Resistance • l.h.

Three

As Jocelyn continued to be herself-never coming home to take care of her family, and endlessly spending her husbands money-it was Luke that was different. He no longer gave me that small smile every time I got home from school, or smartass comments to the questions I would ask. When he shut my mother out, he shut me out as well, which made my blood boil.

I had tried to talk to my mother the other night, to understand why things were the way they are, but she just called me a bitch and left the house again. That's when I knew that whoever just walked out the door wasn't my mother anymore. Not in a million years would she ever treat her daughter like that. I held back my tears, and started to worry for Luke. I understood more clearly now, what he has to be dealing with.

I wanted to speak to him, but I wasn't positive on how I could. So I decided to get up early to make breakfast. It would give me a reason for me to ask my questions, and receive some answers back, instead of the bullshit ones like, "I'm just tired."

Jocelyn hadn't even come home last night, after going to her "meeting" at work. I assumed she wasn't going to be home anytime soon.

After brushing my teeth and combing out my long, tangled midnight colored waves, I didn't bother to get dressed. I wanted to finish cooking before Luke woke up.

I started my way down the hallway, noticing that his room was cracked open, wide enough so that I could see his bare torso. His long limbs were carelessly placed, almost taking up the whole bed. I bit my lip, the foreign feeling from last night came back into the pit of my stomach, and only increased when I suddenly heard him whimper in his sleep.

I bit my lip, my breathing increasing as I heard words start slipping out his mouth.

"Fuck, yes, like that...God!"

His back arched up, eyes still shut tight, and I stumbled back, almost tripping over my own feet.

Once realization of what I did sunk in, I tried to keep myself from throwing up.

What was wrong with me? He's your f.ucking step-father!

I ran down stairs, shaking my head. I clumsily turned on the stove and started making pancake batter, trying my hardest to forget everything I just saw.

You're disgusting, Camille. F.ucking disgusting.