GENESIS

"Wake up, you little freak." That was my morning greeting before a bucket of ice water hit me. It soaked my thin mattress and left me shaking.

"Sleeping in again? Think you're the damn Queen of England?" Mark, my stepbrother, sneered. Before I could wipe the water from my eyes, he kicked the bedframe. I tumbled to the floor with a heavy thud. My jaw cracked against the wood planks, shooting raw pain through my skull.

But I knew better than to play dead. If I valued my neck, I had to get up, fast. Without a second thought, I pushed off the floor, swallowing the deep ache in my jaw.

My shoulders hunched instinctively. I braced for the next hit. Mark was bad, but Jimmy, his older brother, was pure evil. His cruelty wasn't just physical; it was cold and calculated.

Jimmy stepped up. I stiffened, my stomach in knots. He reached out, tucking a wet curl behind my ear. His thumb lingered too long. My skin crawled, but I bit the bullet and stood still. Hot tears stung my eyes, but I swallowed them down.

"Mom wants you," Jimmy murmured, his soft tone completely fake. He kept his hand there, fingers brushing my cheek. Panic squeezed my chest.

"Don't keep her waiting," he dropped his voice—a dark warning I knew better than to test.

I flinched, slipping out of his grip. A stray tear fell, but I scrubbed it away furiously before heading downstairs. Monica would eat me alive if she saw me crying.

I froze in the kitchen doorway. Monica, my stepmother, perched on a barstool with a glass of brown liquor. I could smell the cheap booze from ten feet away. Her sharp eyes were glued to a messy stack of bills, but the second she spotted me, she sneered.

"Why are you standing there like a bloody statue? Get your ass over here," she barked.

Startled, I nodded and shuffled forward, eyes glued to the floorboards.

"Pathetic," she muttered, raking her gaze over me. "Look what the cat dragged in. Your father must’ve been blind to dump a mute freak like you on me."

My head snapped up. Dad didn’t dump me. He was ripped away from me.

But Monica wasn’t done. She slid off the stool, circling me like a hungry hawk. "You’re just dead weight. A filthy freak. If I called the shots, you’d be rotting in the gutter."

Her words cut deep, but I bit my tongue. Any reaction would just pour gas on the fire. Not that I had a voice to talk back anyway.

"Scrub this kitchen top to bottom," she snapped, shoving me toward the sink. "Then serve dinner. Try not to make a fool of us, though I know that's asking for a miracle."

She shoved me hard. I crashed into the counter, white-hot pain flaring in my ribs. I caught my balance just in time.

Monica laughed, a harsh sound, and went back to her paperwork. "Get to work. You're lucky to have a roof over your head."

I turned around, gripping the cold counter as fresh tears threatened to spill. But I refused to break. Not in front of her. Not in front of any of them.

It will be over soon, I reminded myself. Just one more year, and I'm out of here.

By nightfall, I collapsed in my bedroom. Every inch of my body throbbed like I'd gone ten rounds in a boxing ring. The pain was brutal, and I didn't have a single pill to numb it. Asking Monica for aspirin was a lost cause.

"I feed you, clothe you, and house you, and you still beg for more?" she would spit. "Keep your nasty bugs to yourself." There was zero point in asking.

Still, I felt a tiny spark of relief: I got to eat. Dinner had been a rare stroke of luck. The usual shouting echoed downstairs, but they let me take my plate up here. Honestly, my stomach would have turned if I had to sit with them.

Once my dinner settled, I pulled out a stolen library book and read in silence. The big words tripped me up, but I was dead set on figuring them out.

Lost in the pages, I didn't hear the creak of the door. I didn't notice the heavy shift in the air until the hairs on my arms stood up. I jerked my head up. Jimmy leaned in the doorway. A slick smirk twisted his mouth. His dark eyes roamed over me with a dirty hunger.

Panic seized me. I dropped the book, shaking my head violently as he stalked closer. The downstairs doorbell chimed, but he didn't even blink. I scrambled up, wildly gesturing toward the hall, trying to signal I had to get the door.

"You're not going anywhere, bitch," he growled. His thick hand snaked around my waist, grabbing me hard. Hot tears finally spilled over my cheeks as he shoved me backward onto the mattress. I scrambled to crawl away, but he fisted my hair, yanking my head back so hard my scalp burned. Several strands ripped out at the roots.

He chuckled, his heavy hands gripping my thin shirt. With one vicious yank, he ripped it open. Cool air hit my skin, exposing my bare breasts to his greedy gaze.

"Looks like my little slut is in a feisty mood today," he sneered. His calloused hand clamped over my tit, his thumb scraping roughly across my stiff nipple. Meanwhile, his other hand shoved hard between my thighs, fingers digging fiercely against my wet clit right through my cotton panties.

Just before he could shove his fingers inside me, a furious shout echoed from the main floor.

"GENESIS!" Monica shrieked. Her angry voice rattled the walls.

Jimmy scrambled off me like I had caught fire. My body trembled uncontrollably—not just from the brutal assault, but from the sheer dread of what awaited me downstairs.