Chapter 1 A Cage I call home

GENESIS

"Wake up, you little freak." That was my morning greeting before a bucket of freezing water drenched me, soaking my thin bedding and making me shiver uncontrollably.

"What do you think you're doing, sleeping this late? Do you think you're royalty while we serve you?" Mark, my stepbrother, sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. Before I could fully wipe the water off my face, he kicked my bed, sending me tumbling to the floor with a painful thud. My jaw slammed against the wooden boards, sending a jolt of pain through my skull.

But I knew better than to stay down. If I valued my life, I had to get up, quickly. Without a second thought, I pushed myself off the ground, ignoring the ache in my jaw as I stood upright.

My shoulders instinctively hunched as I faced them, bracing myself for whatever came next. Mark was bad enough, but Jimmy, the older of my stepbrothers, was far worse. His cruelty wasn't just physical, it was insidious, calculated.

Jimmy stepped forward, and I stiffened, my stomach knotting with dread. He reached out, tucking a strand of my wet hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering far too long. My skin crawled at his touch, but I forced myself to stand still. Tears stung the back of my eyes, but I didn't dare let them fall.

"Mother wants to see you," Jimmy said, his tone deceptively soft. He didn't pull his hand away, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a way that made my heart race with panic.

"And don't keep her waiting," he added, his voice dropping an octave, a warning I knew not to ignore.

I flinched back, slipping out of his reach as quickly as I could. The tears escaped despite my efforts, but I wiped them away furiously before descending the stairs. Monica couldn't see them, not her.

When I entered the kitchen, I froze in the doorway. Monica, my stepmother, sat on a stool, a glass of something amber in her hand. Even from across the room, I could smell the alcohol. Her sharp eyes were fixed on a stack of papers in front of her, but the moment she noticed me, she sneered.

"What are you standing there for like a useless statue? Get over here," she snapped.

Startled, I nodded and stepped forward, keeping my eyes on the ground.

"Pathetic," she muttered as her gaze swept over me. "You look like something the cat dragged in. Your father must've been blind to leave someone like you in my care."

My head snapped up at her words. My father hadn't left me with her because he didn't want me. He was taken away from me.

But Monica wasn't finished. She rose from her stool, circling me like a predator sizing up its prey. "You're nothing but a burden. A filthy, good-for-nothing little freak. If I had my way, you'd be out on the streets where you belong."

Her words cut deep, but I bit my lip and stayed silent. Any response would only make things worse. Not that I could even speak.

"You'll scrub this kitchen from top to bottom," she ordered, shoving me toward the sink. "And when you're done, you'll serve dinner tonight. Try not to embarrass me, though I doubt you're capable of anything else."

Her hand shot out suddenly, pushing me hard enough that I stumbled into the counter. The pain in my ribs flared, but I caught myself before I fell.

Monica's cruel laughter rang in my ears as she returned to her papers. "Get to work. You're lucky to even be under this roof."

I turned away, gripping the edge of the counter tightly as the tears threatened to fall again. But I wouldn't cry, not where she could see them. Not where any of them could see them.

It will be over soon. Just a year, I just need to get it and I'll leave.

****

I found myself in my room at the end of a long day, every inch of my body aching as if I had been repeatedly slammed against a wall. The pain was relentless, and I had no medicine to ease it. Asking Monica for help would only lead to her typical response.

"I provide you with food, clothes, and a roof over your head, yet it's still not enough for you. You want money for your filthy ailments? Just stay away so you don't pass anything on to me," she would say without fail, making it clear that there was no point in asking.

Yet, amidst the discomfort, I felt a small sense of relief, I had managed to eat. Dinner was a bit different today. The usual shouting echoed around the house, but I was allowed to eat in my room instead of the dining area. Honestly, I doubted I could have kept any food down if I had to sit with them.

Once my meal settled, I pulled out a book I had borrowed from the library without my stepmother's consent and began to read silently. Some of the larger words tripped me up, but I was determined to make sense of it.

As I immersed myself in the pages, I didn't notice when he entered my room. I was so focused on reading that I didn't feel the shift in the atmosphere until I sensed his presence. I looked up to see Jimmy leaning against the door, a smirk playing on his lips, his gaze filled with a familiar hunger.

In a panic, I tossed the book aside and shook my head as he approached. Just then, the doorbell rang, but it didn't deter him. I stood up and tried to signal that I needed to answer the door.

"You're not going anywhere," he said, his hand snaking around my waist. Tears I had been holding back spilled down my cheeks as he pushed me onto the bed. I attempted to escape, but he yanked me back by my hair, and I felt some strands tear away from the force.

He chuckled as he ripped the delicate fabric from my shirt, revealing my breast to him. "Looks like someone's in a Feisty mood today," he remarked, his hand starting to glide toward my core. But just as things were about to escalate, a furious shout echoed from downstairs.

"GENESIS," Monica yelled suddenly, her voice filled with rage, causing Jimmy to leap off me as if I were on fire. My body trembled, not just from what almost transpired, but from the anticipation of what awaited me downstairs.