6. Kayden
KAYDEN
I take off my shirt and expose my back to my father, waiting for the belt to hit my skin.
I’m leaning against the closet in my room, ready for my punishment.
The blow doesn’t come.
“The fuck are you doing?” he asks instead. “Put that shirt back on.”
I turn around, my jaw tight.
My father scans my high school transcript, with my less-than-stellar grades. My GPA sucks ass.
I hate it. Fucking hate that I can’t focus in classes long enough to remember things. I tried my best, I really did.
“You’re not getting into any college with these grades,” he says as if I’m not well aware of that. “Thank Jesus we didn’t apply early decision to anything. That would have been a fucking embarrassment to the family.”
He puts the transcripts down on my desk.
“Luckily, I always have a plan B. A businessman like me has to, knowing he doesn’t have the sharpest tool in the shed as a son.”
Fuck him.
He doesn’t need to beat me up to make me feel like shit.
It’s not enough that I had to sit through the graduation ceremony with a fake smile on my face while he watched, knowing what awaited me at home. He’s now going to rail me with words.
I close my fists tight, nails digging at my skin.
The bickering between Maddy and me has nothing on this. I managed to survive the whole year of us being fake siblings, a family or whatever, despite wanting to push her to the edge constantly. Despite everything we’ve done to each other. Even after that time on the roof, when I almost went too far.
I know I’m a jerk, but I don’t recognize the me of that night.
I wouldn’t really hurt her, would I? Having her is what keeps me going.
The pranks have become something of a pastime. The only thing that brings me satisfaction.
I have been going easy on her since then, though, while she backed off entirely. Not going out of her way to push my buttons. I scared her that day.
So I had to go back to the entry-level pranks. Stealing things from her, scaring her off with my car. That’s when she started playing my game again. And it thrills me all the same, as long as I get a reaction from her.
That and jerking off to images of her.
The way she gnaws at her lip every time I provoke her.
The way those pink dresses she’s worn ever since I’ve known her hug her tits and show just enough of her thighs.
Even the way she hides in her room and reads those books of hers.
I’ve Googled them more than once, and I know they’re pure smut.
Yet, she doesn’t give a fuck and I love that.
Well, I mean—I think she does. She hasn’t walked around the house with one of those for a while.
Now, I have to watch her read them through the camera that I set up in her room.
Buried in between her collection in the bookcase.
Clearly, there are so many books that she didn’t notice it.
God, I wish I could lose myself in a book and forget this fucking reality.
But here we are. I’m once again reminded that this is my life. That I’m my father’s puppet.
That no matter how hard I try to keep my distance, he still has power over me, reminding me that without his money, I’m nothing. Even if I wanted to be. He’s prohibited me from working—blackmailed me into it. He’s got contacts everywhere. He always had. He buys people off.
And I might be big, but striking him back when he hits me will get me nowhere. He can be a very convincing man.
So, I gotta suck it up and do whatever he wants. Let him reward me with his money when I do something good, which isn’t often. Mostly when Maddy and her mother are around.
Of course—he’s a saint in front of them. He doesn’t show his dark side in front of others.
But the more he gives to me, the more he takes from my soul.
My fucking car? That was a present welcoming me to my new life with Maddy and Miranda.
And I had to steal alcohol from the house, along with cigarettes, and resell them to some freshmen, to make up for the money I needed, because my savings weren’t enough.
All to cover up the fuck up, so my father doesn’t find out.
“You’re going to do a coding course,” my father announces, bringing me back from my thoughts. “So you can help me with that side of my business. At least, until we figure out a solution for your shit brain and we find a school that takes you.”
I grind my teeth. “I don’t want to go to school.”
I wanted to—but my hockey dreams are crushed. You can’t get a scholarship if you can’t keep your grades up. That’s why no one offered me one, even though I crushed it in the team. And I only found out about that when it was too late.
I’m fucking done with education. Clearly, studying isn’t for me. We both know it.
“I don’t want to study coding.”
That shit is boring.
“Well, you will. I don’t plan on having a lazy ass son who stays at home and does nothing.”
He says that, but he has no problem maintaining his new wife, who he forced to quit her own job so he could provide for her. Now, Maddy’s mom spends her days in this house. That’s how he takes control of people. Making them depend on him.
Miranda is another victim. I have nothing against that woman. Even if I hate how much her daughter affects my brain chemistry…and my cock.
“I’ll have so much time…Maybe it’s time for me to get a job? Earn some money. You won’t even notice I’m here.” I volunteer my own plan, one that I came up within the last minute. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let me.
“Like hell you will.” My father scoffs, running a hand through his graying, dark hair. His expression is so serious that you can see all the wrinkles on his face. Signs of aging. “You’re doing coding, and that’s final.”
“I think fucking not.”
I don’t know why I say it. I shouldn’t have.
I’ve been taken over by something. I’m not myself.
He stares at me now, lips tight, a frown taking over his features.
“What did you just say?” he mutters.
“I’m not going to study coding.”
He cusses under his breath, and before I know what’s happening, I’m overwhelmed by a sharp pain on the side of my face. The blow came quicker than I could have ever anticipated.
The fury of my father’s fist. It’ll leave a bruise.
“Shit. Look what you made me do.” He cracks his knuckles. “You will not challenge my word again. You understand?”
I massage my jaw, move on to my cheek, then my temple. It hurts everywhere. I want to hit him back so bad.
“Or what?” I spit out. My words are the only control I can take, and even they feel foreign to my tongue. “What are you going to do?”
He breathes heavily. He won’t say he’ll hurt me again or that he might do it even harder next time.
He’ll never admit it.
“You’ll kill me?” I dare him to answer, pushing him. “You want your only son gone? Like my mother and my brother?”
“And whose fucking fault is that?” he shouts.
I don’t say anything. Don’t remind him who did what. I don’t push it further because I haven’t in years. I never said anything. Pretend as if nothing happened, that’s his way of getting over everything. No matter how many scars we’re left with.
Don’t show weakness.
Fuck him.
Someday, I’ll show him.
“This conversation is over. You’re going to do a lot of coding.
Get fucking used to it.” He walks toward the opening in the floor.
“And you’re moving into one of the empty guest rooms downstairs.
I’m tired of this fucking attic. It’s messing up my back.
I’m going to keep a closer eye on you from now on, and it won’t be here. You’re moving ASAP.”
Fuck.
“Ah,” he says before climbing down the ladder. “And put on some of that fucking makeup I got you before you go down for dinner, won’t you? We don’t want Maddy and Miranda to imagine things that didn’t happen.”
He leaves, and I move to my closet again, opening the doors and crouching by the last drawer.
The one where I keep all my secrets. I take out the two different tubes of makeup he bought me for emergencies. He doesn’t usually beat me anywhere visible, and he hasn’t since he married Miranda. But he’s been known to slip sometimes, so he had me prepared.
I dig out the bottle of wine I stole from my father’s secret stash in the library and kept to myself.
I do this every month, multiple times, and I still sell it sometimes. We have so much alcohol lying around the house that he never notices. Or maybe he doesn’t give a fuck. I don’t care.
Spending a few moments in front of my desk with the makeup, I massage some onto my skin, using my phone as a mirror. There’s no bruise yet, so I do my whole face to make sure nothing stands out.
Once I’m done, I pick up the wine bottle again and feel the back of my jeans with my other hand, verifying my pack of cigarettes is on me, too. Satisfied, I climb out my open window and onto the roof.
I need a fucking break.