Standing at my door, I felt frozen. It was far past 3:00. The dirty blonde carpet in front, with its letters washed out, stared at me. My legs began to shake, but I quietly opened the door anyway. As I began to walk inside, I looked up and flinched.
"I-I can explain–"
Slap!
"Explain what?! You being a whole hour late?! What were you doing?! Drugs?!"
My eyes were glued to the floor. I shook my head.
"God! What the hell even happened to you? Why do you have bandages? Oh. Another fight. You just can't get enough, can you…"
The woman in front of me groaned and let out an exasperated sigh.
"You. Go take care of the little rat. She hasn't stopped crying for the past hour you weren't here and it was causing me a goddamn headache! Also, Jeremy's getting here soon, so if I hear you say anything, and I mean, anything bad about me…you know what'll happen."
With a final thump to my head, the woman left to the living room, whispering curses. The couch moaned as her heavy build rested on it, and she clicked on the small, vintage television perched on a desk in front of the sofa. As I dropped my backpack and began to unpack my homework, I heard the cries of the 'rat.' I immediately looked at the woman and saw her glaring at me. She hissed, "Didn't I tell you—I'm gonna–"
"No, no, I'll do it, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I mumbled as I quickly ran up the stairs with a little over half of my papers.
At the top of the stairs was a short hallway extending both ways, one short and the other a long corridor. The whines were emerging from a filthy stained door on the short side. I hurriedly unlocked the door and hustled to the 'rat,' who was covered in bruises and left alone in her crib. I leaned over and picked her up, rocking her back and forth and humming lullabies. As I calmed her, I reminded myself who this was. My half-sister; two years old. She came after my real dad died from a drug overdose when I was nine. His wife, the woman downstairs, hadn't been with anyone else until three years ago when Jeremy showed up. Shortly after they'd met, the woman became pregnant. And now, there was Anna, a mere baby, left to rot in the cage they called her crib. Why have a stupid kid if you're not even going to care for them? It just makes it more hassle for me. Why do I have to care for this broken baby all the time? It's been two years already, and she hadn't spoken a single word nor crawled. A small part of me felt pity; the rest felt annoyance. As I heard Anna begin to cry again, I loosened my grip.
Picking up a rusted elephant toy, I left the room and headed to mine. I slammed open the door, startling Anna again, but I didn't feel like caring. After dropping my papers on my gray, disheveled bed, I went to a pile of clothes in the corner of the room. Tossing the clothes off revealed a nasty baby rocking chair that I'd gotten from the garbage disposal a year back. I placed the now calm baby on there and, with two fingers, began to rock her. I dragged her chair across the room as I got back to my bed to finish my homework. Did I even want to do this? Sophomore-level math equations and complex English questions stalked the front of my papers, killing any motivation to do them.
"I'll just…no she'll get pissed. Why does she care if I do my homework anyway? Does she really expect me to work for her?"
I sighed and reached into my pocket for a pencil.
----
After an hour, the rat began to cry again. This time, not out of pain or loneliness but hunger. I begrudgingly headed downstairs and cautiously approached the two adults, laughing.
"U-um," I stammered. "Anna needs her food."
The two simultaneously turned around from the couch, the woman with a heavy stare and the man with a light-hearted smile. The man noticed the woman's eyes and said, "Penelope, don't look at the poor boy so hard. So, what did you say bud?"
I hesitantly replied, "Food. Fo-for Anna."
He furrowed his brows and took another sip of his drink.
"Anna? Who was that again–oh! Of course, Anna! My baby girl. Oh, but I forgot to bring the baby formula…sorry about that kid. Wait, did you have a name? What was it again?"
He looked to Penelope, who was pretending to think as well. She slowly said, "T-…Travis? Teech?"
The man looked at the woman in stark amusement.
"Yeah! Teech. Teech…"
The man, Jeremy, stood up from the couch and came to me. Rustling my hair, he whispered to me, "Sorry about the baby formula little man. Sometimes, adults are busy, and I just was this week. How about next week?"
Forget next week; if she didn't get fed this week, she was going to die. Maybe that was for the better.
I slowly said, "I-it's not just about next week. If she doesn't get fed this week, she's gonna die."
I watched the fake smile slowly drip off his face.
"Die?" he questioned. "What do you mean die? Do you know how much that baby formula costs? Why don't you go find something else for her to eat? She's what–two now? She can eat other things, you know."
The issue was that those 'other things' he was talking about were for me since Penelope was not giving her food up. Neither was Jeremy. I guess I could starve myself but for her? Not interested.
I slightly groaned and backed away. I said to him, "But those things are for me."
He clicked his tongue and said sternly, "Why are you so selfish? She's a damn baby dude. It wouldn't cost you a couple days of starving to let her live now would it?"
I whispered, "Wouldn't for you either, dumbass."
He turned his head. "What was that?"
I didn't feel like just taking these 'nice boy's' words anymore. I felt my chest tightening and my heartbeat spiking. My fists closed, my nails digging deep into my palm. As my nervousness reached a peak, I muttered, "It-it wouldn't for you either, you know."
In an instant, his fist struck my cheek and sent me flying, crashing down on the floor. I coughed up tiny squirts of blood as I lay on the ground. As his shadow approached, he said, "Man. I had so much love for you, Teech. I truly thought you could be like a second me. But here you go, disrespecting me. I didn't want to do this to you. You made me."
I looked at him but immediately glanced back when I saw his vicious gaze. I wasn't sure if I should speak my mind to him or leave. I rubbed the blood off my face with a finger. As I thought for a few seconds, I concluded: what did it matter anyway? I'd finally had enough of this, Jeremy. Besides, what would he do in retaliation? Hurt me? Yell at me? Those two 'punishments' had long since lost their effect on me. At this point, I only listened to live.
With a light cough, I looked Jeremy in the eye and scoffed, "If you hadn't had her, you wouldn't have to ever worry about her. Maybe you should lay off the alcohol and get a job, you shitter."
Silence settled for a few tense moments as Jeremy's eyes widened in shock. From the back, Penelope leaned forward, watching, her expression twisting into one of pure hatred. But she wasn't the one to finish it. It was Jeremy who suddenly lunged and flung his fists toward me. As I struggled to shield myself from his assault, he began to spew curses begrudgingly. Between each word, his strikes became more powerful, and with each sentence, his voice became more flushed.
"You—stupid—ugly—idiot—child! Who—are—you—to—judge—me—for—my drinking habits!!"
Panting, he analyzed what he'd done. My twisted nose was sputtering out blood like a broken engine as I wheezed, still glaring at him through the sliver of my eye. When Jeremy noticed, he got up and walked away. A sense of relief hit me briefly before disappearing as Jeremy delivered one last strike to my groin. I shrieked and held my groin, the sharp, pulsating pain rocking strong. As I rolled in pain, Jeremy walked off to the fridge, grabbed another beer, walked back to the couch, sat down with Penelope, and turned on the TV. I hugged the corner of the wall near me. The monotone reporter speaking felt so loud.