Death Wish

Chapter 5: Maybe He's Sadistic

I'm finally free of that prison with its boring white walls and constant beeping around late afternoon on Friday. I dread gong back home for fear I see Thibault. He's already mad at me 24/7, I don't need extra bonding time. These few days away from him have been wonderful, but I know I'm going to have to pay for my absence when I get home.

I walk out of the hospital and head towards the 'bad' part of town. Once I reach a dilapidated, run-down building, I take a breath and walk inside and up the stairs to the fourth floor. Trying to open the door as quietly as possible, I tiptoe through the living room and maneuver my way around the passed-out man on the floor. I am almost to my room on the other side when he stirs and reaches out a hand to clasp my ankle excruciatingly hard.

"And where do you think you're going?" He asks, all his words slurred together.

"To my room to study," I respond, cringing.

He sighs like I'm a burden and says, "Fine but be out in thirty minutes to make me dinner. Incompetent child. I give you food and a roof over your head and yet you're ungrateful. I've given you everything when no one else wanted to! And what do you do? You go off and take advantage of my generosity and leave me alone here for four days! I had no food! I had to get someone else to make me food. You worthless girl. You can't even stick around long enough to care for people. No wonder your family left you. They were dying to leave you on your own and that car crash was the final nail in their coffin. You killed your family. No one will ever want you now. Murderer."

I don't respond, just stare ahead and hold back the scream I am dying to let out and the tears threatening to fall. I wait until he passes out again to go to my room. I bury my head in my pillow and try to muffle my sobs. I usually don't cry after his verbal assaults, but today, he is harsher than usual. The monster was one of my father's friends.  My father was an architect and Thibault was one of his clients. He was the CEO of a big-shot company in upstate New York until he was charged of assault after abusing his assistant. In jail, he lost his company and his reputation. Not knowing where else to go, he came crying back to my father, who never saw the bad in people. After my dad died, I got everything he left behind, but because I was too young, the court gave it to Thibault, the only other living person mentioned in his will. This meant he also got custody of me. I cry harder, hating Thibault, my life, and myself. Once I run out of tears, I fall into a dreamless sleep.

...

I wake up to a ice-cold gallon of water dumped in my face.

"Get up, you lazy child," Thibault snarls.

I scramble out of bed but apparently not fast enough. He lifts his hand and slaps me hard across the cheek. My head turns from the impact and the sting on my face is  unbearable. This is the first time he hit me, but I know it isn't the last.

"Go make dinner," he demands.

I scurry away from him and open a can of tomato sauce. Used to making spaghetti almost everyday, I let my mind wander. I don't understand why Thibault chooses to live in this tiny one-bedroom apartment. I currently sleep in a walk-in closet half the size of a regular room. There is barely any room for one, let alone two people. Before the crash, we weren't rich, but we lived comfortably in upper middle class. We had a house on the nice side of town with nice neighbors. Maybe Thibault is a masochist and likes pain. Or maybe he is sadistic and likes seeing me in pain. I'm not far from my breaking point, anyway. Luckily, I am turning eighteen on Tuesday and today is Friday. Then I can get all my things, move out, and be a legal adult. The pot starts boiling, so I prepare dinner and put one plate on the table and one in the fridge for Thibault because he is already at his favorite bar. I go to my room and finish up my homework. Deciding to sleep early so I won't hear him come home, I prepare for bed. But my plan to ignore him doesn't work. He comes in the apartment, crashes around the kitchen and passes out on the floor, judging from the loud thump. Another day in the fabulous life of me.

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A/N

Pictured: The apartment building where Linnea lives

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