Their Broken Angel

Chapter One

Most families revolve around love and the desire to help one another. Not mine. I don't know what I did to them to make them hate me so much but there's no use crying over spilled milk, right? I might as well just suck it up and carry on with my life. 

It's early in the morning when I wake up. I always wake up before the sun, it's my one chance to just sit and enjoy life. Or at least, to pretend like I enjoy life. Someday I will, but today is not that day. 

Carefully sitting up, I make sure not to lean on my left hand. My stepfather wasn't particularly gentle last night and I have the burns to prove it. When I wasn't fast enough with dinner, he shoved my left arm in the hot water up to my wrist. Just a few seconds of torture was enough for him, but it left me with bubbling blisters and bright red skin that probably won't fully heal for at least a week. I guess I should be glad it wasn't boiling yet.

I trudge down the stairs, careful to avoid any spots that would creak beneath my small feet. Making my way to the kitchen, I look at the little glowing numbers on the stove. 3:42. I let out a sigh. It's not as late as I would have liked but it'll have to do. Getting started, I tie up my long, red hair and grab a big black trash bag.

Making sure to keep my footsteps light, I walk throughout the house, picking up any trash from the night before and cringing slightly at the smell of cigarettes and alcohol that lingers in the air. I don't understand how they could be happy living like this but I guess it's not really my place to judge.

You know, it wasn't always like this. Before mom died, it was happy around here. We'd get home from school and there would be cookies waiting on the counter. There were bedtime stories and midnight snacks. We even used to go out on family bike rides in the park. We were truly happy. But once mom got sick everything changed.

Cancer in her liver is what took her. I was only four when it happened but I remember it clearly. I hated every second of it. Every time she was too weak to get out of bed. When her beautiful brown hair lost its shine and fell out. I remember all of it. But the thing that haunts me the most is her last words to me, "I love you so much Ember. My sweet baby girl. You are my whole world. You are so special. Don't ever forget that. Don't ever forget how much mommy loves you." 

I'm sorry mom, but you were wrong. I'm not special. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I take the now full bag of trash outside, closing the door softly behind me. Shivering as the winter chill sinks into my bones, I hurry across the yard to the bin, wincing as the frosty grass touches my bare feet. 

Once that's taken care of, I can rush inside, and hopefully, I'll have enough time to finish my homework before I have to make breakfast. I'm very proud of my grades. That's the one thing I'll never let myself slack on. I will make a life for myself. I will not sit here and wallow in self-pity for the rest of my life. 

Sitting at the kitchen table, I get started. Pulling out the work, I sit, humming softly as I fill in the worksheets. It never takes me too long to finish. That's another blessing to name I suppose. I've never struggled with grades. I don't even want to think about what would happen if I did. I shudder, brushing off that thought and packing up my work. 5:43. Perfect timing. Making sure I stay quiet, I bustle around the kitchen, preparing pancakes and bacon for my stepfather and stepbrothers. Putting on a pot of coffee, I mix up the pancake mix and start cooking them just in time.

Shuffling footsteps make me freeze for a second before I recognize the footsteps as Lucas, the youngest of my three stepbrothers. "Good morning sir. Breakfast is almost ready. Can I get you a cup of coffee?" I ask softly enough that it shouldn't hurt his head if he has a hangover. I never know with these boys. 

"Make it a big one." He demands, rubbing his eyes before laying his head down on the counter. Smiling softly, I fill up his huge mug, setting it by his head, and place my homework next to it for him to copy before turning back to the food. Lucas isn't that bad. Especially in the mornings. He usually just forgets I'm here unless he needs something. Flipping the last of the pancakes, I glance at the clock. 6:14. I'm cutting it close, but I think I'll be able to make it out of here before the others wake up.