Arson's Captive by V.F. Mason

Author:V.F. Mason [Mason , V.F.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2020-01-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“Family is everything, they say.

They love you the most, they say.

They haven’t met mine, I say.”

Arson

Arson, 7 years old

“Artem, baby, pick up your toys. You know Johnny doesn’t like them,” Parker says, turning around to face me as she wraps another curl of hair around the iron, holding it above her head. “You have five minutes to clean it up.” Her eyes narrow for a fraction of a second, and my heart stills, awaiting her next response, but she smiles, sending me a wink. “If he pays me well tonight, we might even buy you some chocolate.”

At the mention of food, my stomach growls loudly and I rub it a little, hoping the sucking pain always present at this hour will go away and won’t bother me much like the last time.

I suffered for days before Parker bought me a bun, huffing all the way how much money she wastes on me.

Jumping from the bed in the small room we live in that has only a sitting chair, a table with a mirror, and a small fridge on the side, I quickly put all my colorful pencils inside the plastic bag along with my thick album. Spotting my teddy bear under the pillow, I snatch it out too, quickly hiding it among the rest.

They’re all the toys I have here, and I found those in the dumpster a few weeks back when I searched for food, before Parker found me there, brought me back to the room, and beat me harshly with the belt.

I freeze, remembering so much pain coming from my back as she hit me repeatedly for shaming her in front of her friends who hadn’t even seen it.

But Parker lives for what people say, so I should never tarnish her reputation—at least that’s what she constantly repeats to me.

Since she is twirling right now in front of the mirror, adjusting her short yellow dress on her hips and leaning forward, picking up a powder brush, I decide to be brave enough to ask her, “Can I have bread instead?” The chocolate usually makes me so sick I want to vomit, and it never holds me for long.

Her brush pauses midway to her cheek, and I meet her slightly annoyed reflection in the mirror, which makes me curl in a ball inwardly, awaiting her reply with dread.

I thought she was in a good mood?

But with Parker, one might never know when she’s in a good mood. In all my life, I’ve only seen her happy twice. When she got an expensive bag as a gift and when one of her boyfriends left her a hundred-dollar bill.

I’m not sure how much it is, but she kept on bouncing on the bed chanting how great it was. Not that it changed anything for me; despite her earning money, she brought food to the room only five days later.

A single chocolate bar.

She sighs heavily, dipping her brush in powder before furiously applying another layer, digging it so hard into her skin.

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