Reckless Abandon (Part 1)

Chapter Three

I pulled into my driveway and let out a breath, trying to hold onto the feeling I had had in the classroom for as long as possible.  I had realized once I left the school that the goal of his game had been distraction.  Not once had I thought about the time or coming home once we had started playing.  No one had ever been able to distract me like that before.

"Harlen!"

I flinched at the shrill snap of my mother's voice.  Why had my dad left?  Why couldn't he just get a normal job that kept him home, instead of one that constantly caused him to leave the state?  "Coming," I said, opening my car door.

My mom and my brother were standing in the doorway, waiting for me to come inside.  They were inseparable.  My guess is that my dad had only wanted me, but my mom had wanted a son so badly that she convinced him to adopt and instead of getting a nice, cool, protective big brother, we got him.  An evil, devil incarnate.

"You're late," she snarled as I pushed through them and into the house.

I wasn't.  It was exactly 4:44.  "Sorry," I mumbled, Peter close behind me.

Peter grabbed my arm and shoved me into the kitchen with such ferocity, that I fell to my knees, seering pain shooting up my limbs and into my chest.  "Clean," my mom ordered.  "Spotless.  And if I see even a speck of dust, Peter will take care of punishing you."

Peter always took care of the punishments.  My mother could never be bothered.

I nodded, slowly standing back up.  "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she smiled, her tone sickly sweet.  "Peter, lets finish watching the movie.  I know you love it."

I set my things down in the corner and began my work, breathing through the pain as it worked itself away.  I was made to do this every time my dad left.  Even if there wasn't anything to clean, I had to clean.  Every dish in the house had to be washed, every surface wiped, the stove cleaned inside and out, fridge emptied and cleaned and all before seven and that was just the kitchen.

"Whorelen."

I slowed in my scrubbing at Peter's ugly nickname for me.  It wasn't true.  I had only ever been with one person in my whole life, but the way I knew he looked at me, the way I knew he thought of me, it made me feel like a disgusting, gross piece of grass.

"It's been awhile since your fuck of a father left you to me," he went on, behind me, his voice low and possessive.

I didn't hate many people, but I hated him.

"Are you going to undress with your door open tonight?  You know how I love when you do that."

One day, when I was super tired after a long day of working and cleaning, I had forgotten to shut my bedroom door when I had been getting ready for bed and found him standing in my doorway, watching me undress.  After that, I made it a point to shut and lock my door.

"Harlen," he began, his voice getting closer.  "You know how much I hate it when you ignore me."

I shook my head and kept scrubbing the counter.

He grabbed my jaw and yanked my head around, squeezing so tightly, it hurt.  "Harlen," he cooed.  "You're ignoring me."

He was bruising my jaw.  I glared daggers at him.  "I have nothing to say to-" I screamed.  It was so quick, his movements.  He had turned the burner of the stove on when I had been cleaning the counter.  It was nice and red when he grabbed my wrist and slammed my arm down against it.

White hot pain ran through my body, black spots dancing in front of my eyes as I struggled to pull my arm away.  Only a few seconds had passed, but it felt like hours.  He finally let go, allowing me to jump back, crying, cradling my arm carefully.  I could barely breathe, it hurt so much.