The Bird That Couldn't Sing (GBFF)

Chapter 13 - Sang

I hurriedly make my way down the hall and to my step mother's room, opening the door quietly with my head down in a sign of submission so as to not anger her. Well, at least not more than I can tell she already is.

Believe it or not, I don't want to sign my death wish today.

When I step into the room, I see her sitting on her bed, her two-toned blonde hair a tangled mess atop her head. Her glassy blue eyes seem even more cold and lifeless today than usual as she stares at the television screen before her--it's playing some random news station. She notices my entrance and directs her cold, dead gaze at me.

"What took you so long?" She sneers, making a shiver of fear run down my spine. I think she just likes asking me these questions because she knows I can't answer, and she gets some sick kind of joy from watching me squirm. "Oh, that's right," she snickers. "Wittle Sang can't speak, can she?"

This is what I have to live with, the taunting and the pain.

But she's sick. It's not her fault. I refuse to believe she is this horrible for no good reason. I refuse to believe she doesn't actually love me, like she always says. It's just the medicine talking.

"Sang, I called you in here for a reason," she starts again. I refrain from bringing my finger to my lip. I know she hates my nervous ticks. I nod my head in reply. "I was just wondering if you had a fun time last night?"

My breath catches in my throat. Oh, God. Does she know?

Oh, she definitely knows. I can tell by the sickly-sweet smirk on her very pale face.

I shake my head profusely in an attempt to deny it, but I know it's no use. She knows. And I'm dead.

I hope someone shows up at my funeral.

Oh who am I kidding? I probably won't even get a funeral. They'd probably just bury my body in the backyard and pretend like nothing ever happened.

"Don't you dare try to deny it, you whore. Marie went into your room last night to see you were missing. Where were you off to, huh? Spreading your legs for a bunch of sick men?" The hate in her eyes is all too evident and I can feel tears being born in my eyes at the sight, threatening to break past my barriers and stream down my cheeks, only to die on my lips, leaving a salty, bitter aftertaste.

"Oh, so now you're crying? What a little slut, you are. Begging for the attention you know you'll never receive. Poor, poor Sang. She'll do anything to feel loved," she continues to antagonize. Her words almost hurt more than any pain she could ever inflict upon me. And just like that, the barriers break and the tears come pouring down my face. "Stop your fucking crying and get over here."

The tone in her voice leaves no room for arguement. Not like I could, anyway. She took that ability away from me. I trek over to her, head still slightly downcast. I know she doesn't like to see my eyes. She says they're repulsing, the eyes of a no-good whore--something I got from my real mother.

She must decide I'm taking too long, so she stands up and meets me halfway, her pudgy fingers digging into the flesh of my arm as her nasty breath wafts onto my face. She must've forgotten to brush her teeth this morning. Or she just didn't care.

Most likely the latter.

"When I say to 'get over here', I mean to do it quickly, bitch. Now, are you ready for your punishment? I have big plans for this one. I'd say I was disappointed in you, but I honestly wouldn't expect anything less from a common slut. I'm just outraged that you had to bring that kind energy into my house. I don't need you infect Marie and convert her into something like you."