Breaking The Rules: Book 2

Chapter 3: The Middle Man

𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟼𝚝𝚑
Griffin POV

Plastic bags full of cans, protein shakes, boxes of mac and cheese, and other assorted types of food land on the kitchen counter with a loud clunk.

I immediately rip the bags apart, impatient and motivated to get this shit put away so I can go to my room. Since mom decided to go on a huge healthy kick one month ago, she's been dragging all of us down with her. After the first three meals of keto-vegan-Alkaline-gluten-free bullshit, I couldn't take it anymore.

Once a week, I go on shopping trips to take matters into my own hands. And, of course, the one day that I promised Kendric I'd be on our Fortnite server at noon, traffic in the town was at a standstill for over fifteen minutes.

Glancing at the clock, I whip open the cupboard designated for storing my meals and start stacking cans. There are only ten minutes until Kendric will be calling my phone every second that I'm not on my PlayStation, and I haven't even eaten lunch yet.

"Where have you been?"

Mom's voice comes from the other side of the kitchen. I don't bother giving her a passing glance as I walk back over to the bags and stack chip bags in my arms. "The strip club."

She hums, looking away from her laptop and neatly stacked bills that she's in the process of paying to eye me. "I didn't realize they were handing out groceries now. Times must have really changed."

"Nah, I mugged the homeless guy trying to get in behind me." The chip bags tumble against the cans when I set them down. "Make sure your husband doesn't eat my Ruffles this week, would you?"

From the way mom sighs, I can tell she's pining to scold me. After eight years of telling me off nearly every day and never seeing results, I think she's finally giving up.

"Your father," she corrects, setting her pencil down on the table.

"Same fuckin' difference," I grumble under my breath at the same the cupboard slams shut.

Mom continues, having not heard my comment. "I'll let you bring that up to him. He'll take you more seriously." She leans back in her chair and brushes long, dark red strands of hair off of her cheeks.

If there's one thing I'm grateful for in my sad, fucked up life, it's the fact that I hardly got any of her features. Rose got screwed over with the same red hair, round eyes, dainty nose, and soft blending features.

My genes are practically a carbon copy of my dad: dark brown hair that only shows a hint of red when the sunlight catches it just right, sharp features, strong nose and jaw. There are days when it's easier to pretend my twin sister and I aren't siblings because we don't look anything alike.

"We'll see about that," I reply and crumple up the plastic bags in a wad before tossing them in the recycling bin next to the fridge. "Maybe he'll take me more seriously if I take the crumbs he leaves in the bottom of the damn bag and sprinkle them on his side of the bed."

"Griffin..."

The way she says my name makes my skin crawl. It sounds like she's blowing an annoying bug off her shoulder, annoyed and pissed at the same time that she must waste time in her day to do so. Underneath her tone is a warning. One more wrong move and I'm getting squashed.