I nod my head, waving goodnight, or good morning, whichever way you look at it, and head back into my bedroom. My mind is running through all those bad memories that I forgot Myles is still in my room. So when I find him standing there, shirtless, and looking hot as hell, I jump, a scream nearly escaping my mouth.
“Jesus, I really need to buy those bells,’’ I mutter and he grins looking at me questioningly. I just give him a shrug and he smirks in return.
“I’m going to get going so I can get a shower in before school. Do you need us to come get you? Mason is taking us today because he’s heading that way for work.’’
I’m about to decline, but then the conversation with my dad runs through my mind again and I find myself nodding my head ‘yes’ and smiling. I need this. I need to move forward, to prove to my parents that I can do this; I can go off to college without them having to worry. Not that I think that’s the part my mother cares about, no. I just feel like I’d have more freedom once I prove myself.
“I’ll be back here just before half eight, make sure you’re ready,’’ he grins, taking a step forward. At first I think he’s going to kiss me, but he stops himself, looking at the floor with wide eyes before quickly grabbing his backpack and hightailing it out of my bedroom. I look to the door and shrug, knowing I can’t let him get inside my heart, or think things that aren’t really there. It will only leave me more broken and for some reason I don’t think I’ll ever get over being hurt by Myles.
*** *** ***
The rest of the school week is really slow, and come Friday I just want to go to bed and sleep the whole weekend away.
Myles and I haven’t seen each other out of school again this week, he’s been busy studying and other things, but something inside me can’t help but feel like he’s avoiding me. After the night we spent together, Myles hasn’t been back. He texted me that morning to meet him at the end of my street and that was that. We still hang out all the time at school, but something feels different between us now. I could just be imagining it, and with my track record I could be right, and I’m just blowing this up out of proportion.
“Good you’re here. It’s about time,’’ my mother snaps, and I want to roll my eyes at her and tell her to fuck off, but I keep my mouth shut and my eyes focused on her mouth. Heaven forbid I don’t pay attention when she’s talking.
“The bus was running late,’’ I tell her, but I already know there’s no point in telling her anything, she will only see it as an excuse.
She clucks her tongue, looking at me with so much disgust. I squirm where I’m standing, waiting for her to blow. “Go put your stuff in your room and get started. I have a ‘friend’ coming over for dinner and I want the place looking sparkling.’’
I nod my head feeling defeated. We all know what she means when she says ‘friend’. It’s just another word to describe the obscenely rich men she’s trying to get her claws into. Because she knows my father will cut her off soon, she needs another cash point. My mother didn’t get anything from the divorce because of the circumstances, so she’s now on the hunt for another male she can manipulate, just like she did to my dad.
“Speak when you’re spoken to,’’ she snaps, and quickly for her, she swings her hand out, slapping me in the face, the force whipping my head sideways. My hand covers my stinging cheek, tears welling in my eyes as I look at her. I hate her. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate her. “Do you understand or do you need to be taught a lesson?’’ she snaps, her voice grating on my nerves.
“No. I understand. I’ll get it done,’’ I politely confirm, my voice high and clear so she doesn’t find another excuse to lash out at me.
“So why are you just standing there?’’ she roars, her face murderous, vein lines pumping in her forehead.
I don’t reply, instead I rush off upstairs. My room is the small storage closet that should be used to store the hoover and stuff.
No. No, it’s not what you think. It’s actually pretty cool here. It fits a bed and a chest of drawers and there’s enough room in between the two to walk down to get out. I’m just lucky she didn’t have a cellar, that is somewhere I know she would’ve put me to sleep, and enjoyed it. I quickly chuck my bag on the bed, and change out of my school clothes. Once I’m changed I quickly rush down to the kitchen and get to work. The place isn’t a dump, but she’s not used to doing things herself. She’s lazy and I’m pretty sure she’s never worked a day in her life. It’s another reason I hate her. She expects everything handed to her on a silver plate. I wish I could walk into the front room where she’s watching some snooty show about housewives, and tell her where she can shove her goddamn broom and mop, but I know the consequences of speaking out of term when it comes to that woman.
An few hours later and I’m just finishing cleaning up the dishes, waiting for my mother’s companion to arrive so I can go to my room. When there’s a loud knock on the door, I jump, and then rush out to go answer it. My mother stands glaring at me, looking at me like I took too long to answer it. The fact she is standing right next to the door is obviously lost on her. As soon as she can’t see my expression, I roll my eyes. She moves to stand over near the fireplace, looking elegant and beautiful, it’s just a shame her vile personality doesn’t match her looks. Although, she can look an evil witch on most days, it’s just a matter of who is in her presence.
I answer the door to an overweight man wearing a suit. His receding hairline makes his forehead look double the normal size. He’s wearing silver rimmed glasses that look like magnified glasses; his eyes are popping out that much. His eyes leer at me and I have the urge to go and have a shower, but since my mother has to save as much money my dad gives her for her designer clothes, she doesn’t let me shower here. Water doesn’t come cheap, apparently, so she doesn’t even let me make a cup of coffee in the mornings, even though it’s already boiled from her making her one.
His eyes rake up and down my body, and I nearly end up vomiting in my mouth when he runs his tongue along his bottom lip, his eyes staring at my chest. I know I’m big chested, but to have someone old enough to be my granddad eyeing them up, is just beyond gross.
I send him a glare, hoping my mother doesn’t see, and step aside. I don’t speak; I don’t want to. The guy creeps me out and I know I’ll have to pay for it later, but I’d rather suffer my mom’s wrath than have him thinking he can leer at me all night.
“Good evening, you must be Kayla, Jessica’s daughter.’’
“Yes, Sir,’’ I smile tightly, before moving away and walking back into the kitchen. I hear my mom laughing and flirting with him, it makes me want to vomit all over again. God, how can she even pretend to be interested in him? The guy screams sleazebag.
“Kayla, drinks,’’ my mother snaps, and I roll my eyes walking back into the room to see what they want.
“What would you both like to drink?’’ I ask quietly and sweetly.
“Well, champagne of course,’’ she says irritated, and I look away nodding my head. Once in the kitchen I pour both of them a glass of champagne before putting the bottle back into the fridge to cool. I’m sure I’ll only get called in a few times to make them another drink, because there is no way I’m taking a bucket of ice out there to put the champagne in again. Who does she think she is? Royalty? God, she gets my back up.
With shaking hands I move into the dining room and place both drinks down in front of my mother and her guest.
“Oh, Harold, you are so funny,’’ she giggles flirtatiously, and I have to bite back a groan.
“Thank you,’’ Harold says leering at me with a sneer, which I’m sure he thinks is a smile. I nod my head not caring if he’s thankful or not, and move back to the kitchen to plate up their food. Once it’s done I move back out into the dining room and place both of their dinners in front of them. When a hand reaches out, touching the back of my thigh, near my ass, I jump back startled and frightened. The plate of food I was placing in front of Harold nearly lands
in his lap, but thankfully his other hand reaches out and catches it. His other hand, the one that was copping a feel, moves back towards me and I jump back again, feeling my throat start to close and my body break out in a hot flush.
God, please don’t have a panic attack now, not here.
“You stupid little - urgh, get to your room now,’’ my mother shouts, and I unfreeze long enough to get my feet moving away from Mr. Perv. I’m about to head to the kitchen to get my dinner when her voice cuts through me. “If you even think of helping yourself to food after what you just pulled, young lady, then you’ve got another thing coming,’’ she snarls.
Sighing, I don’t even bother explaining why I jumped, because in the end she wouldn’t care why it happened or who caused it.
“I’m so sorry, Harold. She’s such a clumsy young girl. We tried to raise her the best we could, but there’s only so much you can do, right?’’ I hear her tell him, and I shake my head, feeling tears fill my eyes. Why can’t I just have a normal mother, one that is proud to call me her daughter, and one that will stand in front of a loaded gun for me? I’d be lucky to get my mother to stand in front of me in a queue.
“Kids nowadays need discipline, a firm hand, and a voice of reason. I’m a firm believer in kids should be seen and not heard,’’ I hear him chuckle as I make my way to the top of the stairs. My skin prickles from his choice of words and I wonder if he has kids of his own.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Harold. She will be getting punished don’t you worry, but I’m not going to let the girl stand in the way of what is turning out to be a delightful night,’’ she coos and I literally just vomited in my mouth. Talking about disciplining her own daughter is what gets her hot and bothered, she’s freaking sick, but then I’ve always known that.
I decide to get into bed and don’t bother with my pyjamas. I feel safer with as much clothing as I can when I’m in this house, and with a complete stranger who just happens to be as cruel as she is, in the house, I decide to keep my mobile phone under my pillow. I don’t usually leave it where my mother will find it. She will only break it like she did the last five mobiles I had, so it’s best to keep it out of sight. If I’m honest, I believe she breaks them because she thinks I’m recording her or some shit, and believe me, I’ve tried. It was just when it got to the blackmailing part that I chickened out and ended up having a panic attack. I’m not strong enough to hold my own, at least, I wasn’t back then, but maybe I’m stronger now. Like dad said, he can see how much I’ve changed since moving here.
A sharp pull on my hair has me falling out of bed with a loud thud. I cry out in pain when I knock my previous injuries.
“Get up,’’ she screams, sounding like a banshee. Before I get chance to get my bearings, she’s grabbing my hair again and lifting me up. In the small room, I use the bed as leverage to get up faster. When we’re face to face, her eyes are bloodshot and I can smell the alcohol on her breath. From the corner of my eye I look at the clock out in the hall, shocked when it reads three thirty in the morning. How long has she been drinking? Is Harold still here? Oh my God, what if he is?
“Please, Mom, stop,’’ I cry out, her hand in my hair tightening.
“Did you deliberately try to make a fool out of me tonight? Do you think it’s a joke?’’ she shouts, her hand rearing back before coming down hard across my cheek. My hand reaches up to cover the sharp sting and more tears fall from my eyes. I don’t argue back with her, there’s no point, and even though she’s asked me a question I know there’s no point in answering. It’s not the answers she wants to hear. “I should have given you up at birth. You’re a useless, selfish brat.’’
This time, instead of a slap, she lands a solid thump to my already sore ribs. A loud cry leaves my mouth, the pain excruciating. I cower back, my ass hitting the bed and I move backwards to try and get as far as I can as I watch and listen to her shout expletives at me.
She leans over the bed, her nails digging into my thigh and I’m thankful I left my normal clothes on because if I hadn’t, I’d have more than a bruise on my thigh right now. I’d have cuts from her nails that are sharply digging in. I’d actually be surprised if she isn’t already drawing blood.
“You’re going to regret what you did tonight. Why can’t you be a good daughter, one that listens? Instead I get a whiny, snivelling, ugly, useless, thickhead for a daughter. No one will ever love you, no one, because you’re not fucking worth it,’’ she spits out.
Her words cut deep, hurting more than her physical blows and I bow my head in shame, which only makes her snicker. I don’t look up. I already know what expression her face will be masked in, one of pure enjoyment and evil as she continues to throw insults at me. How I ended up with a mother like her is anyone’s guess.
It’s reaching five in the morning when she finally leaves my room. My face is throbbing, but thankfully she hasn’t drawn any blood, and I’m pretty certain the only bruise forming that will be visible to other people will be the one of my forehead where she whacked it against the chest of drawers. With the room so small, it’s hard to avoid hitting something.
I groan, rolling over and reaching down to grab my small bag of change of clothes and begin to quietly grab my stuff before heading into the bathroom down the hall. Luckily mom’s room is down the other side otherwise she’d have my ass for even contemplating using her shower. But if I want to soothe any of these bruises, new and old, I need a hot shower.
Hoping it doesn’t wake her up; I quickly turn on the shower, but not before opening the window wide to let the steam out of the small room. I make quick work peeling the clothes of my sore aching body, the fresh bruises making it hard for me to keep the tears at bay. I choke on a sob when the hot, steaming water first hits my skin and I clench my hands into fists.
I don’t bother looking down at my body; I just do what I have to do before slowly getting back out of the shower. I know I’ll never be able to get back to sleep now. There’s no point when I have to be at the church shelter in just over an hour. It’s the only thing my mother let’s me do when I’m with her, and that’s only because she made me volunteer, not that I minded. I actually really like it there and it gets me out of the house and away from her.
I quickly dab on some consealer to cover up the dark bags under my eyes when I’m finally dressed. Not wanting to spend another second in her house, I rush downstairs, nearly stumbling on my ass when I see a half naked Harold on the sofa snoring his head off.
Ewwwe!! No wonder she was in a bad mood.
I avert my eyes away from the large man and open the front door silently, enough so it doesn’t creek and I can slide my slim frame through. I shut it behind me and make my way over to the church, the one place I can find peace, away from my hell of a nightmare life. I’m actually startled when I picture Myles, and it occurs to me then, he is another form of peace in my life, although, lately, he feels a lot more than that.
“You’re early.’’ The voice is soft and instead of my usual jumpy self, I turn around with a smile.
“Hey, Joan. I thought I’d get an early start on the food boxes that are being delivered.’’
Joan is Harlow’s Nan. She’s a sweet lady, and I would say old lady, but apart from her looks, there is nothing old about Miss. Joan.
“You don’t need to do that, I had it covered, but thank you, Sweetie. They’ve already been delivered and I got the nice, fit men to put them in the back room. Nothing to do with watching their muscles and bending over to pick up the boxes,’’ she cackles, and I can’t help but laugh with her. Can you see what I mean about not being old? The woman can flirt with the best of them, and I’ve even seen grown men blush around her. She’s a hoot.
“I don’t mind. I’ll go get started,’’ I smile, before moving towards the back.
“Wow! What happened, Kayla? Are you okay? Oh my God, why didn’t you say anything?’’ Joan’s hysterical voice has me snapping back around and I wince at the quick moveme
nt, my neck is stiff and sore, and I’m wondering what wound she could have seen when I have them all covered.
“W-what?’’
“Your neck, Honey, has bruises on it,’’ she tells me eyeing me up. Her eyes flick to my wrist and I curse for not covering myself better.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I fell down the attic stairs getting some boxes for my mom,’’ I smile, hoping my lie will be enough to get her off my back.
“Why didn’t you say something, sweetie? You should go on back home and rest up.’’
Panicking that she’s going to send me home, to her, I rush on, hoping she will let me stay. “No! No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Honestly, it’s not as bad as it looks I promise. Can I stay?’’ I plead, feeling my eyes begin to water. I know what will happen if I go back there now. Mother will wake up around eleven and will take her hangover out on me. The day will only get worse from there. I have one more night to suffer through, and then I’m safe for a whole five days.
“Of course, if that’s what you want, honey. If it gets too much, though, you come find me, okay?’’
“Okay,’’ I answer quietly, before quickly rushing off to the back room, furiously wiping away the tears that have spilled over.
An hour later a girl around my age walks in looking like she’s hardly had any sleep. I know that feeling too well, but there’s also a sadness in her eyes that I can also relate to. I’ve seen her once before when I’ve helped out with the food bank, but I’ve never actually approached her or spoken to her. She’s got long brown hair that falls in limp, messy waves to her waist. I’m not usually one to judge, but it could do with having a few inches cut off. It’s her expressive eyes that stand out the most; they’re large, round, and a stunning sharp blue colour. They look so innocent, but so full of pain and sadness.
“Hi, I’m Lake. Joan sent me in to help you. What do you want me to do?’’ she asks, and her voice is sweet, and kind.
“Oh, I’m Kayla. I guess you can help date everything with me. Is that okay or would you like something else to do?’’
Myles (Carter Brother#3) Page 7
