Broken and Shifting (book 2) #wattys2016

Chapter 1

My parents were talking in the kitchen when I made my way down to make them breakfast. Keeping my eyes down, like I've been taught, I quickly made their standard daily breakfast. First I made them each two pieces of bacon and set them on their respective plates in the oven to keep warm. I then fried up five eggs in the bacon grease. Two for mom and three for dad. While they were frying, I made them each two pieces of toast. I served them their food and went to the corner to await my instructions. While they were eating my parents began discussing our new neighbors. They had moved in yesterday.  My parents were purists so it didn't surprise me when they started talking about how filthy the "mangy mutts" were. They were wolf shifters.

Shifters went public a few years ago. I had always hoped, until I
lost all hope, that a shifter would swoop in and save me. Shifters mate for
life. They only ever have that one person for their life. I wanted that so
desperately. I don't deserve it though. I'm too damaged.

"Skylar!" My father growled at me. "Take care of
the horses now then get your lazy ass to school! If you're always late, Jason
won't want your dumb ass. Then where will you be." He yanked my hair,
making me wince. His breath smelled foul... like something was rotting.

I cast my eyes down. Every morning the same routine. He yells, I
agree, and tell him I'm sorry for being worthless and I will work on it.
Routine finished, I escape to the horses pens. I muck them out and brush their
coats and feed them. I glance over at the post in the middle of the barn and
wince. I have never been chained to it, but threats have been made. I check the
clock and run back to the house. I scurry up to my attic room and shuffle to my
dresser. It's one of the three items I'm allowed to have in there. My bed and
standing lamp are the other two. I reach in and grab a pair of jeans and a tan
long sleeve shirt and put them on. I don't have makeup so I don't bother
worrying about it. I pull my waist length ash blonde hair into a loose bun at
the nape of my neck. Crouching down I grab the book I hid under the edge of the
dresser and stick it in my backpack. I throw on the pair of thrift store boots
I had bought with a ten I had found while I was walking last month. They were
my treasure. They were the only thing I had that was mine and showed who I was.
My combat boots were my prized possession. I ran down the stairs and before I
hit the hallway, I got another punch to my gut that left me breathless
and dropped me to the floor. My father growled at me that I was not allowed
lunch that day because I was getting fat. Tears in my eyes, I nodded my agreement,
scrambled to get up, and ran out to catch the bus.

I pulled myself together and put on my mask of happiness as I
joined the friends my parents picked for me on the bus.  Just before the bus
pulled off I looked over to see the new neighbors teenage sons getting into a
car. They stood about 6 foot tall and they had black hair and from where I sat,
that was all I could see. We pulled off and I looked down at my lap for a
second before focusing back on the conversation between my fake friends. This
is me in a nutshell. I am an eccedentesiast. I fake my smiles when I really would rather cry,
disappear and die.