9. Addy
Chapter nine
Addy
I could hear the banging and hushed anger from down the hall. So, I shouldn't be surprised when I push the door open to find Cheryl and William plucking through my drawers like vultures over a carcass.
But, I am. I had little privacy and minimal autonomy, but they usually left my room alone. Which meant one thing.
Preston had decided on a different course of action. I run my fingertips over my lips remembering the kiss Dre had pressed to them. It wasn’t one of affection or even lust. It had been meant to do exactly this. Sow chaos.
I know better than to hope.
"There you are, you little slut" Cheryl says, her voice clipped and cold, sliding over my skin like battery acid. "Don't mind us. We're just taking out the trash."
My heart skips with betrayal, not surprise.
"Trash?" The word slips out, a whisper of defiance.
"Your clothes, Adelaide," William grumbles, tossing a stack of shirts into a box with careless abandon. He looks at me with wild eyes, his face slowly taking on the complexion of a tomato. "You represent this family. Do you understand that? We won't have you parading around like some...some..."
"Like a little fucking slut!" Cheryl finishes for him, her eyes sparking with the kind of zeal found in religious fervor.
I reel, taking their words like a punch to the gut without the bruise. Words claw up my throat, seeking freedom, but I swallow them down. What could I say that they hadn't already decided?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I offer up weakly.
"Your brother saw you with that Ortega boy," Cheryl spits Chess's surname as if it were a curse. "And Preston," she continues, disdain curling her lip, "he told us all about how you whored yourself out for that heathen right in front of him."
Ice water floods my veins.
"I didn't do anything wrong," I try, knowing full well how hollow my defense sounds. Even if it is the truth.
"Noth-nothing wrong?" William sputters, spittle flying from furious lips. "We took you in. We've clothed you. We've fed you."
Debatable.
"We plucked you from poverty and gave you a life of fucking luxury," he wields a finger as he takes a menacing step in my direction.
I do my best to stand my ground. Even a flinch in retreat will be an opening for them.
"Enough," Cheryl snaps. "We'll deal with this properly. You're grounded until further notice."
Grounded. As if I ever had wings here. I retreat within myself, finding refuge in the fortress of my mind.
The swish of garbage bags being filled with fabric echoes hollowly in the closest thing I'd ever had to a sanctuary. Each article they discard was chosen by them. Stuffed into my closet by hands that weren't mine. Nothing in there had been my choice. They were all clothes befitting a political princess, the image they demanded I uphold.
Now, it all lays at the bottom of trash bags.
I don't even like any of it, but I feel the loss like an aching hole in my chest. My eyes flicker to the built-in shelves beside my bed and find they’ve left my collection of trinkets alone. Small victories.
I quickly avert my eyes so they don’t see that there are things I actually care about in here.
"Only the basics from now on," Cheryl's voice slices through the air, her fingers pinching a lace-trimmed camisole with disgust before tossing it away. "Plain white. Modest. That's what you'll wear."
"Quite right, dear." William chimes in, his eyes roaming over me in a way that sends shivers down my spine. "A girl should be pure , shouldn't she?"
I wrap my arms around myself, feeling suddenly exposed despite the fabric still covering my body. "Yes, Father," I mutter, knowing resistance is futile.
"We will be choosing your clothing from here on out. You will dress with modesty, you little fucking slut. And I will be searching you before you leave for school lest you think you can sneak something past us," William continues.
"Of course, Father," I offer quietly.
"Good. This is for your own good, Adelaide. We're just trying to protect the family's reputation." His words hold an edge, and my stomach churns with unspoken implications.
"The family..." I whisper, more to myself than to them. The word feels like a lie, a cover for control. These people aren’t my family. And none of them act with decorum—most certainly not the angelic perfection they expect from me.
William hides his affairs well, but not well enough. Cheryl is the very definition of cunt. And Wesley? I don’t know how he manages to hide the things he gets up to from the press.
"Exactly. You should be grateful," he replies, a smile playing on his lips that doesn't reach his eyes. They never reach his eyes.
"Grateful," I echo quietly, the bile rising. Their version of care is just another form of confinement.
"Remember, Adelaide, you're under our roof," he continues. "Our rules are your salvation."
"Salvation," I bite back sarcastically under my breath, turning away to hide the contempt on my face. Their 'salvation' is suffocating, a cage disguised as concern.
"Maybe we should implement a harsher curfew," Cheryl suggests, her tone methodical, as if she is discussing pruning roses instead of pruning what little is left of my wings.
"An excellent idea," William agrees, and my heart sinks further. "You will come home immediately following school, there will be no socializing. And certainly no unsupervised time with boys."
"Of course not," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I don't bother telling them I already follow those rules. Still, I can feel the walls closing in, the promise of a life outside these four walls slipping through my fingers like sand.
"Look at us when we're speaking to you," William commands, and I lift my head to meet his gaze.
"Is that clear, Adelaide?"
"Crystal," I manage, my throat tight, the reality settling in like a cold fog. They own me—every aspect of my existence—and there is nothing I can do but nod and pretend to acquiesce.
"We have given you everything," Cheryl seethes.
You've given me nothing.
"You are an ungrateful little slut, do you hear me?"
There is nothing to be grateful for. I would rather live on the streets than in this house.
"You need to start taking responsibility for yourself and your actions," Cheryl continues, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. "Your responsibility is to this family."
Family. The word is a prison. These people aren't my family—they're wardens, overseers of a life I am desperate to leave behind.
My responsibility is to myself.
I want to blame Chess, to rage against Dre, but the truth is a bitter pill stuck in my throat. It isn't them. It's this place, these people, this life that was never truly mine.
"You need to think about how you'll make amends, Adelaide."
"Make amends," I whisper to myself. But there's nothing to mend when the fabric of your being is deemed unworthy by those who are supposed to nurture it.
What I need is to stay the fuck away from those boys.
Away from anything that makes me feel too much, want too much, be too much. Because in the end, it isn't about longing or love—it’s about survival. And I intend to survive.
I watch from my perch on the edge of the bed as they continue to rifle through the few possessions they've left untouched. There's a methodical coldness in their movements—no corner left untouched, no box left unturned in their crusade to cleanse me of my sins.
"What's this, Adelaide?" Cheryl's voice is steel wrapped in velvet, and I follow it to see her holding my lifeline—the box of protein bars I had squirreled away for days like these.
"Emergency food," I say, my words clipped, a feeble attempt at defiance.
"Emergency? What kind of emergency would you have that we couldn't provide for? No wonder you've been putting on weight." The disdain is dripping from her tone like acid.
"I'm sorry," I mutter, knowing any explanation will be twisted into more ammunition against me.
She scrutinizes the nutrition labels, her lips curled in distaste. "We feed you well enough. You don't need these... extravagances." With a swift motion, the protein bars join the pile of discarded clothing—a mountain of my autonomy, now rubble.
"Please, I—" I start, but the lump in my throat strangles the plea.
"Quiet," she snaps, sealing the bag with exaggerated care before placing it outside of my room, out of my reach. "You'll thank us one day."
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and bite back the retort simmering on my tongue, the taste of copper blooming in my mouth where I've bitten too hard. Because I doubt that very much.
When the room is finally barren, when every piece of me deemed offensive has been purged, they stand in the doorway, a united front of misguided righteousness.
"Stay here and reflect on your actions," William says, a smirk playing on his lips that makes my skin crawl.
"No dinner tonight. Perhaps hunger will teach you discipline," Cheryl smirks.
Then I must be the most disciplined teenager there is.
"Discipline," I echo hollowly, the word a stone sinking in my stomach. They turn, leaving me in the shadow of their judgment, the sound of the key turning in the lock a grim punctuation.
The room feels alien, stripped of everything that made it at least a little mine, much like how I felt within this family. Hollow. Erased.
??????
The night presses in, a cloak of darkness pierced only by the sliver of moonlight that slips through the edges of the curtains. I sit there, knees hugged to my chest, the hollowness inside echoing with each ragged breath.
"Can't think about them. Can't..." My thoughts are a tangle of emotion—a mix of longing and self-preservation.
The moon shifts, casting a pale glow over the sparse room, over the stripped bed and bare walls. It's a cell.
"Feelings are dangerous," I whisper into the stillness, my voice a thread of sound. "They make you vulnerable."
The click of the lock stops my heart. The door swings open to reveal William. He's wearing the same charcoal pants and white button down as earlier. The suit jacket is gone and he's rolled the sleeve to just below his elbow.
I watch wearily as he dips his fingers into his pockets and leans against the door frame.
"You know this is for your own good, right? You brought this on yourself," his voice is oozing with feigned concern.
"Of course," I echo back, the ill-fitting words catching in my throat like sandpaper.
William's eyes flash with a sense of triumph. He takes a step closer to me, towering over my hunched form.
In the oppressive silence, I brace myself for what comes next.
His hand moves to rest on the back of my neck, his fingers digging in just hard enough to remind me of his power. "I'm sure there are ways you can earn back some privileges, Adelaide. We're not unreasonable people."
No, they weren't. Because they weren't people at all. They were monsters.