Kissed by a Rose✔️

3) Stalkee

I don't tell anyone I'm home. I don't go to give my mom a hug , or tell her how school was. I don't rush to my dog and let it wag its tail as it gives me sloppy, slobbery kisses. I shut the door, and head straight up to my room. I take out my work and sit at the desk in my small room. I know if I don't do it soon, I won't be able to get it done. I look over at the clock. 6:45.

Fantastic.

I quickly go back to writing a paper that I need to work on since my smart self decided to put it off until last minute. I know fifteen minutes won't be enough, but maybe I can start a rough draft?

My idea is quiclky answered when I hear the door from downstairs swing open, and shut, vibrating the house, just so it knows He is present. I hear footsteps walk further into the house, meaning He walked into the living room or kitchen, where my mom would be making dinner. I stay in the same alert position for at least five more minutes, but relax when I realize the coast is clear.

I finish my rough draft with surprisingly no interruptions. I begin to start typing my final draft, when a knock on the door interrupts my concentration, making me jump in my seat. I walk over to the door and open it to hear footsteps going back down the stairs.

"Get downstairs now. God, don't you watch the time? Every night at 7:20, Jesus kid." I hear him say. I lean against the door frame for a second, then walk down the stairs slowly. I reach to the kitchen to find a bland looking lasagna on the table, Him sitting at the head of the table. My mom brings plates to the table, and sits down to his right . She looks at me with pleading eyes trying to invite me to sit next to her. I scowl at her, and pull out the chair to the left of the head, and sit down. He makes his plate first, then digs in without passing it around. My mom grabs it, trying to make the action unnoticed, and puts some on my plate. I look down at the table and nod, which is about the best thank you she can expect. She gets her plate too, and we both stare into our food.

"Wow, this is great stuff, Marlene," he says with his mouth open, spitting some on the the table.

"All I do is take it out of the freezer and stick it out of the oven," she replies.

"Marlene, was that some smart mouth shit coming out of your mouth?" He asks, pausing from his chewing, "I don't want any of that at the table, we only talk sensible here." I grab my fork to start to eat. Even though I want to vomit.

"Yes, i'm sorry," she replies, without question. With the fork hovering over my mouth with the lasagna, I let what she said sit for a minute. I set my fork down, and push my plate away, just far enough so nobody can tell. Except my mother. They eat in silence as I look at the table.

"So," the man I hate starts, "school was good, right kid?"

I nod, "Yeah". He raises an eyebrow and me, and I eventually add, "Sir."

"You know, young ladies used to not be able to go to school, right kid? They stayed at home and did chores or laundry, stuff they are good for."