𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙸𝚃 𝙰𝙵𝙵𝙰𝙸𝚁𝚂 - 𝙶𝚁𝙴𝚈'𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙾𝙼𝚈

4

TW: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DISCUSSIONS OF RAPE/SEXUAL VIOLENCE. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION

S1 E2

The obnoxious clanging of pots and pans and the belting voice of Whitney Houston acted as Angie's alarm at the ripe hour of 6 AM.

Jolting awake, Angie shot up in bed, blinking the sleep out of her blurry eyes and bonnet halfway off as she heard Adele humming along loudly. Kitchenware was banging around so frequently, Angie thought her stepmother was shoving every cooking utensil in the house into a hydraulic press, and her nose was assaulted by the overpowering smell of lemon-scented cleaning products.

Angie groaned softly, then fumbled for her phone as she rubbed the sleep out of one eye and squinted at the date with the other, confirming her worst fears.

It was Sunday. Sunday, which was Adele's weekly day for gospel music, deep cleaning, and single-handedly making more noise than Angie ever thought possible for a human being.

Sunday, which meant at-home mass so as to not interrupt the deep cleaning. At home mass, which was just gospel music at a louder volume, and a lot more shouting and praising.

Whining softly, Angie threw herself down into her pillows again. Sunday was supposed to be her designated rest day. The day where she took however long to sleep as she could, then made herself a nice cup of coffee while she listened to her hand-crafted playlists and enjoyed life. She was supposed to start this day nice and calm before she had to head to the hospital for pre-rounds.

Instead, the Prom Queen of Soul was wailing away downstairs while Angie contemplated scaling the side of the house to get outside without being seen.

Running a hand down her face, Angie pushed herself out of bed and made quick work of getting ready for the day, every hurried action grating on her soul a little more than the last.

She loved her father and step-mother, she really did. And she was eternally grateful that they were giving her a place to stay after she had fled New York in such a hurry, but she hadn't lived with them since she was in high school. She had gotten used to her own, quiet space, after living with her mother, who was always busy as all hell, and then living on her own, free to do whatever she wanted wherever she wanted.

And now, she was back in Seattle, living in her childhood room, with her parents who were still learning to knock before entering, and consistently seemed to forget that Angie was an adult who was no longer concerned with things like curfews and rules.

She needed her own space again. At the very least, she needed to live with people her own age, who knew how to be mindful of their space and do their own thing. But finding time to apartment hunt while in the throes of her internship was like asking a unicorn to do your taxes, and Angie couldn't see any way of breaking the news to Richard and Adele without hurting their feelings.

So now, here she was, creeping downstairs, bag over her shoulder and car keys in hand as she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, eyes darting around to make sure Adele was still in the kitchen before carefully stepping down from the steps, her sights set on the front door.

She did everything right. She made sure the stairs didn't creak as she stepped off. She walked on her tiptoes to ensure that Adele couldn't hear her footfalls. She held her breath and wasn't planning to let go until she was in her car, on her way to the hospital.

She did everything right.

And somehow, Adele still caught her.

Her head poked out of the kitchen just as Angie began approaching the front door, beaming and completely unaware at the creeping actions of her stepdaughter.