ashton

chapter one

ashton's pov

"Ashton! Where's my breakfast?" I hear a booming voice coming up from the staircase call out. Groggily I lift my head up and blink once.

Crap. My chemistry textbooks are splayed out messily in front of me, set to the page I was trying to read last night before falling asleep. The fire's embers are long gone by now and the living room feels as cold as ice. My guinea pig, Jaques is still sleeping soundly, and I cover his little soft body with a makeshift textbook page blanket. I stand up quickly, anxiously rubbing my head- a nervous tick- as I quickly stumble into the kitchen. When I pull my hands away they're covered in fine black particles. The ashes from the fireplace must've fallen on me after I collapsed last night.

Fumbling to put on my apron, I rinse my hands off quickly and turn on the stove, pouring in a bit of olive oil as I butter pieces of bread and slide them into the toaster. Peering into the fridge, I realise there are only five eggs left and grab each of them. I guess I'll be skipping breakfast again unless they decide they're feeling generous with their portions- which is never the case despite all their complaints. Cracking them into the hot pan, I scramble them with a spatula and season them when they're cooked. I plate them with the pieces of toast, on three thick separate porcelain plates, which is the only thing they'll eat off of. On a normal day, I would make more food, maybe enough for me to have a small portion but I just don't have the time today.

"Hurry up, you retard." I hear Dallas holler.

"I'm coming!" I yell back, gritting my teeth. Of course, as soon as my mom leaves for her business trip the Lucifers put away their 'good boy' acts. I balance the three heavy plates as I descend the stairs as quickly as I can without dropping anything, my arms shaking and forearms burning from the effort.

I stop at the boys' room first, knocking on the door with my foot and opening it after they grunt. The blast of warm air coming from their personal heater greets me as I shut the door to keep cold air from rushing in. I set the plate in Dallas's lap first and then Bryson's, grateful to be relieved from the strain on my arms until dinner comes. Dallas looks up at me from his video game console, the look in his eyes annoyed, as if he was about to snap at me, but instead, he breaks out into barking laughter. A split second later Bryson joins. That seems to be how it's always been- Dallas making a joke at my expense and his younger brother chiming in later.

Shifting from foot to foot, I will for them to quickly dismiss me. 

"Your-" pause "face!" Bryson manages to sputter between his short gasps of breath. My brows furrow, I transfer the plate onto my arm and run my sleeve over my forehead with the other. When I pull it away I find the ratty grey fabric stained a sooty black color. I had forgotten about that in my haste to finish making breakfast for them.

"Your face is even more disgusting than it usually is today. Hey! Are those ashes from my fireplace?" Dallas's mouth morphs into a crooked grin. "I bet your mommy named you 'Ashton' because she always knew you'd end up looking like you crawled out of a fireplace. She knew from the start you were a failure."

Bryson laughs loudly again. My heart clenches tightly, his words ringing in my ear again.

"Your name fits you so well!" Dallas spits, his piercing ice-blue eyes boring into mine. "You're nothing but an ash boy, our little pathetic slave." He slaps his hands on my back hard, sending my knees buckling and me almost toppling to the floor with my stepdad's food.

My cheeks burn hotly as I steady myself, and I will myself not to say anything I'll regret. Instead, I walk out of their room and quietly shut the door behind me without waiting for their dismissal. I know I'll pay for it later, but I just can't deal with them right now.

 I set down the plate of food and sink to the hard wooden floor, which feels cold against my thin, threadbare clothes. All I want right now if for things to return to what they were, or at the very least a hug from both of my parents. Dad would want me to just walk away, to ignore it all. He'll tell me they're just lying to get under my skin. But they're not lying, what they're saying is true. All I really am is their ash-covered slave. Pathetic. He'll tell me that things will always get better. But how will I escape the very tormentors that live in the same home with me?

"Ashton, where the hell are you?" My stepdad demands. 

"I'm coming," I whisper weakly, leaning my head against the wall again. I pull out my phone, which I still keep on charging despite my phone plan being removed for a year now. I scroll through my messages until I find a group chat dating seven years ago between my mom, dad, and I. This was back when I was only ten years old before my dad died from cancer, before my mom married Trem Lucifer. This was before she started going on business trips, and I realised my sweet stepfamily was all an act. These were the days I was happy.

I tap out a final message to them even though I know they'll never see it before pocketing my phone and scurrying to my stepdad with his food. 

"You said dreams always come true, but mine isn't, I'm trying to be patient but it's hard. Please come back, I love you."