Rooming with the Wicked

28 | darkness

"You think you're funny?"

A giggle escaped my lips. I quickly covered my mouth with both hands to suppress the sound, but it was too late. Dad's office in the mansion wasn't particularly cluttered, and the new leather couch only proved to be a good hiding place until my laughter betrayed me.

Clarence's ocean eyes appeared right above the handrest. "You're gonna pay for that."

"What?" I stared up at him defiantly, no longer bothering to hide my smile. "You afraid of the dark?"

At almost twelve, he was bigger, and never missed an opportunity to remind me of that. Today was no different. Straightening to his full height, he stepped around the sofa and scoffed. "No."

His yelp after I'd turned off the light as he was rummaging through Dad's paper begged to differ.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," I said. It probably wasn't the smartest move, but what was he going to do? Steal my allowance? Eat my candy? He already did that.

"Shut up!" His face contorted in anger and before my eight-year-old brain registered what was happening, his much bigger hand closed around a lock of my hair.

"Wha—"

He yanked me up by my hair.

Tears sprang into my eyes from the sudden pain and I screamed. My little fists reached up to simultaneously take some of the pressure off and scratch at his hand. His grip was iron and my efforts were futile.

He pulled again, his high-pitched laughter drowning out my second scream. "Not so smug now, are you?" he said between bursts of more giggles.

Hot tears ran down my cheeks as I struggled to find my voice. "Let go," I choked.

"Let go," he mocked. "You're pathetic."

Vision blurry, I tried to break free once more, but he wouldn't budge. Seeing him raise his other hand, likely to grab more of my hair, I did the only thing I could think of. I kicked him in the balls.

Now huffing in pain, he dropped his hold and stumbled backward into the bookshelf. When his head connected with one of Dad's beloved encyclopedias, guilt pulled at my gut. What had I done? He would never purposefully hurt me and I'd... I'd—

I'd overreacted.

His mom was going to scream at me.

Dad was going to be furious with me.

I would be grounded for—

"You bitch!"

Still holding his groin, Clarence's eyes filled with pure hatred. No trace of that playful cruelty he usually walked around with. My feet seemed to have a mind of their own as I shuffled back a step.

For the first time, I was afraid of my stepbrother.

"I-I—I'm s-sorr—" I started, hands shaking violently.

"Not yet, you're not." He stumbled forward a step, one of his hands reaching for me once more. "But you will be."

I froze.

Clarence slowly advanced. I watched his hand curl into a fist, knuckles white and protruding. Was he...? No. He wouldn't... Would he?

He took a swing, barely missing my cheek.

The answer was yes. This wasn't a game anymore.

And we were home alone.

I retreated, reached for the small couch pillow, and threw it at him. It only landed between his feet, but that was enough to trip him as he lunged at me. I didn't wait to see if he was okay.