AllFreeNovel
Share Us
By the time I pull in, a few spots down from the corner, her bus is sliding into view up ahead. I fall back against the seat and release a deep breath, a little sweaty around the collar of my T-shirt. Kids start pouring off the bus, but I take these few seconds to get myself under control. I don’t want Tia seeing me like this.
As always, the sight of her bouncing down the steps and talking a mile a minute to her friends makes my heart swell. She’s getting so damn big. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to protect her from life. I only know I want to. She deserves to be innocent as long as possible.
When she doesn’t notice me, I tap the horn to get her attention. Just when I thought my heart couldn’t swell up anymore. She breaks out a big, toothy smile, and I have to smile back. The kid has no idea how she saves my life sometimes.
“Hey, nugget,” I call out as she comes my way. “Did you have a good day?”
“How come you always call me that?” She rolls her eyes all dramatically before climbing in. I wait until she buckles her seatbelt before pulling out. “Try eating something besides chicken nuggets all the time, and I’ll call you something else.”
“Like what? Spaghetti?” She rolls her eyes again, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
“How was your day?” I ask. If she thinks there’s anything weird about me picking her up from the bus stop, she doesn’t show it. She never has. It could be she’s just glad to have somebody looking out for her. God knows our father can’t be bothered.
“Fine, I guess.” She stares out the window next to her without saying anything else.
“You think you’re going to like your teacher?” When she looks at me in the rearview mirror, I shrug. “That’s what I was always worried about when I started a new year at school. If I was gonna like the teacher or not.”
“She’s okay. I think it’ll be fine. I have lots of forms that have to be signed.” She looks out the window again, biting her lip, and it’s not fair. A kid her age shouldn’t have to worry about shit like that. Not wanting to approach her own father to have him sign her forms at the beginning of the year. That was the kind of thing Mom would do back in the day.
“I’ll get it figured out. Don’t worry.” Even if it means forging his signature. The less I have to talk to him, the happier we all are.
At least she seems happier by the time we get home. It’s the biggest house on this side of town, for sure, but it’s nothing compared to what the other families live in. Our mansion is more the size of a captain’s or close advisor’s. Another little insult Dad deals with every day.
Some people get welcomed at the door when they come home from school. Not us. Instead, the sound of shattering glass greets us when we step into the tiled hall, followed by a scream that could come from a rabid animal. “Motherfucker! Who the fuck do they think they’re dealing with? Who the fuck do they think they are?”
Dammit. Why does he have to be this way when she gets home from school? Who the hell would want to come home to this? It was bad enough when Mom was alive—and now I understand how much she went through, hiding everything she could from me when I was Tia’s age. How sometimes, when she would be breathless and laugh a little too loud or get a little overexcited over going swimming out back, she was really trying to cover up for him by distracting me. Because that’s exactly what I want to do now, for my sister’s sake.
Her little hand finds mine and squeezes tight. The lava bubbling in my chest cools and hardens a little, but not by much. I can’t be angry in front of her. The kid needs to have at least one person in her life who doesn’t lose his shit in a drunken rage.
“Who the fuck do they think I am? Have they forgotten?” Something else crashes in the living room. I’m torn between wanting to see what he’s doing and wanting to keep Tia safe. Really, there isn’t much of a decision to be made. He’s on the phone, shouting and snarling and most likely drunk by now. The way he slurs confirms this for me, and it makes me sick. Of all the times for him to get his shit together, if only for Tia’s sake, but he couldn’t be bothered.
“They had a meeting without me? They fucking made sure I knew it was happening, then they didn’t invite me?” I cringe when he lets out a roar. “I’m sick of this shit, I’m telling you! How much longer do they think I’m going to put up with this? How much more am I supposed to take?”
“Briggs?” It’s Tia’s worried whisper that pulls me back into myself and tells me what I need to do.
“Come with me.” I put her on my left-hand side with an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close to me. The vaulted archway leading into the living room is on my right. He doesn’t even notice us, just continues storming around the room, his shoes crunching broken glass. Whatever he was drinking is nowsplashed across one wall, dripping down the silk wallpaper Mom used to love.
I get Tia to the bottom of the stairs before letting her go, giving her a gentle push. “Go straight up to your room,” I tell her, “and lock the door. Don’t come out until I tell you to. Got it?” She gives me a wide-eyed nod before taking off at a run, her feet pounding the stairs while Dad screams out his frustration and his rage.
All I can do is sink onto the stairs, settling in with my arms folded over my knees while the storm rages on.
3
WREN
My eyelids are heavy on the morning of my second day as an Elite University student. I can barely pry them open—when I do, the mess around me is a reminder of the long night I had.
After all the noise last night, I’m surprised I was able to get any sleep at all. Not that Buck means to be a loud, drunken pain in the ass. That’s just how he is. It’s like the quieter he tries to be, the louder he is. All the drinking doesn’t help, but his heart’s in the right place.
I spent a lot of time sketching last night when the sounds of my roommate trying to navigate our little apartment were too much. Buck likes to complain about the walls being thin enough to hear a mouse fart in the next room, and he’s not wrong. A sketchpad falls off the bed when I sit up, and with it goes a couple of pencils and a piece of charcoal. There are still smudges on my fingers which ended up on my pillowcase and probably on my face, though I can’t see myself from where I’m sitting in the little bedroom. The room is as cheerful as I can make it with the little bit of money I have, but it’s home. And as difficult as Buckcan be to deal with, he is still a mile and a half better than living with Mom.
The memory of sharing a home with her makes me shiver. It also makes me hurry through getting ready for class. I will do everything in my power to keep from being the same kind of person Mom turned out to be. Hopping from man to man, looking for something she either can’t or won’t bother giving to herself.
If I have to suffer through going to school with people who hate me and aren’t afraid to show it, I’m going to get something out of it. I’m breaking the cycle, which means finding a way to pay attention in class and pull good grades. Making it there on time is sort of the first step.
Sure enough, gazing in the bathroom mirror, there are smudges on my face which I wash off after tying my hair back. It can sort of be a pain sometimes, like if I accidentally roll over the wrong way in bed and yank my head back when I try to get up, but otherwise, I can’t imagine cutting it short. It’s part of who I am, I guess.
The rest of the apartment is still silent by the time I dart across the narrow hall from the bathroom back to my bedroom. It’s silent in here, anyway. I can’t say the same for the rest of the apartments around us. Somebody’s listening to a game show next-door—the TV is up so loud, I could play along with the contestants if I had the time to do it. There’s a baby crying somewhere downstairs. That’s another reason why I like to be quiet when I can. I don’t want to keep the baby awake. What a shame Buck is incapable of being quiet.
