Her Only Hero

Chapter 1

"Who said you could go anywhere!" my mother screams from the kitchen.

"I did!" I yell back. I don't need her permission. She can leave whenever and go wherever, so can I.

If she chooses to sleep at some sleezy guy's house four days out of the week, I'm allowed to see my friends. She has no power over me. I know she doesn't actually care. It's an excuse to try to control me.

I pull my grey denim jacket on over my plain black t-shirt and walk out my bedroom door, letting it slam behind me.

"Well, in this house you listen to me!" Her shriek voice carries up the stairway as I rush down them. "And I say you can't."

I roll my eyes at her, not caring if she notices as I round the corner at the bottom of the stairs. "I don't care what you say."

As soon as she spots me, she gives me her signature glare—the angry glare I never see her without—, and points her half-smoked cigarette at me. Ash falls to the floor, smoke rises and vanishes into the air. "Don't use that tone with me."

Walking towards the front door, I make a quick stop to stand in front of her; the kitchen counter between us.

She sucks in a deep, smoke-filled breath with the cigarette between her smudged lipstick lips, and blows the smoke in my direction.

I lean across the counter to get into her face as much as possible. As I do , from the corner of my eye, I spot her pack of cigarettes sat on the counter to my right, just out of my reach. "I'll use whatever tone I want with you."

"Dory," I hear my sister say in a sweet voice from behind me. "Where are you going?"

"None of your business," I reply, whipping around to face her. "And I told you to quit calling me that."

"Misty," Mum says, looking over my shoulder at her sitting on the lounge. "Up to your room, now."

While looking at Mum and giving quick glances to the pack of cigarettes, I hear hear her clamber off the couch. "Yes, mummy."

"And take all your crap up with you."

"Yes, mummy." The happiness in her voice turns my stomach. I will never understand how she can accept the way mum treats her. The way she treats us. How does she love her after everything she's done—or more like, hasn't done?

I listen to her scrambling up the stairs with her armful of toys, dropping one or two on the steps on her way up.

Mum looks back at me, her expression more sour than before. "You too."

"You can't order me around," I spit at her. "I'll go where I want."

"I'm the parent here. You listen to me. Now get upstairs."

"Some parent," I say with venom. "When's my birthday?" I can't keep away the grin that stretches my features, knowing I got her.

"The seventeenth of May," she answers proudly.

My smile widens. "Twenty-fourth of April."

She scoffs and scrunches her nose up at me, turning away, ending our conversation.

Too easy, as always.

I smile at my obvious victory and head towards the front door, snatching the pack of smokes off the counter without her seeing as I walk past.

Outside, the strong gusts of wind blows my jacket out behind me. It whirls around the loose strands of overgrown hair falling out from under my favourite grey beanie and whips them into my eyes. I do my best to tuck them under but they just end up falling out again.