Anonymous

50

tw for hunson

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Marceline was running late.

She knew that because she kept anxiously glancing at the time on the car radio screen, watching as the minutes ticked by and the traffic didn't let up. It was stupid of her. She shouldn't have driven to the next town over just to buy a second ukulele, but they'd had the Fender one she wanted in the specific colour she'd wanted, and at the time, she hadn't expected to get stuck in traffic. She'd thought she'd be out for a maximum of three hours, and she'd have plenty of time to vacuum and do the laundry.

The laundry, Marceline thought. She didn't know if she imagined it, but she felt an ache in her rib. That was what got me caught last time.

She looked at the clock again, watched as the minutes ticked, and the car in front of her moved about an inch forwards. A song she liked played on the radio, but unlike usual, she didn't turn it up. All she could think about was her father and how mad he was going to be.

All she could think about was what he was going to do to her.

The car behind her honked their horn, and she snapped out of her anxious trance. She moved forwards (barely) and tried not to feel physically sick when she thought about what was waiting for her when she arrived home.

Marshall will be home, she thought. Her brother was still in his pyjamas when she left, so she assumed he'd been having a lazy day. Hunson wouldn't do anything with Marshall there.

She comforted herself with the thought. Marshall would be there, and she would be okay. She could go out early tomorrow, go see Bonnie or Keila if she wasn't working. That's what you thought last time, that stupid voice at the back of her head mocked and look what happened then.

She arrived home almost two hours after she'd thought she would, and because the universe felt like playing some kind of sick joke on her, her father's car was parked in the driveway.

Your brother is home, she repeated the mantra in her head, you'll be okay.

She was still shaking like a leaf when she stood on the front porch. She dropped her keys five times and jumped back in sheer terror when the front door opened, and her father looked down on her with a disappointed expression on his face.

Marceline knew she should run. She was outside, and he wouldn't do anything outside. Only behind closed doors would he show his true colours. She should turn around, get into her car, and run away. Possibly never come back.

Hunson pushed the door open wider. "Inside, Marceline."

Despite every instinct in her body screaming at her to run, and run now, Marceline's legs moved of their own accord and autopiloted her forwards. It would be much worse later if she ran. He might break something else if she ran. If she did as she was told, it wouldn't be as bad.

She'd left the ukulele in the trunk of her car; if he saw her walking in late with that, it would be bad. Music always set him off. Forgetting a chore because she lost track of time... she could walk away from that. Forgetting a chore because she was buying a new instrument? He would break something. She knew it. Her hands shook as she blundered with the laces of her boots, trying to take them off, her father's stern gaze only amplifying her fear.

When she went to place her shoes by the door, her throat closed over. Marshall's shoes were gone. He wasn't home.

Oh no.

"I believe I asked you to vacuum and finish the laundry before I arrived home, and you have shirked your responsibilities once again."

"I'm sorry," it was the first thing out of her mouth, and all she managed to do was repeat it, "I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean..."