Chapter 3

Emily.

My alarm went off bright and early, as always. I groaned as I moved to shut it up. My whole body ached from the beating I endured yesterday. I dreaded having to do my chores, my body hurt more than usual - partly due to the beating, but also the improper rest. The bruise on my side had become more prominent overnight. It was now a deep shade of purple with blue around the edges, stretching across my ribcage and wrapping around to my back. Others scattered across my legs and arms, but they seemed insignificant in comparison. I prodded the edges gingerly and winced at the pain. Nothing was broken, but it hurt like hell.

I stood up with a deep breath, steeling myself for the day. Gently, I pulled my undergarments on, and then a clean dress over my head. I pulled my unruly brown hair into a quick ponytail, pinning the few stray hairs out of my face. Lastly, I laced up my shoes and headed out.

I had to get breakfast ready before my father awoke. On my way to get the eggs, I grabbed my apron from its hook. I tied the strings behind my back before opening the refrigerator door. There were six eggs left - just enough for my father and brother. I sighed as I would be denying myself protein once again. I cracked the eggs into a single bowl and whisked them together. After adding salt and pepper, I placed them in a greased pan to cook.

While I waited for the eggs to cook, I grabbed the sack of potatoes, barely able to lift it due to my injuries. I grated them before tossing them in a pan with a pinch of pepper. We always had plenty of hash browns for the entire family, so at least my mom and I wouldn’t go hungry.

Once breakfast had finished cooking, I plated the food and took it out to the table, placing each one in the correct spot. To finish the meal, I added a piece of buttered toast to each plate. Before heading back to the kitchen, I placed covers atop my father’s and brother’s plates, leaving my mother’s and mine to the stale air. My father didn’t think it necessary to spend money on getting more covers, so this is how it always was. My food was always cold by the time I got a chance to eat it.

To keep myself from another beating, I ran back to the kitchen to wash the dishes before my father came to sit at the dining table. Despite the pans still being quite warm to the touch, I placed them in the water and scrubbed them, hoping I could finish washing all the dishes before my food reached room temperature.

As I dried the last dish, I could hear my father remove the cover from his food and place it on the table. His fork scraped across the plate as he gobbled up his food without a second thought. Never a thank you.

Daniel shuffled into the dining room soon after. I waited at the door for him to sit and start on his food. My stomach grumbled, wishing he would hurry up. He was probably taking his sweet time knowing I wouldn’t dare start before him.

I finally heard his chair squeak on the hardwood floor as he pulled it away from the table. As I pushed through the door connecting the dining room and the kitchen, I heard the unmistakable sound of Daniel spitting his food onto his plate in disgust.

“I thought I told you I like my hash browns crispy! These are limp as noodles!” He shoved the plate towards me. “Do them again. And make them right this time!”

I pursed my lips but said nothing as I picked up the plate and carried it back to the kitchen. After grating another potato and cooking it to the desired crispiness my entitled brother enjoyed, I walked back out and placed the plate before him. I held my breath as he took a bite, knowing I’d surely receive a beating if he wasn’t satisfied.

“It’s about time you do something right.”

I moved to sit in my own chair, but before my butt could even touch the seat, Daniel complained yet again. “Now my eggs are cold! This is unacceptable, Emily!” His fists slammed on either side of his plate, rattling the silverware. My father looked up at me from under his brows - a warning. Crying inwardly, I stood up straight again and grabbed his plate, taking it back to the kitchen.

“Don’t go microwaving that crap!” he called after me. “Do it right and do it fast. I’m starving.”

I rolled my eyes and set the eggs in the pan, heating it back up on the stovetop.

As I turned off the burner, I heard my mother quietly move into the dining room, sitting down on her seat. But instead of picking up her silverware and eating her likely lukewarm food, she sat and waited for my brother to receive his warmed-up dish.

I walked back through, plopping the plate in front of Daniel with a clank. I refused to look at him, but I could tell he was smirking. I walked around the table and pulled my seat out again, just as my father asked if I had finished washing the dishes.

I wished I could tell him I had and just wash the pan after I ate, but I knew he would find out and punish me again. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before heading back to the kitchen to rewash the pan I had used to warm up Daniel’s food.

When I walked back out, my father had finished his food. He grunted to get my attention and tilted his head at his empty plate.

“Would you like more breakfast, Father?” I asked, trying to keep my voice pleasant despite the hatred I felt toward him.

“No, I’m done.”

“Let me wash that for you then,” I answered, picking up the plate and scooping the silverware under my thumb.

By the time I got back, both my father and brother had left. Daniel’s plate sat picked clean on the table. I looked over to my mom, wondering if she was going to say anything about the plate that needed washing. When she didn’t speak up, I sat down and ate my now-cold food. The hash browns were sad and limp on my plate. Normally, I would eat them with ketchup, but I was too tired to get back up. I ate in silence, the crunch of my toast filling the air.

I stole a few glances at my mom, but her eyes remained focused on her own food as she idly stabbed at her breakfast. I wondered if she knew about the bet beforehand. Considering her silence all morning, it was a possibility.

When I had finished, I stood up and scooped Daniel’s plate under mine, placing his utensils on top. I turned to my mother, her food only half eaten. Her dusty brown hair was in disarray. She kept it in a short bob, but I don’t remember the last time she combed through it. Maybe she had given up trying since every day it got tossed around, yanked, and flat-out abused. Her blank brown eyes stared down at her food, but I’m sure she didn’t see it. She had a far-off look.

I cleared my throat before gently asking if she was finished so I could take her plate. She shook her head as if startled, but the action was slow, as if she wasn’t all there. After looking up at me with her tired eyes surrounded by the largest bags, she nodded, handing me her plate.

“You really should eat more, Ma,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Her mouth formed a thin line, but she still said nothing. She stood up and pushed her chair into the table. At one point, she was probably taller than I was now, but years of burdens and abuse had her hunched over. She now stood just under my height, maybe an inch or two shorter. My heart ached to see my mother like this. But she had always been this way - at least as long as I could remember. She had resigned herself to her fate. But not me. Soon I would escape this hell - I had to. If I didn’t escape now, there would be no chance once I was with the Enforcers.

I took the dishes to the sink and scrubbed them clean before drying them off and starting on my other chores. Like always, I had laundry to do, the house to vacuum and dust, the garden to weed, and my job to do. The town was small and lacking in many things, but one thing it didn’t lack was clothes to be altered or fixed. I had learned long ago to sew. And in order to pay the bills, I took on as many jobs as I could.

Our garden supplied the majority of our food, but I still had to shop for eggs and meat. Every month I made bread, storing loaves in the freezer, as long as it was working at least. There were four whole months we went without a freezer because it had stopped working and it took me ages to find the problem and fix it myself.

I started my laundry rounds by grabbing mine and my mother’s clothes. I combined them in a separate basket from my father’s and brother’s. They would kill me if our clothes touched theirs, or if I mixed up Daniel’s and my father’s. My mom always had hers in a neat pile by the door - one of the few things she did to make my life easier.

After I had basket our clothes, I moved on to Daniel’s room, where clothes were strewn about. There was no telling which ones were dirty or clean. I heaved a heavy sigh as I moved about the room, placing garment after garment into the wicker basket.

I remember how he used to be when we were younger. He was always roughhousing and teasing, but never as rude as he was these days. Even though we were only a few years apart in age, we had never really played together, never did much of anything, really. But I missed my brother, the one I could count on to always be where he was meant to be. He wasn’t necessarily kind, but he hadn’t been rude to me - it was like there was a mutual respect between us. I don’t know how or when it ended, but I missed it. Years of his rude behavior, his abuse adding to that of my father’s, had nearly washed away any fond memories. What I wouldn’t give to have a regular brother again.

My nose crinkled as it picked up a sickly stench in the corner. *Was something dying in here?*

I covered my nose and mouth with the fabric of my dress as I neared the source of the smell. Under a pile of papers and other trash sat a clump of potatoes. It looked like it had been sitting there for days. I gagged as I lifted the papers off, letting more of the awful stench fill the room.

*How had he not done anything about the smell? How had I not noticed this before?*

I ran to the cupboard in the hallway, grabbing a plastic bag and a paper towel. Reluctantly, I walked back to Daniel’s room, scooped up the rotten potatoes with the towel, placed it in the plastic bag, and tied the top closed. I took it out back to the large trash bin before washing my hands and heading back to his bedroom.

I snatched up the last of his clothes and set the basket in the hall before gathering the last basket in my arms and heading toward my father’s bedroom. The door was closed, and I knocked hesitantly. He didn’t normally stay home during the day. He spent a lot of time in town keeping an eye on his pack while drinking his weight in liquor. When nobody answered, I opened the door to find the bedroom empty. I quickly grabbed all his messy clothes and threw them into the basket.

I took the loads to the laundry room and stuffed my father’s clothes in first, adding the detergent and turning the knobs. While my father’s clothes washed in the machine, I filled the washbasin in the corner with warm water and a sliver of soap. I churned the water to get it bubbly and grabbed garment after garment to wash, unable to use the machine for my own clothes.

Once I had finished my mom’s and my laundry, I hung ours out to dry knowing I wouldn’t be able to switch Daniel’s to the dryer until Father’s load was complete. I walked past my mom weeding in the garden. I could see the sweat beading down her face as the sun beat down on her. I shot her an encouraging smile, but she didn’t even look up or acknowledge me, so I headed back inside to finish my chores.

I halted in the hallway as Daniel made his way to his room. I moved off to the side, not wanting to be in his way. His hair was spiked up as usual. It was the only resemblance he had to our mother. The rest of his features he got from our father - his sturdy build, distinct jawline, piercing green eyes, and harsh demeanor.

I kept my eyes down as per usual, knowing making eye contact could easily get me a slap to the face. ‘Remember your place’ I could hear his words ringing inside my head. He brushed past me without a second glance and shut his door behind him.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding and continued on with my chores. My mind wandered to the bet. I hadn’t heard anything since dinner yesterday. Perhaps they had found a way around it. I highly doubted that, though. I would end up this man’s slave if I couldn’t find a way out first.