Both My Parents, Neither My Home

Seeing me head for the study, Mom furiously grabbed my wrist. The moment her fingers touched the thick layer of scars there, she yanked her hand back like she'd been shocked.

"Can't you understand plain words?" Mom snapped. "That room is for your brother to play his games in from now on!"

With that, she slammed the door shut, as if even one more glance from me would be some kind of sacrilege.

I laughed, a short, unhinged sound. "So where am I supposed to sleep?"

Mom froze for a second, then jabbed a furious finger around the living room like I was an idiot.

"Isn't there a couch right there? Isn't there a rug? Sleep wherever you want. Stop acting so pathetic!"

Sleep wherever I wanted. Like she was describing a stray dog.

"Don't I deserve a room of my own?"

My voice came out quiet, but Dad exploded instantly, like a man who'd been holding back for years.

"You have everything in this house. You have both your parents together under one roof. Why do you have to fight Preston and Carol over something this small?

"Preston has lost his real father, and Carol has lost her real mother. Why are you being so petty?

"They're happy every day. You're the only one who walks around with that miserable face."

A mountain of guilt crashed down on me, and whatever I'd been about to say died in my throat.

I'd been hearing that same line since the day I was born. Seventeen years of it.

The moment I dared to push back, I became ungrateful, selfish, greedy, some inhuman monster.

I was too scared to reply.

My sister got home from work and stumbled over my bags the second she walked through the door.

She caught sight of me and frowned. "What now?"

Mom let out a cold snort. "Ronald's been making a scene about wanting his own room. Won't give anyone a moment's peace."

My sister made a small noise of acknowledgment, the corner of her mouth curling in a way that mirrored Mom's exactly. "What does a kid need privacy for?"

A kid. She said it so lightly.

She'd apparently forgotten that when she first came to this house, she'd been only six years old. She'd gotten her own room right away, along with a computer and an allowance. Anyone who wanted in had to knock three times first, or she'd scream and cry until she got her way.

But now, she looked straight through my pain, and even laughed at it.

"This conversation's over."

Mom shoved a hamper full of dirty laundry into my arms, her face saying she had no patience left for me. "Go wash these."

"My finals are coming up..."

"Don't you dare use your finals as an excuse! Preston and Carol both took it too. When did either of them ever make excuses?"

They didn't need excuses. They never had to wash dishes, sweep floors, or do an endless mountain of laundry.

Mom never gave my sister chores, worried it would upset Dad. Dad never gave my brother chores, worried it would upset Mom.

I was the only convenient target. Hitting me, screaming at me, blaming me for anything, none of it cost them a thing, because nobody was ever going to step in for me.

My silence only made Mom angrier. She shoved me into the bathroom.

A slap cracked across my face, snapping my head to the side.

Under the glare of the bathroom light, her expression was twisted, overpowering.

"Wash it now, and don't talk back. Preston needs these clothes tomorrow.

"You think my life is easy? We've got five people living in this house, and everyone depends on me. You're the luckiest one here, and you still fight me on everything!"

"How exactly am I the lucky one?"