Subject #013 | ✓

Chapter 32

Alix (six years ago):

"Please? You're my big brother. That means you have to play with me." My little sister, Amelia, pulls on the sleeve on my shirt. Being thirteen, and Amelia being seven, I practically tower over her. Even so, her wide blue eyes—something we both share—and freckles cause me to kneel next to her, putting a large, calloused hand on her small, bony shoulder. Her bright blonde hair blows across her face in the light wind. I smile at her before nodding. "You know, Mel, you're right."

She crosses her thin arms across her chest, her eyes fierce as they stare me down. "I know." It's so blunt that I have to laugh.

It's the middle of summer, sending the wrath and heat of the sun's rays down on the two of us. Amelia's cheeks are flushed red with heat, but she doesn't seem to care. Then again, children typically don't, do they? 

She reaches up and takes my hand in her small one, leading me towards who-knows-where. Right before we cross into the neighbor's property, I stop her, tugging on her hands lightly. She turns slightly, but her eyes are trained on something in the distance. "What is it, Mel?" I ask, squinting towards the direction she's looking, but not seeing anything.

Before she can answer, the familiar gruff voice of my father echoes across the lawn. "Caleb! Your mother and I need to speak with you." So my mother has come home once again. Along with this, I can't suppress a wince at the name he calls me. Though Caleb is my birth name, I've never liked it. Mostly because my father has used it up. Hearing my name is like standing next to a nuclear bomb as it blows up. All my father needs me for is dirty work he can't bring himself to do. Therefore, hearing the name being yelled constantly is just a sharpreminder—a small stab in the back—to let me know that he's the one in charge. Honestly, it's a surprise that Amelia isn't bothered by my family's hard conditions, and that she's still the happy little girl she is today. Nevertheless, I know better than to refuse my father. Otherwise, things get a little...messy.

"Coming, Father!" I call back, and shoot Amelia an obvious look of regret. She may be young, but she is not stupid. "You're leaving me?" She asks, frowning.

"No." I say, kneeling down beside her, casting glances behind me to make sure my father hasn't come back out of the house. "I will never leave you, you hear me? Never. I'll be right back, okay? I just have to take care of something." I push myself back up, and when Amelia opens her mouth to say something else, I cut her off. "I'll be right back." Then, I'm striding towards the house.

Inside, no lights are turned on, the only light is the sun shining through the windows and casting long shadows along the walls. I hear voices coming from the kitchen. I know I'm not supposed to eavesdrop—forbidden, actually—but I can't help but overhear my parents' conversation. So, pressing my shoulder against the wall outside the doorway, and leaning my head against the door frame, I let myself listen.

They're arguing, but then again... is there ever a time when they're not?

"Chris, he's got to get himself a job." My mother says in a soft voice. Some part of me has always wondered how my mother was drawn to a man like my father.

"Caleb does have a job. He works for me." My father responds harshly, and I can picture spittle flying from his mouth as he speaks.

"I meant a job where he gets paid. We need the money."

"Tell me, Abby, how am I going to get work done if he's not around? Besides, he'll probably just keep all the money to himself. Speaking of which... where is that boy? I'm going to slam him into the wall if he doesn't show up in the next five seconds."

My heart slams in my chest, and, sucking in a sharp breath, I step through the doorway. "You needed me?" I ask innocently. My father's eyes narrow, and I do my best to keep a straight face. I've done it enough times... it's not that hard.