Content warning of child neglect and abuse. Advanced trigger warning for a scene that denotes sexual abuse in the middle of the chapter. The TW is labeled and bolded. Nothing explicit but imagery and themes are present. I will add CW at the beginning of my chapters until the story progresses away from these themes.
Jay dreads the situation his dad placed him in. The brutal humiliation and insensitivity of his dad's actions anger him. School managed to ease up for Jay. He was adjusting, no longer intimidated by his new kid status, a milestone for him. Jay's father ruined it by pulling him out of school for the inaugural Take Your Daughter to Work Day. To make the matter worse, his father had the office request him over the P.A. system. His whole class heard. Many of the classmates taunted him and laughed as he collected his backpack to leave.
He sighs, nestling his head into his backpack. Unzipping the second pocket, he pulls out his composition notebook and takes a seat in his dad's office chair. He glances around his surroundings. The office is dimly lit, untidy, small, narrow, and with no window, he wonders how his dad gets work done. For Jay, the space is simple enough, and his dad rarely checks in. A personal closet while he is at his dad's job. Springing the images in his head to life, Jay doodles a few cartoons. The embarrassment of this morning permeating his thoughts, he sketches a mightier version of himself.
The emasculating tactics his father acts on him are cruel. Nothing is wrong with being a girl. He is simply a kid having fun, he is no sissy. The joy he finds in his activities do not determine gender. He is not his dad's daughter. Even if he were, he still would not want to be at work with him.
Digging for his pencil case, he selects crayons and colored pencils to fill in his art. Proud of his coloring, Jay turns to a new page, and he sucks in a breath stumbling upon an older drawing of him and his mom. Face full of love, he scans his doodle and reminisces on the day he drew the picture. He impresses himself; his doodling is getting better. The image of his mom materializes, and the vision he projects is of him and his mom twirling in circles. Twirling is his mom's favorite pastime, or so she says. Frowns turn upside down when you are twirling around. Jay giggles as the illusion disappears. One promise he stores close to his heart is growing up to be a better man than his father. He would rather turn out to be like his mother.
With inspiration on his mind, Jay sketches out his mom and bubble letters. The sound of the bell chiming piques him. A loud commotion ensues, and he jumps from his chair. Closing his notebook, he barrels for the door and peeks around the door jamb.
His dad speaks to the older woman, and Jay overhears her asking for an application. Patrick immediately denies her, and she points to the help wanted sign, bargaining her way into his good graces. The fast comments out of her mouth on the improvements she will bring to the business fluster Patrick. Her snippety attitude convinces his dad to review it. Patrick catches Jay, stopping him from scurrying out of sight.
"You interested in my job now?" Patrick looks at him inquisitively. If Jay were bold enough, he would respond in excellently timed sarcasm. Instead, he sucks in his lips, peering over his dad to the woman. "Hmph. Lame day is proving to be useful. I can show you the ropes. I'll have you work with me in the summer," he adds enthusiastically.
"I'm seven, Dad," Jay smacks his lips, oddly staring at his dad. The cadence of his voice almost sounds proud, confusing him.
"Seven going on eight. Old enough for me," Patrick responds. His pencil scratches the paper, adding his marks on the application where necessary.
Jay sneaks his gaze to the woman in the lobby. Concealment on his side keeps him undetectable, the woman overlooking him. She scopes the room and reaches over the desk, stealing the dollar bills out of the tip jar. Ruffling up the money she leaves behind. Shocked, Jay whips his head to his dad. Judging whether to tell his dad what he observed, Jay stays quiet, feigning naïve.
Patrick gestures for Jay to sit back down in his office. Walking up to the reception, he lays the application down on the counter. "Barbara Montgomery, is it?"
"Yes, newly married," she beams, "Everyone calls me Bunny."
"Bunny," he mocks, "A woman like you thinks she can do a man's work."
"Oh, darling. I'm good for it," her smile widening, leaning on the counter. Bunny rolls a coin in her fingers, intentional in her actions, finding his sobriety coin perched on the register.
He recognizes the red coin instantly. "First month's a bitch." Sitting in the rolling chair, he studies her, "When do you want to start?"
"As early as tomorrow," she eyes him, "Newly married and new to the neighborhood. Pretty hard finding a group to meet. Sponsor too."
Patrick heeds for a moment. Typically, he avoids mixing his personal life and work. This Bunny character needs more vetting. He scratches his forehead, "My street is swarming in langers not wanting to hang up the glass. Pitiful group changes houses. We all chip in for a building space."
Fascinated by the prospect of cash at her disposal, Bunny suggests an idea, "I got a wallet. Goes a long way."
Stretching his arms, he rips the end of her application and jots down his address. "Happening round four, tomorrow."
Bunny accepts the strip, pocketing it. "My husband works 'til the evening. I gotta bring my kid."
"Fine," he waves her off, cringing at the fact a child will be in his house, "You'll start Monday."
Erin considers her confinement to her bedroom as a token of gratitude; and not a device in jest Bunny used to show her new husband her parenting skills. She lies upside down drumming her feet on the headboard of her new bed. New. A vile word and phrasing she would give anything to not hear her mother speak. New bed, new clothes, new, new, new. No part of it feels new. She would rather trade in new for consistency. Her mom's spur-of-the-moment coupledom lacks the odds of survival. The only consistency Erin sees in the future for that is the marriage ending. Bunny errs on a side of caution, punishing Erin repeatedly because of her rejection to act in accordance.
Requesting Erin to act a part is a presumptuous ask. One she does not want to play. Her guard is up, rightfully so. She is the sensible one, the mature one in their skewed mother-daughter relationship. It tires her out. She is where she exactly wants to be, lying in bed. Her reasons valid for urging their drawn-up manifestation of a family to implode. She refuses to settle, to have this be her life. Sadly, Bunny disagrees. Bunny exploits and will use her husband for all he is worth. For as long as possible.
Tentative knocking bounces off her door and grabs her attention. Announcing their arrival is Bunny's husband, her latest stepfather.
"Didn't see you downstairs for dinner. You not hungry?" He peeks in, holding the door open by the knob.
"I'm grounded," Erin bemoans, rocking to her side to face away from him.
"Grounded doesn't mean you can't eat dinner," he lets go of the knob, stepping partially in the room. "More leftovers to go around. You don't have to miss dinner tonight. Got to heat it, though."
"My mom says I'm not allowed to use the stoves."
"Do you know how to use the microwave?"
"No."
"I'll show ya."
…
TW: grooming, indicators of predatory sexual abuse
He scoops a large helping of tonight's dinner onto her plate. Walking it over to the microwave, he places it inside and secures the door. Grabbing the step stool, he directs her to prop up.
Erin stomps over and readies herself to step up when he lifts her in place.
"There." He nods to the microwave, "Food that's made won't need to be heated up too much. Only a couple of minutes." He circles his finger on the keypad, "It's the same as counting except in minutes. One minute hit '1', '2' for two, and add two zeros. That way the computer in the microwave knows you are asking for a minute. Got that?"
"Ye-Yeah," she says warily. Erin keys the buttons for one minute. She recoils instantly feeling his hand rub her back. "I'm okay, I'm not hungry," she moves away from him. He grabs her, catching her before she trips off the step stool.
"Be careful," he sets her down, holding onto her arm. "Sit at the table. I'll heat the food for you. You should eat dinner."
She shuffles to the chair, sitting rigid until he rests the plate in front of her. He watches her eat, taking a seat next to her.
"Your birthday happened already, right? How are old are you now?"
Slowing her bites, she answers him, "Eight." She forks her food, pushing it aside for the warmer pieces.
"Your mom, she mentioned it was your birthday. Even though you're grounded, I convinced her to celebrate. I gave her a bunch of money to pick out a few things for you, decorations too. In the morning, it will be you and me while she is out."
The color drains on her face, washing off and blanching her skin. Controlling her reaction, Erin stares ahead and brings the fork to her mouth. "Okay," acknowledging him after she swallows.
"You're well behaved, Erin," he pets her hair, "You are a special girl, and you deserve nice things." He clears her plate from the table, excusing her to return to her bedroom.
…
Locking her door, Erin checks the bottom of the door for movement. If she were stronger, she would push her bulky dresser to block anyone from entering. Scurrying into her bedroom, she disorders her shelves and throws her clothes to the ground. Opening the closet, she splays her pairs of shoes and tosses out hangers. She positions a couple of pillows on her bed, under her covers. Grabbing her backpack, she opens her window, and the draft blows the curtains. Pulling out a flashlight, she steers back to turn off the bedroom lights. She switches the flashlight on and nudges the nightstand off the wall.
Her new bed for the evening, the knee wall she found. Confident in her hiding spot, Erin works the hatch open and goes inside. Remembering to rearrange the nightstand back, she cracks the hatch for air to flow in. Her sleep quarters are at no capacity to fit her in it, she ignores the discomfort and huddles in a fetal position. She freezes to a shuddering halt hearing the doorknob shake.
"You don't need to check on Erin. She knows how to put herself to sleep," Bunny blusters, glancing to the door.
"Yeah, the fire escape is on her side. It's been making noise. I was going to check to make sure it's not disturbing her."
"She will be disturbed if you wake her up. Let's go to bed."
"I'll pass around later to make sure she is asleep."
"You won't need to do that," Bunny motions him to head to their bedroom.
"What is your game here, Bunny?"
"Excuse me?"
He looks away from her, "Do you not need a father in her life?"
"Erin is ungrateful. You're plenty a stepfather enough. Now, let's go to bed. I must get up early for the birthday fiasco you want to do. I repeat, she's fine. She sleeps through the night."
He slams his fist to the wall, "Bullshit." Crossing his arms, "You sport Erin like she is a part of all of this. Maybe instead of being worried about me, perhaps be worried about how you pick 'em. I'm the least of your worries, dear," he bumps her en route to their bedroom.
Bunny pushes up the sleeves of her robe, crossing her arms. She scoffs and rolls her eyes at her daughter's bedroom, following behind her husband.
End TW
Last night was a fretful bout of sleep for Erin. She rebelled against sleep, too paranoid of her living nightmare. Her solace today, Bunny's invitation to an Alcohol Anonymous Meeting. Having time outside the house supplies her with time to identify nearby landmarks. Cataloging the features in her head is much better than listening to her mother talk. Erin reflects and realizes she must be her mother's standalone friend. Her main confidant. Especially with how detailed she is in updating her on their life. As if Erin does not comprehend what is going on.
"The doctor said I am one and a half months pregnant. Damn player, Richard Courtney, knocked me up. You remember him. He has more going for him than the loser I married. He can be your next dad. I'll secure a lot of money faster using him."
Her legs turn to jelly. The words repeat in her head. Next dad. Sweet little daughter. Special girl. Erin hobbles, her vision blurring and ears ringing. Her mother is abominable. Same with her husband. Bunny does not know how to pick them.
"Erin, stop fooling around," Bunny tugs her wrist, hurrying down the sidewalk.
"I'm dizzy."
"Be dizzy when we get where we need to go."
…
Her scowl too kind of an expression to stare at her mother with. The depiction of her mother is the opposite of the face she paints to these strangers. Bunny charms the guests into letting her manage the bowl collection. She watches her mom steal their money, pocketing the larger bills, and fluffing the bills leftover. Erin mimics her, wrapping a sandwich in a napkin and pocketing it in her backpack. Adding a water bottle and bag of chips from the counter, she tidies up and goes to follow her mom.
Rounding the corner, her mother shoos her to find a place to go. Erin wanders down the hallway, nearing the front door. Her sigh is full of deep-seated languish as she debates running out and leaving her mother entirely. A mere eight years old she cannot survive by herself. Reluctantly she stays and searches for a spot to be hidden. The first door, under the stairs, is the best option. Opening it, she discovers a closet. Even better.
Closing the door behind her, she removes her backpack, stopping halfway hearing a noise. Erin yelps hearing it again. She covers her mouth to muffle the sound from the adults. "Who's there?" She hurries back to the door. Her vision adjusts to the dark, and an outline moves around the large coats. The fluorescent hallway light filters in, casting a highlight on the newcomer's eyes. Another kid is hiding.
"You hide in closets too?" Jay questions the person that entered. "Oh, um," he follows awkwardly, "probably yes because you're in here with me." Two random kids in a dark closet are an odd occurrence. At least for him. Unsure of how to maintain his attempt at conversation, he asks once more of the reasoning they are in the closet.
"Nothing's happening out there anyway," Erin shrugs, rubbing her hands on her crossed arms, her nonverbal cues invisible to them.
"Yeah," he breathes, "Sit," he scooches over to add space.
Erin hesitates, gingerly walking over to sit next to them. She stiffens up, tightening her arms and legs together. The silence between them does not bother her. She feels as awkward as they do. Finding interest in her clothes, she picks at the loose fabric of her sweater. Despite the dark room, the odd circumstance of them both hiding out, and the timing of meeting a stranger seemingly her age is a relief.
The puffs of their breaths are calming. Her hardened expression twitches up in the form of a smile. She releases a breath. Whether it is a scoff, or a chuckle is unknown, and she sits in the feeling of the near smile hinting for an appearance. Erin hunches over, resting her chin on her arms. Her life is reclusive at best. They move from place to place, never securing anywhere stable. Her upbringing gives her no reason to smile. Before she resigns to her emotional state, crinkle sounds next to her allow her to deflect.
They pass her a container, and it bumps her shoulder since they cannot locate her hands in the dark. Erin pats lightly until her hand finds the item. Using her hands, she makes out what they offer her. A plastic peel on top and compartments on the bottom, it must be a snack.
"In case you're hungry," Jay shares, withholding he heard stomach growls, not wanting to embarrass whoever is sitting next to him. "Dunkaroos," he chuckles, "Um, tastes good and fun to eat. My mommy leaves behind stuff in all our closets. Not all of them, nothing in my brother's room, or the bathrooms …"
Erin lifts an eyebrow, entertained by their rambling. "You live here?"
"Mm-hmm." He opens his snack, "I mean, yes, I live here. This is my house, my parents' house." He mumbles, conscious of everything he is doing. Especially since he knows the stranger next to him is a girl. He barely talks to girls at his school, minus his teacher. "You came with one of your parents?" He splutters, grabbing his first cookie.
Her brows furrow, "Yeah," she scrunches her mouth in a grimace, "My mom." Erin lowers her eyes to the floor dejectedly and thumbs her unopened snack.
She knows better than to think her mother would take this meeting seriously. Bunny postures, she plays games, and she is excellent at tricking people. Erin receives her practice firsthand. Erin sighs sullenly, recalling all her hopeful instances where her mom would dangle a permanent place to stay or an appointed husband in her face, promising them a life different than the previous one. Only for it to be terrible living conditions and even worse husband. Instead of looking forward to any of it, she watches for signs of when it will go wrong - when she needs to run. Hope lets her down, so she controls it.
"I have Play-Doh," Jay munches on his cookies, "My mommy puts toys and crafts in here too, for me," he chirps, shuffling around for the toy.
"Must be nice."
"Yeah, it is. My mom is great," he smiles in the darkened room. He hands her the toy can, and she swats it away, the Play-Doh rolling to the door.
"Can we … just sit here?" Her raspy voice breaks. Whoever the kid is, they are well-off. The happiness in their tone reminds her of all the other kids she encounters at school. Relating to any of them is hard. Excruciatingly impossible. Cluelessly unaware of who is in the closet with her, she reels in her temperament. Their voice is soft and high, not giving her clues on if they are a boy or a girl. Boys sound like girls at their age. They could be either. No matter, they have a home, food, toys, and a mommy; and she has none of those things.
"O' course. Sure. I, I can sit with you. We can sit. I'm sitting with you now. Um, I, I mean, I'm already-"
"What's your name?"
Patrick and Bunny flock down the hallway to the closet door. "I'm sure your daughter wouldn't've left. My boys futz around, but they know how to stay in the house."
"Yeah? Well, my kid hides. Big ol' nuisance." Bunny opens the first door she passes. The new light in the closet reveals the youngsters. She is furious, "Ack. What are you doing, Erin? Why are you in here?" She rushes up to her, snatching her hand, and pulls her up to her feet.
Erin drops her snack out of her hand. She yanks her hand from her mother's grip, turning around to retrieve it. Bending down to stealthily conceal the snack in her sweater pocket, her eyes meet her companion's. The twitch in her lips slowly emerges. Her stranger in the dark is a boy. He has a sweetness to his eyes, a beautiful crystal color, an outstanding blue. His eyes dart behind her, her mother grabbing the hood of her sweater.
"Let's go." Bunny drags Erin out, her hand pushing on her shoulder.
"There a reason your daughter was in my closet with my son. I want none of those shenanigans in my house," Patrick snips, "Don't come back to my home or to my work." Baffled, Bunny responds with an incredulous look.
"Let's go," Bunny huffs angrily, jerking on Erin's ear, leading her out.
"I can't believe you. Why-What … Hiding in a closet, Erin? With another kid? You ruin everything I try to do," she shoves her to the sidewalk, glaring at her daughter for an answer. Bunny rolls her eyes and presses forward up the sidewalk, thinking of her a new strategy. Erin missing from her side, Bunny spins around, and Erin is planted in her spot, her hands fiddling in her pocket.
"You take something from their house? What do you have?" Bunny runs up to her, reaching for Erin's hand. Erin fumbles with the snack, and Bunny seizes it, tossing it into the street.
"We don't need anything from those people."
"That's my food," Erin rasps, gulping as she starts to hyperventilate. She runs to fetch back her snack, Bunny fast behind her.
"No!" Bunny drills, her foot crushing the carton and stomping it profusely. "You don't need it. You shouldn't have been in that closet in the first place." She motions Erin to get moving, "We're leaving."
Erin remains steady, not budging. Her lips wobble, squinting her eyes to prevent her mother from seeing a display of tears. Her mom reminds her again they are leaving, but Erin fists her hands and shakes her head.
Bunny slaps her across the face as a result, "Stop this! Come on."
Erin's nails cut her skin, dulling the sting of her reddened cheek. She does the one thing she should have done a long time ago. Using all the energy, she screams. She yells loud, releasing her anger, her pain, and her sadness. The cry is unsuccessful, failing to express what she truly feels inside.
…
Jay pads the ground in the closet, standing up. He ignores his father's questions to him, proceeding to the door. The girl, the stranger beside him, she is a girl. He knew she was when she opened the closet door. He noticed her long hair and pale skin first. When she bent down for her snack, he got a closer look at her. In those two, three seconds, she became much more than a stranger. Her rounding cheeks, from her smile, had him matching hers with a toothy grin.
Jumping on the couch in the front room, Jay tugs the curtain, peering outside. He watches the exchange, the entire scene playing out before his eyes. His eyes fill with emotion at her treatment. Erin's treatment is cruel and tough to keep his focus on. The sight triggers experiences of his own. He pays attention, watching her eyes glaze over before she begins to scream, the screech reaching his ears. Jay startles, hearing his dad call his name.
"Stop prying in other people's business," Patrick pounds, his footfall inches to Jay. "The two of youse hanging in a closest, for what? What were the two of youse doing in there?"
Jay bravely sneers at his father, lines of tears rolling down his face. Withdrawing from the window, Jay runs upstairs. Ignoring his dad's flurry of unanswered questions, he dashes to his bedroom. Hopping on his bed, Jay pouts. He connects to Erin, the girl he met. Upset too because they both have awful parents. Her mom. His dad. Alcohol, an influence or not, creates mean, evil people. Patrick lessened his drinking; however, he finds ways to be vicious to Jay. Overwhelmed by the similarities of what he witnessed, Jay cries, hiding his face in his pillow. His father is unwilling to change. Without fail, day in and day out, Patrick enjoys the power of his meanness. It appears Erin's mom is the same. Some parents are amazing, and some are horrible, so, so horrible.
AN: I realized I should have included warnings on content on the first chapter. Sorry about that. Let me know if there are any other warnings that need identifying as some themes can be upsetting. My only other scene that will have a similar trigger warning, like the one in this chapter, is when I introduce Charlie. If it changes to more, I'll add the descriptor.
Thanks for the comments, favs, and follows on this. ;u; This story will most likely be at least 10 chapters. It will moving along a timeline of certain ages. I'm planning for the next chapter to be the iconic seven minutes in heaven. But, we will see as I am trying to keep these chapters shorter and only my final chapter is done.