Chapter 2 CHAPTER 2
I forced the tears away, they wouldn't help matters in the situation at hand and I could feel him moving around the house. It was probably good he was changing his clothes today, he'd not done that in three days and the stench was disturbing but none of that would matter if I didn't get the food out soon.
I pulled out the lasagna from the oven, the pain sizzling all around my body, from my stomach to the place I'd dipped in boiling hot water.
I don't even remember what the hell I was boiling it for, but I was doing everything simultaneously, hoping to escape what had just happened but I should have known it was useless.
My stepfather will never miss a chance to hurt me.
I could tell he'd always hated me even while my mum was still with us but he never did anything outrightly hurtful so I couldn't say.
But the way he looked at me like I was ruining things for him, made me feel wary. I couldn't explain it to anyone but it took my mum dying for his true nature to show up and it was worse than I'd ever imagined.
I hastily prepared his plate and rushed to drop it on the dining table as he walked out of the bathroom.
He looked sober for a second or two but as predictable as day, he hurtled towards the big bottle at the other side of the table, not wanting to waste any time, he began gulping.
I took that as my sign to get the hell out of there before he got ideas.
“Come back here!” He hissed as I got to the kitchen table.
My heart beat faster as I walked back in fear.
“Sir?”
“Am I supposed to use my hand to scoop the food? Why can't you do anything right?”
He wasn't yelling but the venom seeping out of his voice was palpable.
“I'm sorry, I'm going to get it with drinking water now,” I replied, running off without waiting for his reply.
Every movement hurt and I hated how I couldn't do anything but take every curveball he threw at me.
I got the cutlery, water, and napkins and went to give him.
He was still drinking and I knew once he was done eating, he'd pass out.
That was the only time I had peace in my life.
Ironic, isn't it?
I cleaned up the kitchen, it used to be a place of joy and happiness but now, I was cleaning off my blood from the ground, my tears too.
When I was done, I packed a bit of food and hid it in my clothes. I didn't feel hungry at the moment but I knew he'd finish the rest of it before morning.
We were surviving on my mother's savings and I feared the day it would finish and I would be forced to begin working to feed him, just like she did.
He was passed out on the couch when I walked past the parlour, heading to the basement where he forced me to move in to so he could bring women over whenever he pleased and deny my existence.
It hurt, seeing my mum's memory and hard work desecrated in such a manner but I couldn't do anything, he was stronger than me in every way.
And at seventeen, I didn't look like my mates. All the beating had made me look malnourished and small, my ribs screaming at anyone who dared to look.
I got in and I locked my door tightly as I'd done ever since I woke up one morning to see him lying in front of my door. I didn't want to imagine what would have happened if I'd left it open.
I stored the plate under the box holding the little clothes I had, he'd burnt a lot of them in a fit of rage, back when I used to protest his cruelty.
Now, I've learned my lessons and have done my best to do whatever he wants.
I took a slow, painful shower as every part of my body had wounds on it, and then found the first aid kit that had become my friend over the last eleven months.
I started from the wounds on my neck, down to my ribs, and then where the hot water had peeled my skin off.
I could disguise everything else but I had no idea how I was going to do that with my hand.
If Penelope and her bees saw it tomorrow, I'll be toast.
It was horrible not having anywhere in the world that could give me peace. It hurt more that no one saw me withering away, from the once lively girl, now to this shell.
And the guilt I felt worsened with each passing day, my mum should have never tried to make me feel special on my birthday.
She wanted me to wake up to it on my birthday and smile but instead, I was awoken roughly in the midnight to the horrible news of her accident and then I watched her die.
I forced myself to sleep after cleaning my wounds; it was going to be a terrible birthday, I could feel it.
It was best to get as much sleep as possible.
I was used to waking up with pain hitting every square of my being but for some reason, it was different this morning.
Which was odd because he'd gone really far last night, hitting my body with his hands and legs as though I wasn't a living being.
I groggily stood up, it was still dark outside but I knew if I was to escape his cruelty this morning, I needed to get done with making breakfast for him before I left.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I'd not eaten in twenty-four hours.
I got up and went to the box I kept the food in and opened it.
That was when I noticed it.
My hand was healed.
Not dried up or anything but just completely healed, as though nothing had happened the previous day.
I looked at the other hand, maybe it was a mistake and I had actually dipped the left hand in hot water but not only were my two hands in perfect condition, the rest of my body was healed.
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face for the first time in a year.
It seemed that despite all the malnutrition and suffering, my wolf was back.
