Chapter Eight

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The grandfather clock in the entryway chimed midnight. Twelve, soft, low chimes. Jo sighed and slid down into the couch. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the rainbow sherbet she had bought a few hours ago. She stuck the pink, sweet treat into her mouth to savor the raspberry flavor.

"Happy Birthday, Josie," she muttered to herself. "You're officially an adult. A near bankrupt adult who lives with her evil step-mother and baby half-brother. Way to go, self," she chided herself. Jo sighed and spooned another bite, orange this time, into her mouth.

Cyrene had said she would be home Sunday night, and so there Jo sat, waiting for her step-mother to enter the house. She was no doubt going to be drunk and - if Jo knew anything about Derek - high, so her entrance would be more like an attempted stumble.

Jo sulked with her sherbet, disappointed in herself. She shouldn't have to put up with Cyrene's antics, her irresponsibility. Jo glanced at her dim phone screen. 12:06. Jo scowled and set the phone down. Addie and Frankie had text her earlier that Sunday, asking if Jo was okay and if her mother was home yet. Jo had replied with a curt, "I'm fine," and hadn't bothered to reply to the following messages. Tina hadn't apologized yet. Jo didn't feel like she, herself, was required to. It wasn't her fault and Tina had initiated the entire argument.

Jo thought about poor, little Ricky. He was stuck with Cyrene for sixteen more years before he could get away from her. Jo cursed herself and her inability to give Ricky a better life. She needed money, her own place, and most importantly, a job.

Jo sat up quickly, remembering her old gig. She was never officially out of the job, but she had, retired, in a sense. Jo grinned at the memory of her Uncle Kyle, teaching her everything she needed to know behind her father's back. Jo glanced at her phone again for the time. 12:12. How fitting, Jo mused. I swear, on the fitting time of 12:12, that I will get Ricky out of here if it's the last thing I do. Whatever it takes, whatever it costs.

***

Jo sat up quickly at the slam of a door. She jumped off the couch and stared in the vicinity of the front door, ready to pummel the face of the intruder. Whoever it was hadn't just woken her up at four in the morning, but was also clunking around the house and giggling insistently. Someone shushed the giggler, causing more giggles. Jo scowled and slipped off the couch, the discarded blanket falling to the floor.

"Cyrene!" Jo whisper shouted through the hallway. She reached down and slid the blanket across her shoulders, keeping her body heat from escaping. The heat in the house either wasn't working or wasn't on.

"Hey, Josie!" came the reply. Jo grimaced and made her way into the kitchen. Inside, she found Cyrene and Derek. Derek was completely stoned at the island while Cyrene was trashed and fumbling as she searched through the cabinets. Jo flipped on the light, blinding herself as well as the two wasted adults.

"Hey, Jo baby! How you been, sweetheart?" Derek reached forward and latched onto Jo's hand before she could pull it out of reach. The blanket fell to the ground, displaying her long fuzzy pants and her t-shirt. Jo had left her bra in the bathroom down the hall and she was very aware of Derek's gaze dropping to her chest.

Derek yanked her close until their bodies molded. Jo could smell his sour breath as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. Jo tried to push him away, but his grip was firm. He released her with a cockeyed grin and a deep chuckle. Jo snatched up her blanket, covering herself up, hiding from Derek's hungry gaze.

Cyrene giggled and fell into Derek, giving him a sloppy kiss on the lips. They lip locked for a solid minute before Jo grew disgusted and physically broke them apart.

"Leave, Derek. It's four in the morning. I want to go back to sleep. I have school and Cyrene has to go to work." Jo gave him a shove towards to door, signalling for him to exit. Derek waggled his eyebrows at the word sleep. He leaned into Jo, his rank breath enough to make her gag.

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