Chapter 2

Staring at the grand yet alienating house, I hesitated on where to begin packing.

My possessions weren't overwhelming; they were scarce, ghosts of what once was.

Whatever caught Derek's eye became his by default. I wasn't allowed to even lay a finger on them.

I lingered in the cavernous living room. Cruelly, not a single item there belonged to me.

They had forced me to give up my bedroom to Derek, and my study place too.

Even the storage room, my final refuge, fell when he whined about needing space for orphanage relics he couldn't part with.

I balked, but he weaponized pity. "Mom, Dad, I've been tossed aside my whole life. Not like Samuel, who's got the silver spoon. If he says no, don't push him."

That sealed it. Suddenly, I was the villain.

They huffed, "Samuel, we've spoiled you rotten. Can't you share it with Derek? So stingy over a junk room!"

Confused and hurt, I pushed back. "But that's the last spot left. Where do I sleep?"

Vernon kicked me in the butt. "Talking smack now? Basement for you, starting tonight!"

He hauled my remnants and dumped them in the cold, damp basement.

Five brutal years followed in that hellhole: sweltering summers without AC, sweat pooling as I gasped for air; frigid winters sans heat, shivering under thin blankets.

The meals were like battlegrounds. I waited like a scavenger for Derek's leftovers.

High school dorms offered a brief escape, but Derek sabotaged that too, spinning tales of me squandering cash on arcades and sketchy hangouts.

Enraged, Vernon and Morgan yanked my allowance, leaving me high and dry.

I groveled for basics, and Morgan grudgingly gave me $200 a month.

I was nearly six feet, growing fast. That pittance meant starvation.

Days blurred on stale bread and salty pickles, my frame wasting to a skeletal hundred pounds by 18.

Weakness crept in, insidious, but my complaints earned scorn from my parents. They thought I was faking frailty to eclipse Derek.

Heart leaden as an anchor, I descended the creaky stairs to the basement, flipping the switch to reveal chaos.

Trash heaps carpeted the floor, Derek's discarded underwear and reeking socks defiling my bed.

It was routine sabotage. Every school break greeted me with this filth, Derek's petty revenge for my absence.

When I complained to my parents, they barely glanced at me. "You're gone most days. Derek's just storing stuff. With so little crap, why hog the space?"

Little crap, indeed, courtesy of Derek's pilfering. He stripped me of clothes, shoes, and dignity.

When I resisted, they called me a spoiled brat who wouldn't share.

I opened my suitcase and methodically folded my remnants, each item a farewell to fractured memories.