Legacy

Chapter 19: The Third Wheel

My butt is planted on the bottom step in the basement, and my lip is bleeding hard from my excessive gnawing. I can't stop my legs from shaking as I try to make as little noise as possible.

When the basement door creeks open my muscles jolt as I whip my head around to see Michael's smirking face.

"September," his voice is a little gravelly as he leans against the doorframe. I bolt up and take a few steps back from the staircase, hugging my arms tightly around my waist. "Everything's fine," he assures me. "I forgot that I asked Nancy to have lunch with us a few days ago." He beckons me up with a lazy hand. "Come on. She brought lasagna."

Even though my stomach isn't begging to be nourished after that large breakfast we had, I keep my eyes on the step in front of me as I climb my way back up.

My eyes finally lift to look at Michael when I feel his thumb rub against my shoulder. And then his knuckle drag across my cheekbone. He presses his lips to mine. I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from pulling away.

The gentle sound of Nancy clearing her throat makes Michael pull away, thank god.

Before I can catch a glimpse of the old bitch who sold me out, she disappears around the corner.

He lays his hand on the small of my back and leads me into the upstairs dining room. One part of the house I'd never been in before. It's so much nicer than the one in the basement. A nice wooden table and chairs as opposed to the folding ones down below. Michael even set out the dishes and silverware in advance.

Michael sits down and looks up at me, pointing to the chair next to him. As I sit down, Nancy comes out of the kitchen, steam rising from the lasagna. She sets the tray down and rubs her hands together proudly.

I'm sixteen. I should be worried about my complexion. About homework and after school clubs. I should be looking at colleges. This sort of atmosphere shouldn't be my life for another ten years!

Wait. How old is Michael?

Nancy sits down across from him and grabs a napkin to spread over her lap. "Just lasagna," she asks, glancing over the otherwise foodless table.

"Oh, right!" Michael practically bounds up from the table and rushes into the kitchen for the sides.

Nancy looks me over, and her eyes stop at my dress. Her mouth purses and quirks to the side. "You know, you really shouldn't have run away like that."

I shoot her a hard glare, wanting so badly to flip her off or slap her across the face, but just balling my hands into fists in my lap instead.

She clears her throat and sets a fist on the table in front of me. As her hand relaxes I see that she's letting go of her car keys.

My eyes dart from her to the keys and back again.

"After this, I'll distract him," she whispers. "A car is more efficient than going on foot. You take my keys and run."

I quietly curl my fingers around the keys and shove them between my legs and cover them with a napkin- just like a proper lady. My lips barely form a silent thank you before Michael comes back with a couple bowls. One with green beans, the other filled with pealed oranges.

"There we go," he says setting them down, "a balanced meal, ladies." His hand caresses my shoulder as he sits back down. I give him a small smile, feeling the keys squished between my legs.

"It smells good, Nancy," I say quietly.

"That it does," Michael agrees, cutting out a slice for each of us. I concentrate on keeping my hands steady as I scoop some green beans onto my plate.