When I got home that afternoon, I found my dad in the den drinking beer and smoking weed as usual. I was used to this, so it no longer bothered me as it once had. Mum was nowhere to be seen, which was also something I was well used to, so I wasn't worried too much about her whereabouts either. "Any mail come in?" I asked, as I set my bag on the floor.
Dad grunted. "No," he said around his roach. "Why?"71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVFoEHgATvG
I shrugged. "Just wanted to know if Grandma's sent her card yet," I said casually.
"She'll send it," Dad told me. "Piss off."
I sighed and got my bag. Dad wasn't normally this rude to me, but he'd had a bee in his bonnet for the last few days, and I winced as I made my way upstairs. I didn't know what his bee was, but I reminded myself to be a bit more careful next time. Dad had a mean streak a mile wide and the temper to match, plus he had a strong arm, as I'd had cause to experience too many times in the past. It was only by learning how to not react to his abuse that I was able to mitigate it, and over time, Dad had grown tired of getting no reaction from walloping me. That didn't stop him from being a jerk in other ways, and there were times when I wished he'd go back to thumping me around, instead of ignoring me.71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrn1szwzPTQ
Mum's door was closed when I got upstairs, and I could just make out her muffled voice as I went past to my own room. I didn't linger; Mum had the temper of a fishwife and the mouth of a sailor, and she could lay out some truly vile insults when she had a bee in her bonnet. I suspected, though, that the closed door was why Dad was a bit touchier than usual. He and Mum couldn't stand each other, but Dad had a nasty jealous streak that made itself felt whenever he suspected Mum might be cheating on him. I didn't condone cheating, but often wished Mum would leave him, if for no other reason than to get her out of the house and away from me. Dad wasn't the greatest company, but whenever Mum wasn't around, he seemed to soften just a little. I took it with a grain of salt, but it still warmed my heart a little to know he still had a caring side under his bad-tempered exterior.
As I opened my door, Mum's door slammed open, and I jumped, turning to find her standing in her doorway and glaring at me. "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded.
"School," I said. "I just got back five minutes ago."
Mum took out her phone, and grunted when her tracking app showed her I was telling the truth. I was sixteen, but Mum still treated me like I was five, and I thanked my stars she "allowed" me to have a room of my own. "You're lucky," she warned, putting her phone away. "I won't have you 'hanging out' with your 'friends'. You know they don't really care, right?"
I chose not to argue with her on that point. Phil and Dominic did care a lot about me, but Mum refused to believe it, and I'd long since given up trying to tell her otherwise. "Of course," I said.
Mum raised an eyebrow, but then her phone rang, and she rolled her eyes. "Get into your room," she told me, and I scurried inside as she took the call. Thin walls meant I could hear everything she said, and I winced as this particular call turned very spicy within a few moments. I was no monk, but Mum's dirty talk was spectacularly filthy, and I now knew why Dad had been so grouchy. It was clear Mum had taken a job as a phone sex worker, and if Dad found out, he'd smash the phone into a million pieces before beating Mum to within an inch of her life. Of course, if Mum found out I'd blabbed to Dad, she'd belt me first. I was, in essence, caught between a rock and a very hard place. I had a duty to my dad to tell him what Mum was doing, but at the same time, I had a deathly fear of what Mum might do if she found out I'd "tattled" on her.
So I did the only thing I knew how - I kept my mouth shut and pulled out my homework. I had no computer, meaning I had to write my essays and such by hand, but my teachers all knew what was going at home, so they let it slide. They had tried calling social services, but my parents had fed them lies, and they'd made me feed lies as well, often beating me black and blue once the social worker had left, but ensuring the bruises remained well hidden. The social workers were starting to get a bit antsy, though, even though the physical abuse had stopped, and as I began answering questions on my maths homework, I wondered how long it would be before my parents moved again.
71Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdkbMqtcusa
