Reminisce With Me

Chapter 1: Older-Hot-Stuff

My eyes are closed as I brushed my hair and focused on the music playing from downstairs. I lightly hummed along, hoping it would lift my spirits, even if that meant for a few minutes. But, just as every other morning, the song did not mask my reality. I opened my eyes, only to have hers meet mine. I held the frame, my Grandmother's blue eyes more alive than my own. I swept my thumb along her face, desperately hoping to feel her soft skin, but instead, cold glass came to reach.

"Good morning, Aubrey Clavis."

The sudden sound of his voice sent me spinning towards my bedroom door. I still grasped onto the picture of Gran, almost protectively, as if his presence would harm her. The serenity that I thought I felt this morning no longer lingered. Any evidence of it even existing was nowhere to be found. Instead, I felt emotions I was taught to let go of: rage. Pure hatred and more rage. 

"It's Aubrey Van Alen." I made sure to emphasize my last name before turning away. Entertaining him would provoke him, which meant eventually facing his father. Now, that was an option I would gladly avoid. 

"Aubrey, you're not a Van Alen anymore, just for the record," he went on. "And we're related now. Maybe not by blood, but..." he trailed off and I felt his body close to mine. I turned around, and pushed both my fists against his chest. He staggered backward, the grin never leaving his smug face.

"Ryan, get away from me." I attempted to keep my voice down, afraid his father would hear me.

Ryan laughed, slowly stepping out of my room, his hands up in defeat. "Relax, sister. I'm just teasing."

No, he wasn't teasing and no, I wasn't his sister, 

I blinked the tears back, a constant battle every day. I reminded myself I have 7 months until I turn 18 and can move out of their home. I glanced over at my clock, relieved to see it flashing 7:55AM. I grabbed my schoolbag from the floor and brushed past Ryan without a second glance. A few more steps until I am out the door and away from this family. 

I paused at the bottom of the wooden staircase, listening for movement, voices, anything. I could hear Raquel Clavis's, drunken snores from the living room. Luckily for me, she always had to work "late" and would come around midnight. But, my concern wasn't Raquel, it was Dave Clavis. He was nowhere in sight and I knew this was my cue to run. I quickly tip toed past Raquel and was out the door to what felt like freedom. I looked back at the house as I walked down the sidewalk. No one would ever imagine that a beautiful Victorian house was simply just an illusion.

It was late May in Lewiston, Maine and the wind was still crisp from the night before. The sun shined above, a medallion over the town, and casted shadows of the elm trees that lined both sides of my neighbourhood. Correction – the Calvis family's neighbourhood. 

As I turned into the next street, I noticed her waiting by the bench, her eyes fixated on her phone. For a moment, I almost forgot about the Clavis family. At the sight of me, Heather smiled eagerly before pulling me into a hug. "Aubrey!" she chimed. "You are," checking her watch, "three minutes late."

I laughed, bringing my attention to the children lining up for the school bus. "Complications, Heather."

Heather dropped her gaze to the ground, embarrassed. "Aubrey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that."

I forced a smile – an art I have mastered over the years. "Don't be. My foster family isn't terrible. It can always be worse, right?"

Wrong. Lying – another form of art, though some may argue, that I have learned to perfect. 

Heather began walking. "Okay," she scoffed. "I know you hate it there, Aubrey."

I released the breath I was holding before following her. "Enough about me," I rushed in, before she could continue decoding my "mysterious" life, as she likes to call it. Little did she know, my life wasn't a mystery. The abuse, the emotional and mental trauma, and the concern for my safety was evident and the Clavis family never failed to remind me.