Treasure Hunt (Under Creative Construction)

The place I call home

*Edited 4/14/2020*

My finger pads had pruned hours ago, trying to adapt to being constantly submerged under the hot, sudsy water and rough surface of the sponge. A glance at the glowing numbers on the stovetop reminds me I've been standing here scrubbing the lunch dishes for nearly two hours. There were way too many plates, forks, and cups used for meals here; sometimes I wondered if the other girls purposely used 3 or 4 dishes for lunch just to make me miserable. My unhappiness seemed to be a great game for them to pass the time with. With the very last fork scrubbed down and rinsed, I placed with its comrades on the drying rack next to the large stainless steel sink with a sigh. I turned to pull the sink plug, only for another ranch-covered bowl to be unceremoniously dropped into the sink, accompanied by an equally as dirty smirk. "Don't forget to towel dry those and put them on the shelf before you even think about walking away."

A defeated breath slipped past my lips as I mumbled a quick "S-sure thing". Anna sauntered away, seemingly happy. It's not like I could saying anything against her, after all, it was my punishment to hand wash each and every dish and piece of silverware for the next three weeks. Pinning any wrongdoing on me was also part of their game, so groundings were unfortunately common... followed by an array of bruises at the hands of the older girls living in this house.

Once I had finally finished cleaning the dishes, my sore hands grasped at the dishtowel hanging from the cabinet, eager for relief. I was quick to dry the counter and any remaining liquid before tossing the soiled rag into the laundry room and quietly heading up the stairs to our shared bedroom. Hesitating in front of the worn white door, my cold hand rested on the knob while my ears strained to hear any creaks or noises coming from inside. I knew better than to barge into the bedroom when it was occupied, the scarring on my ribs reminded me of that fact. When only silence met my ears, I crept through the door and closed it behind me with a soft click.

Collapsing onto my bed, face firmly planted into my pillow, my hands automatically sought out the comfort from a small polaroid that had taken up residence within the safety of my pillowcase, where no one would find it. The enthusiastic and very paint-ridden young faces of Macey and I warmed my heart, and I pulled it close, releasing a sigh. Though I had destroyed many of my shared things that left memories of my former best friend, I could never bring myself to throw away this photo. Time and time again I found myself daydreaming and wishing for my best friend to come back to get me, to say it was all a joke. However, it had been made clear for years that wishes never came true.

The door to our bedroom creaked opened, followed by laughter from an unknown joke; my roommates were back. Picture in hand, I swung my legs over the side of the low bed, ready to make a beeline for the door. Luck, however, was not on my side as my quick movements had now made me the center of the three girls' attention. Malice oozed from their bodies as they advanced within arms' reach. "Hey, loser. Whatcha got in your hand?" My panicked eyes darted between the still open door and the bodies in front of me. Could I make it without being grabbed? Probably not.

Anne's eyebrows raised expectantly and I realized I hadn't answered her. "I-it's n-nothing." I stammered, rubbing my flushed face with my woolen shirt sleeve, wishing to be anywhere but here. Keeping my eyes glued to their hands, I began to shift my sock covered feet towards the door, vying for an escape, "I need t-to finish the d-dishes so e-excu..." A hand with long nails quickly snaked around my bicep with a vice-like grip, immediately cutting off circulation. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

"Actually," Margret, the second oldest and currently the girl who had my arm locked against my body began, "there's something there in your hand that I can see. Keeping items in the house without permission from your head of the room is strictly unallowed, if I do so remember. Perhaps you need a reminder of the rules?" Her painted nails dug into the soft flesh of my arm as she spoke, and I could feel myself bruising. I shook my head and again tried to pull away from her, but was quickly spun around so I was facing Anne and Kathy as well. Their eyes held nothing but satisfaction as my misery.