(Flashback- trigger warning)
I finished my shift at the library, so I walked to the front of the school to wait for Bryce to pick me up. He had just gotten his first car with the stipulation that he would drive me home after school every day. Although I was jealous that Bryce had his own car, I was extremely grateful that I wouldn't be walking home or taking the bus anymore. He picked me up with a grunt and drove us home, blasting his rock music and leaving the windows down. I threw my hair in a quick and messy braid, unwilling to detangle it for half an hour when we got home.
He pulled us into the driveway and parked the car. The doors unlocked and I jumped from my seat, but he didn't move.
"Aren't you coming?" I asked as if he were slow, feeling snarky. He rolled his eyes.
"I'm going out with friends. Tell Dad I'll be back later." He said, putting the car in reverse.
"What time later?" I asked, worriedly. I picked at the strings on my jacket sleeves absently, hoping it would be soon.
"He won't care. Make up a time," he said with a teasing smile. Since Mom had left, Dad had basically given up on parenting. He would check our grades when the reports were sent to make sure we weren't embarrassing the family, but otherwise, there was radio silence.
"Fine," I said, slamming the door shut behind me. I stomped up to the house, trying to prove my displeasure, but his car rolled away leisurely before screeching down the street.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, keeping my footsteps quiet. When there was no responding sound, I smiled and bounced into the kitchen. I grabbed an apple and rinsed it off in the sink before slicing thin pieces to slather in peanut butter. We weren't allowed to eat outside of the kitchen, so I sat at the dining room table and searched up a video on my phone to watch as I ate. I was halfway through the makeup tutorial when the garage sounded. I turned off my phone and ran to the trashcan, dumping the remnants of my snack and washing my plate in the sink. I placed it in the dishwasher and slung my backpack over my shoulder again, walking quickly past the door to the garage. It swung open just as I took the last step to pass it.
"Adeline?" my father asked in his booming voice.
"Oh, dad," I lied, playing the father daughter game that we occasionally performed for our imaginary audience.
"How was school?" he asked, placing his briefcase beside his office door.
"Um...good," I said, thrown off by the unusual question. "How was...work?" I was unsure what the proper response was to a question like that. He didn't answer but walked into the kitchen and expected me to follow him. He sat down at the head of the table in his large leather chair, but I stayed standing in the doorway, ready for my dismissal.
"It was good?" he pressed, as if I hadn't spoken a word.
"Yes," I replied carefully. "I got a perfect score on my history test and my presentation went well in English."
He nodded, though his expression didn't shift an inch. He turned to look at me directly and I became trapped in the darkness of his eyes.
"You're not lying to me, are you?" he asked slowly. He licked his lips with irritation, and I wondered if this was what prey felt like before a kill.
"No, sir," I defended.
He looked down at his pristine nails, untarnished due to his lack of physical labor. As far as I was aware, he sat in an office all day communicating with unimportant men that were given too much power. They became greedy with it, as did he.
"I got a call today," he said coolly. "From a counselor at your school."
Numbness splashed over me, coating my body like a poison with the power to immobilize. I kept my face neutral.
"She said that you came in to speak with her about dissatisfaction you were feeling at home. You're lonely," he said, lips curling up in amusement. I couldn't find the words to speak.
"She said you missed your mother. She suggested..." he snarled the word with disdain. "That I speak about her more. Talk with you about grief."
He stood up from his chair to his full height and ambled towards me serenely.
"Did you tell her that she left us?" he asked, mentioning the incident for the first time since it happened. Finally, there was something truthful I could say that would appease him.
"No, sir. I just said that she was gone."
His face tightened with displeasure, and I curled in on myself as his arm lifted. The back of his hand clashed with my cheek and sent me flying to the floor, collapsing beneath his fury. His hand stretched down to grip my shirt and he lifted me up so I could see the anger in his eyes. I could see what it looked like to be abhorred, despised not for what you've done, but for the nothingness that you are. Something happened when he looked at me that way. I realized I would never be enough for him.
"You're not grateful for me or your brother. Some people don't have family to come home to," he barked in my face.
"I should be so lucky," I said, allowing a smile to come to my face for the first time since he walked through the door. His chest swelled at the provocation. He wasn't expecting his prey to fight back.
He lifted me into the air by my jacket and threw me against the ground, sending me sliding across the tile. I slammed into the cabinets against the floor and my head pounded as it whipped away from the wood.
"You're an ungrateful bitch, just like your mother!" he shouted, pointing a finger at me. This was his discipline, a reminder that I meant nothing to him. Was it the electric blue eyes that were so large on her face and mine? Bryce had the same eyes but endured far less than I had to. It was just me.
"I'd rather be like her than you," I said, ignoring the tears that humiliatingly streaked my cheeks. I clambered to my knees and breathed deeply, preparing to stand.
He dove towards me as my whispered comment registered, but I slithered under his arm and bolted towards the front door. He let me go, knowing I would come back.
I ran down the street towards the park I used to go to with my mom and called Bryce, needing someone who knew what happened without me having to speak. The phone rang and rang but no one answered to my chagrin. I scrolled through my contacts desperately, wishing my mom had left a number. I stopped suddenly when I realized there was one person who had seen how my father could be. I had begged for his number when I got my new phone although I'd never worked up the courage to text him. I called him now, praying to God that he would answer.
"I need this, God. I need someone," I whined, head tilted towards the dipping sun. I held the phone slightly away from my face, acknowledging the bruise that was undoubtedly forming.
"Hello?" His voice echoed through the speaker like a beacon of hope.
"James? I-I got hurt. I need you," I admitted. Fresh tears welled as he assured me that he was on his way.
YOU ARE READING
Perfect Student
Teen FictionYears ago, Adeline's life fell apart when her mother left, dad was taken, and older brother was left to watch her alone. Her brother's best friend had always been her protector; the person she turned to when she had nobody else. When he moved away...
