Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
I like knowing that I can soothe her — when our mother won’t.
Not because she can’t.
It’s because she won’t bother trying.
My gaze moves to her sleeping form, a few feet away from us. She’s facing the other side, where the twin mattress is pushed up against the wall. Mothers are supposed to be nurturing, the source of love and affection for their children. Hadley Avery is none of those.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, make her stop!”
I bounce my baby sister in my arms, trying to get her to stop crying. She’s been in tears and screaming at the top of her lungs for hours now, and nothing will make her stop. I changed her diaper, offered her milk, tried to put her to sleep — but she just won’t stop crying.
“She might be in pain,” I whisper, absolutely terrified at just the thought of Naomi hurting and the fact that I can’t help her. I’m her older brother; I’m supposed to fulfill her needs. I always have—
But right now…
I don’t know what to do.
“No!” Our mother growls, stalking across the room of our very small living space. She rummages through our clothes, but I’m barely paying attention to her. “She’s just a fucking brat!”
I have Naomi in the crook of my arm, holding her firmly to my chest. Her tiny face is scrunched up, her lips pursed in a forceful cry. “She’s only seven months old,” I say, defensively.
Our mother huffs impatiently, and then walks back to the mattress. She lifts it up, makes an outraged sound in the back of her throat before dropping the mattress down again. She’s done this three times already, and I have an awful feeling that I know what she’s looking for.
Her fists are clenched, and I can see the visible furious lines of her rigid body.
My fingers brush against Naomi’s cheek, and I swipe away her tears. She looks up at me, her dark eyes blinking tearfully. She hiccups back a sob, and I swear it breaks my heart seeing her like this.
“What are you looking for?”
“The money I kept under the mattress.”
Time to rip off the band aid. “I needed it to buy her milk.”
“That was my last stash,” my mother hisses, her eyes dark and wild. Crazed. “I needed that money, you complete fool!”
Naomi needs it more, but I choose not to say those words out loud.
I know when to keep silent.
Aggression rolls off her in waves, as she runs her fingers through the hair. I’m afraid she’s going to yank it out. “I should have gotten rid of her when I had the chance,” she mutters under her breath, and it feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. “Now, it’s just another useless mouth to feed.”
What?
My arm tightens around Naomi.
I must have misheard my mother.
She’s not affectionate, and can be mean sometimes. But she’s not cruel. These words can’t belong to her. I don’t believe the cruelty in them.
Naomi cries harder.
My chest tightens painfully.
I think…
I’m going to be sick.
“Make her stop!” my mother screams.
I lurch forward, my feet moving before I can stop myself. Running out of the trailer, the door slams behind me, but I don’t stop running until I’m far enough, away from the trailer, until my lungs burn and my body tires.
Naomi is quiet in my arms, and I bring her closer to my face, holding her wet cheek against mine. “I have you. I promise, I got you.”
I’ll never let her go.
Never.
I think I remember a time when she was a good mother — caring and protective, sweet and patient. But maybe that time was just an illusion I created in my head.
Once I’m done with Naomi’s hair, I give her a pat on the head. “Okay, done. Stand up and let me see.”
She does so, and gives me an extra happy twirl. Her two pigtails are slightly sloppy, but I think she looks even cuter with them.
Naomi raises her arms over her head, and her round little belly pokes out from under her shirt. A shirt that’s too small for her now. I make a mental note to make a run to the thrift store tomorrow. I should be able to find something cheap.
I look down at my own faded shirt. The kids at school mock me — trailer trash, they’d say, snickering as I walk by — but I’m used to it now. Opinions of strangers don’t affect me anymore. I only care what my sister thinks of me and to her — I’m the slayer of dragons.
It’s the only thing that matters.
I know I can’t afford to get both of us clothes. Not with the little money I get from working part-time at the junkyard. Kenan doesn’t pay me that much. What I get is barely enough to feed us bread and cheese. I’ve made sure to carefully hide the money from my mother.