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A moment later, the sound of heels starts clacking down the hallway. I grind my teeth together, watching as my dad takes out two cups from the cupboard instead of one.
"You didn't get to meet Daphne, or her daughter."
Oh, Pops, that's where you're wrong…
"Good morning!" A tall woman with dark hair walks in, her large curls bouncing with every step. She's dressed to the nines, like she's headed for a cocktail party instead of wherever the hell she actually works. Castle Pointe doesn't have many businesses around, so I don't know where she plans to go with that dress. It's short and in a midnight blue that molds to every curve.
How old is she? She looks like she's in her twenties, but I know that can't be true, because she has a daughter in high school.
"You must be Malik. I'm Daphne." She smiles brightly, a look in her eyes that screams she's happy to be my new mother.
Fuck no.
I lift my spoon from my cereal bowl in a wave, barely sparing a glance from my phone.
Delete, delete, delete.
"Don't be rude, Malik," my dad barks.
I drop my spoon, and it clanks against the black bowl. Staring up at her, I spear her with dead eyes and a blank face. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? I'm Malik." I give her a smile, showing her my canines.
She blinks at me, a lick of unease dripping into her gaze.
I can hear my dad sigh from the other side of the kitchen.
She doesn't say anything else, turning around and walking up to my dad. He hands her a cup of coffee, and she takes it contentedly, stepping straight into his arms.
My face drops back to my phone.
That only last seconds, though, when I hear the sound of heavy boots pounding down the hallway. Pissy, angry, rude as hell boots doing their best to scuff the dark floors.
Daphne clears her throat, and I can feel the tension seeping from her pores. It fills up the room, and it suddenly feels stuffy in here, when it's usually the temperature of a freezer.
I see a shadow from the corner of my eye, and lift my head slightly, grinding my teeth together when I see the stupid brat from last night.
She wears a pair of combat boots, laced up to her shins. They're black, worn but shiny, like she wears them often but does her best to keep them clean.
It's the fishnets that have my teeth turning into dust.
They stretch across her long legs, holes and tears in them as they lead up her thighs, disappearing beneath her uniform skirt. It's rolled up a few times, and I know that easily. The skirts the girls are given at school brush their knees. Ugly, thick fabric that gives away nothing and turns their figures into boxes. This girl's skirt brushes her upper thighs. The white button-up shirt she has on forms nicely to her curves. She had to have tightened it somehow, because the shirts do not fit like that either.
Wait, what?
I hate her. I really fucking hate her.
Her hair is dried, laying against her shoulders in a flat sheet. It's black, dark as the town we live in, but there's parts of it that are white. She's got one of those ridiculous piercings in her nose, the bull piercing or whatever it is. It's dainty, barely noticeable unless you look at her straight in the face. Her eyes are dark as well, and there’s too much makeup shading her features. On her back sits a miniature backpack. One of those things that can't hold much more than a wallet and a paperback book. A white cord is trailing out of it, draping from in between the zipper and up to her ears.
The bitch is listening to music.
She looks jaded. A kid who pouts and screams when she doesn't get her way. It makes me realize, whatever game I decide to play with her, she's going to fight back. She's going to fight back real hard.
A smirk pops up onto my lips.Good.
"Good morning, Vera. How did you sleep?" her mom asks, setting her coffee cup down on the island.
Vera says nothing, bobbing her head to the music as she sits on one of the stools. She scrolls through her phone and looks to be typing something, a small smile on her lips as her fingers fly across the keyboard.
What the hell is she doing?
