by Liz Thomas
Saving Cassilia
By Liz Thomas
Copyright 2012. All rights reserved.
Other Books by Liz Thomas
Rock Her (Available Now)
Vampire’s Graveyard (Available Now)
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Chapter one
Cassilia couldn’t help it. She cast a quick glance around the kitchen and then raised her forearm to her mouth, yawning loudly. She then braced herself against the sink and shook her head once quickly, trying to force out her last reserves of energy.
She gasped, nearly panicking when she heard footsteps descending towards her. Her sisters were out, having had their party and leaving Cassilia to clean up the mess. Only her stepfather was still home, and he didn’t like open displays of exhaustion.
She puffed out her cheeks, relieved when her stepfather didn’t appear at the bottom of the stairs. He was probably moving from room to room.
Cassilia returned to the task at hand; the never-ending pile of dishes that had been haphazardly thrown into the sink after her stepsister’s party. Above the sink was a long, white rubber hose that ended in a small showerhead. Cassilia took hold of the hose and squeezed, redirecting the water from the expensive silver faucet as she reached into the sink—
“Ow!” She immediately cried out, jerking her hand back. She shook her hand out before observing the long red cut she’d opened on the broken dishes. As she placed her finger in her mouth, her heart sank as she returned to the water and carefully pulled forth half of a dinner plate.
It was an effort to keep from crying; the dinnerware had been in her family since they’d first arrived in this country more than two centuries ago. Her mother had told her all of the stories about how that dinnerware, the only thing they’d been able to get out of their native land, had been handed down from generation to generation and then restored when her grandfather had struck it rich and helped build the posh, exclusive city of Black Eagle.
It was supposed to be Cassilia’s when she reached her thirtieth birthday, but that was eight years off, and things had changed. She was now set to inherit the china set in a year. which, for some reason, was the only thing her mother had left her when she passed on ten years ago.
The tears were coming now, whether she wanted them too or not as she held up half of the one of the only things she had left from her mother. Her stepsisters and friends had thrown them into the sink as though they were nothing when they finished eating.
Cassilia set the half-plate off to the side and returned to the dishes. Once she found the other half, she resolved to mend the plate.
“Is everything okay?”
Cassilia yelped and leapt at the sound of the male voice. She glanced to the right to see her stepfather leaning in the door jamb, his arms folded and that strange smile across his face. Balding with a thick brown mustache and looking younger than he was, with light brown hair and a well-maintained physique, he studied her just a little too intently. “Oh…” Cassilia began, readjusting her glasses and forcing a smile, “Hello, Rog…” She trailed off, remembering that he hated to be called by his first name. He hated it just as much as she hated using it. “Hello, father.”
He was silent just long enough to make the moment uncomfortable. As Cassilia prepared to return to her chores, he spoke. “What happened? I heard you cry out.”
“Yes, I cut myself on a broken plate.” She looked at him and quickly shook her head, “But I’m fine, I promise. I can still do my chores.”
“A broken plate…” Roger echoed, looking away, “You’ll have to be more careful, Cassilia. We need you around here.”
His tone was condescending, like he was talking to a servant. The undertone was also unmistakably clear. His daughters were above any wrongdoing.
Cassilia nodded and turned back to the sink before replying. “I’ll be careful…”
She could feel his eyes boring into her. “I’ll be careful…daddy.” She reiterated.
Roger rose from the door jamb and exhaled, stretching. “Well, hurry up and finish that so you can get some sleep. It’s almost two in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is your bed turned down? You’re more than welcome to sleep in my room.”
Once again, Cassilia felt her skin crawl. She wanted him out of the room, now. “My bed is turned down, daddy. Thank you for your offer but I’ll be fine.”
He cocked his head and shrugged. “Suit yourself. Put something on that cut before it gets infected.”
Cassilia said nothing as he turned and left the room.
“SISSY!!”
The careless and expectedly drunk laughter of her three stepsisters followed the calling of the nickname they’d given Cassilia after her mom had died.
There were three hard knocks, fists against her door before she was called again. “Sissy! Get your little ass out here!”
The three girls outside her room sounded as though they were—once again—having a hard time standing up, laughing derisively as they recalled the night’s escapades and remarked cruelly how their poor little stepsister would die a virgin.
In moments of anger, like the one she was experiencing now, she dreamt of reminding them that they’d suffered twelve miscarriages between the three of them, and that number didn’t balance out as evenly as they’d like. The last, and only, time she’d done that, they’d nearly beaten her into a coma. Roger had spent a considerable sum of money to cover the whole thing up.
Now, Cassilia kept her head down, acted the part of a good stepdaughter and stepsister, and prayed for the day she’d leave this place and never look back. She’d managed to squirrel away a small sum of money. All she had to do was get through school.
“To hell with this. Give me that damn key.” That was Trina, the oldest, the one with the least amount of sense, and also the meanest. Cassilia had lost track of time since Roger’s daughters had arrived at her door, losing herself in dreams of better things.
As Cassilia heard Trina fidget with the key, slamming it into the heavy wooden door as she tried to locate the lock in a drunken stupor, she sprung out of bed, snatching her unflattering, one-piece heavy wool nightgown from the floor. As the key found the lock, Cassilia hurriedly pulled it overhead, allowing her arms to fall into the sleeves. When the key turned, she was pulling her long brown hair out from the nightgown.
Finally, as the door began to open, she fumbled for the nightstand, searching for her glasses. She had just put them on when Trina stumbled inside, followed by her two sisters.
The smell hit Cassilia almost immediately. How any of them were still standing was a miracle, but if any of them lit a match, she was certain they’d all go up. They must’ve hit every bar and club on Park Avenue that night. The stench of stale alcohol was so pervasive that Cassilia nearly gagged, but that would’ve gotten her in severe trouble. Instead, she held her breath.
Trina staggered into the room, her makeup running, her bleached hair looking as though it was hanging off her head, and nearly fell on Cassilia’s bed. Her two younger sisters, Annalise and Ramona, held each other up as they meandered into the room. “What…” Trina began, gulping away vomit, “…what took you so long? Why didn’t you answer the door?”
“I’m sorry.” Cassilia offered meekly. “I was…sleeping.”
“The hell you were.” Ramona snickered, “You smell that? Cassilia wants a boyfriend.”
Cassilia blushed, lowering her eyes to the ground.
Trina staggered forward and gave Cassilia a hard, one-handed push on the shoulder. “You guys lay off the little rat.” Trina sneered, “She wants to touch herself, let her. It ain’t l
ike anyone else is gonna do it.”
As the triplets burst into uproarious, drunken laughter, Cassilia swallowed away the urge to cry. She wondered if the barbs would ever stop hurting. “Is there…” Cassilia began, quickly trailing off when she heard her voice shaking. “…do you need my help with something?”
“Yeah, rat, we do.” Annalise stepped forward, removing her black leather jacket. “Get this stuff in the wash, now. And if you bleach my jeans, I’ll kick your ass, you understand?”
Cassilia took the jacket and nodded quickly as the others began removing their clothes. “I won’t, Annalise, I promise. I never have.”
Annalise shot Cassilia a quick look of gratitude. In the blink of an eye, it was gone. Theirs was a clandestine communication they’d established years ago. Out of all three sisters, Annalise was the only one who’d come close to being kind to Cassilia.
Cassilia caught a glimpse of Trina’s expensive designer shirt, her favorite one that revealed her less-than-ample cleavage, and winced; it was clearly ruined, stained with vomit.
Trina would never accept that. Cassilia would simply toss this shirt out and replace it before coming home the next day.
The three sisters quickly stripped down to the nude and piled their clothes into Cassilia’s waiting arms. When she had been a child, she’d struggled under the weight. She’d grown used to it now, and imagined it helped keep her in shape.
“I’ll get this stuff into the wash right now.” Cassilia said softly, keeping her eyes off of the naked bodies of her stepsisters. She’d always hated this part. “Can I help you with anything else?”
“Yeah, Sissy.” Trina sneered. She took hold of Cassilia’s shoulders and shoved her out of her room. Cassilia stumbled, barely keeping her footing without tumbling down the long, deadly, spiraling staircase. “Sleep in the washroom. I ain’t walkin’ all the way back down them stairs tonight. Your room will do just fine.”
The last thing Cassilia saw before Trina shut the door was Annalise’s look of remorse, as if to say I’m sorry.
The door slammed closed, and their laughter continued.
Cassilia wanted to tell herself that after a decade of this kind of treatment, she was used to it. Was she a good person? Yes, she was her mother’s daughter, which meant she was kind even to those who didn’t deserve it. Did she deserve this kind of treatment? No, no one did. Not even animals did. When she finally got out of there, she’d never look back, never contact any of these people again, and she’d never, ever treat anyone like this.
But in the meantime, this was her reality.
She peered out to the night sky through the small rectangular window built into the wall. The moon and stars, in all their glory, were visible.
Hoping for the day she’d be free of this place, she made her way down the darkened staircase towards the laundry room in the basement.
Cassilia awoke the following morning on the laundry room floor, atop a pile of clean white sheets she’d placed at the front of the washing machine. Under the gentle hum of the heavy-duty washer, she’d slept fitfully.
She’d awoken at dawn, as she had for the past few years now. Greeted by the sunrise ahead of her, visible through the back screen door, she picked her head up off of her arm. She found her folded glasses, tucked safely away at her midsection, and put them on. She rose, stretched, and turned to the silent washing machine. She dutifully took the stack of clean clothes from the washing machine and placed them into the front-loading dryer, shut the machine, and set it for four hours. She’d sort it out when she got home.
Getting up at dawn meant that she could be out of the house before Roger or his daughters would be up and around. Unfortunately, that meant getting a change of clothes out of her room…
She was contemplating how best to sneak into her room without alerting anyone when she stepped up out of the washroom, and into the kitchen. She gasped, immediately horrified at what greeted her, and then quickly shut it away. Roger was up, dressed in a three-piece suit, and consuming a hot breakfast at the magnificent dining room table that had once belonged to her mother.
He raised his head and smiled at her with those icy blue eyes. “Cassie. Good morning.” He spoke softly, his voice having an unmistakable predatory quality.
“Good morning, Rog—father.” Cassilia had to correct herself because calling this man by that name made her bile rise. She’d never known her true father, but her mother had assured her that he’d died a hero, in service of his country. He had been a good man, which Roger was most certainly not.
Cassilia hadn’t realized she’d been frozen, transfixed by his gaze, until he averted his eyes and pushed a small stack of folded clothes in her direction. “I figured the kids would be sleeping in your room, so I went in there and got you some clothes for school today.”
Cassilia approached the dining room table apprehensively, ever aware of Roger’s gaze on her and for once, grateful that the nightgown was so unflattering. She took the stack of clothes and winced as she examined them. The shorts would barely cover her rear and the short-sleeve shirt was easily two sizes too small.
“Something wrong?” Roger asked condescendingly.
Cassilia swallowed her anger and locked eyes with her stepfather, “It’s almost Christmas, father.” She replied coolly, “If I catch cold, I won’t be able to do my chores.”
When Roger’s victorious smirk vanished, Cassilia knew she’d gained the upper hand, however briefly.
“Well, I hadn’t thought of that.” Roger growled as he poorly tried to mask his anger, glaring at his cereal. The cocky smirk returned when he next looked up at her. “I guess you’ll have to fetch your own clothes, Cassie. You may want to be careful, though. Trina can be mean when rudely awoke.”
Cassilia’s moment of triumph had passed. She’d ran for her life the last time Trina had been awoken from a drunken stupor. Roger was sending her into a lion’s den and he knew it.
Still, she smiled. “Thank you for the warning, father, and for thinking of me.” She replied, turning. Before leaving for the expansive front room, she turned back to her stepfather, holding up the clothes he’d chosen for her, “Oh, father, one last thing, if I may. Thank you very much for trying, but I outgrew these clothes years ago!” She laughed, “I’m perfectly capable of picking out my own clothes, but thank you for being so thoughtful. You’re a good father.”
Although the words made her bile rise, the face that she could feel Roger’s glare boring into her back was worth it. With that, she departed, heading towards her room.
Cassilia crept up one side of the winding staircase, taking it all the way to the attic, above the second floor where Roger and the girls had their rooms. Cassilia remembered when she had Trina’s room all to herself, then was forced to share the space with Trina after her mom died. Roger had always pointed out that he’d never asked her to live in the rat-infested attic, but after Trina had beheaded all of Cassilia’s dolls in a fit of rage, Cassilia hadn’t felt safe there.
Years later, she’d turned the attic into something cozy. As it turned out, there had been no rats, only several small mice. They’d become her most steadfast companions over the years, and she’d sneak them bread crumbs in return for their alleviating her loneliness. They were wise, too; they knew about Trina’s malice. Anytime there was a noise on the stairs, the mice always made themselves scarce.
Upon making it to her room, Cassilia silently pushed the door open—Trina had never locked it—and was almost knocked back down the stairs by the stench of old alcohol. Cassilia tried to breathe and gagged. She tucked the lower half of her face into the nightgown and entered the room, breathing sparingly.
Looking at her nude, slumbering sisters, Cassilia couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. Trina was on the thin bed, snoring loudly, facing the tiny window and wrapped in the worn blanket. Ramona was huddled like a wet dog at the foot of the bed, shivering as if her body was going through withdrawals. The heat of the house didn’t make it to the attic. Ra
mona would more than likely be sick when she woke up, and it would fall to Cassiia to take care of her.
Annalise appeared comfortable at the side of the bed, laying on her side, her head braced on her arm. She shivered every so often, raising her legs to her ample chest in a vain attempt to secure warmth.
Yes, they were mean to her, but she couldn’t help but wonder if this was what they imagined their life being when they were children. None of them were happy. Annalise seemed to get the worst of it; by minutes, she was the youngest of the three, the last to come out of Roger’s wife before she died. It was something Trina teased her about, and though Annalise appeared to roll with it, Cassilia would hear her sobbing in her room when she brought dinner.
Annalise was also the only one of them who’d shown her any sort of kindness or remorse over the past ten years.
Stepping silently, Cassilia moved over to her dresser, one of the last heirlooms she’d smuggled after Roger had sold all of her mother’s possessions. Opening the top drawer, she changed clothes silently, putting on sweats. She then packed her real outfit, a sensible long-sleeve shirt and baggy jeans, into her purse. Before she left, she took her nightgown from the floor and covered Annalise with it. The girl stopped shivering.
Ramona sneezed.
Trina stirred, sneered, and then growled sleepily; “Shut up, bitch! I’m tryin ta’ sleep…”
Cassilia lingered at the door a moment, transfixed on Trina. She wondered what could’ve made the poor girl so hateful.
She then shut the door, leaving it unlocked so they could get out later. Her plan was to get to school early, shower, change, and then get through her classes.
Cody let his head fall back against the seat of his chair as the girl in front of him slowly ran her fingers down his bare, muscular chest. Her index fingers danced across his nipples and he tightened, enjoying the sexual tickle. As she caressed him, the head of her pierced tongue flicked across the head of his engorged cock, making teasing circular motions as her hands first found his hips. Her right hand slowly made its way to the base of his shaft, where she took a pleasurably firm hold and ran her tongue down the underside of his shaft, touching his testicles before sliding back up and playing with the head of his swollen cock.
