, along with anything else that was good about me.
Despite just being forced to crawl on the floor with a toothbrush to clean the baseboards while being mocked and humiliated, she smiled. “I’m okay, Nugget. Let’s get you something to eat before they come back.”
“I’m all right, Mama. You need to rest.”
“I will after you get supper.”
She always took care of me even when she should have been taking care of herself. Her love never wavered, no matter how bad it got. I helped her up, and she put her arm around my shoulder and leaned on me as we walked to the kitchen. I used to think it was strange that Dad never hit her, but after he was done with her, her body might as well have been bruised and battered.
It was when I began enduring both that I realized without a doubt the mental abuse was worse than the physical, so I understood now why she was so exhausted.
We got to the marble island in our huge kitchen, where she slowly lowered herself onto a stool, and I grabbed the stuff to make a sandwich. “Do you want one?”
“No thanks.”
I didn’t want to dirty a knife, so I just slapped a piece of cheese and some ham between the bread. Methodically putting everything back exactly where it was, I cleaned the countertops of any crumbs and ate over a piece of paper towel.
Most of the kids who went to the fancy school I did had maids and chefs, but not us. Dad made Mom do everything, and no matter what she did, it was never good enough.
While I was chewing, I got an ice pack out of the freezer and handed it to her, then dug through the cabinets for pain medicine. I opened the child lock and tapped the bottle until four fell into my palm, then put the bottle back inside an empty box of baking soda. Dad didn’t think she deserved any relief, so I had to steal them from a friend’s house. When his mom caught me, I quickly put them back and thought for sure she was going to tell my dad, but when I got home, I found all sorts of first-aid stuff in my backpack, including three bottles of pain pills. I was so thankful for her, but angry she didn’t help more. Nothing new, really. Teachers and other adults raised concerns about me and my mom, but nothing was ever done. That was the kind of power my father had.
“Thank you, Scotty,” Mom whispered as I gave her a glass of water with the pain meds.
My stomach was sick, looking at how hopeless she was, but I still ate because I didn’t know when the next time I’d be able to was. She moved the ice from one knee to the other, and I refilled her glass when she finished the first.
“Be right back.” I ran down the hall, used the bathroom, and flushed the paper towel down the toilet because, God forbid, my father found out I had sustenance.
Mom waited for me as soon as I got out, looking more frail by the second. “Let’s go on up. I don’t know when they’ll be back.” She wiggled her thin fingers, and I held her delicate hand until we got to my room.
Together, we sat on the hard floor, and she picked up Harry Potter. I leaned on her shoulder while she read to me, her voice the most comforting sound on the planet. Her tone got softer, and she yawned, so I took over reading. After half a page, her cheek landed on the top of my head, and she was sleeping peacefully.
As long as she could lock the door and slide the key back to me before Dad and Shane got home, we’d be okay. We were pros at this, having done it hundreds of times before successfully.
I continued reading and was so into the book that I didn’t hear a vehicle pull up outside. But when heavy footsteps echoed downstairs, I nudged my mom frantically. “Mama. They’re back. Hurry.”
She gasped with a start and almost fell rushing out of my room, but luckily grabbed the door so she wouldn’t draw attention upstairs. She quietly closed the door, twisted the lock, then slid the key under. “Love you, Scotty,” she whispered, and I faintly heard her steps disappear down the hall.
