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— MARI, FUCK! Are you deaf or what?! Go eat, you freeloader!
I gritted my teeth. My "daddy" was on a roll. God, he pissed me off. Every damn time it’s the same thing: yelling, throwing things, acting like he's the king of the world. John Smith—typical drunk, thinks the fear people have of him makes him important. Yeah, sure. He's 45, as skinny as a worm, but has the ego of a damn trailer park king. When this is over, I’ll find the guy who plays this "John" and shove his damn belt down his throat, maybe that’ll make him shut up.
"Ugh... Damn, why am I so angry... Stephanie, what the hell happened to you?" The thought flickered in my mind for the hundredth time, but I ignored it.
I grabbed my phone and quickly texted Eric:
"Later. These assholes are making me sit at the table."
Turning off the screen, I left the room, slamming the door so hard that it was clear I couldn't care less. I walked down the dark hallway and downstairs. The kitchen reeked of something fried and musty, and that cheap beer smell hung in the air. They were sitting at the table.
"Daddy," with an angry face but a satisfied smile, because he finally managed to drag me here. "Mom," hunched over like a pathetic shadow of herself. Marek, massive, solid, with a slight smirk, but his eyes showed something much colder. And... Apolonia.
I froze for a second. Damn, what a sight.
She sat there, her gaze lowered, slightly hunched, her hands neatly placed on her knees. In that stupid dress with thin straps, hugging her body like it was designed to show off her... massive curves. I hated how it looked on her, remembering how I tried on the same dress not long ago and how Mike made fun of me. Crap dress! Not because it was bad, no, but because... damn, it was Mike. Or was it not Mike?
I saw her adjust the strap, glance down at her plate, then press her lips together when John suddenly barked:
— What the hell are you standing there for? Sit down! — John shot me a hard look, taking a swig of beer straight from the bottle.
I froze. God, how much this asshole pissed me off. Sitting here, sprawled out, acting like the king of his pathetic castle. Fucking alcoholic. But I quickly reminded myself of my role. I shrugged, dramatically rolled my eyes, and sighed as I flopped into the chair, deliberately pushing the plate away.
— I don’t wanna eat, — I muttered, getting comfortable. Looking at the sad chicken leg and overcooked pasta, I grimaced. Well, I’d long gotten used to eating shit—thanks to the center for troubled teens.
— You don't get to decide, — John spat, glaring at me like I was his personal disappointment in life. — I didn’t pull you out of that place for you to act like this.
I just crossed my arms over my chest, grunted, pretending I couldn’t care less. But inside, I was boiling. Yeah, you pulled me out, sure. They just waited for me to be "Mari," and those fucking "experimenters" threw me into your goddamn family.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Apolonia—damn, it felt weird thinking of her like that—quietly adjust her dress and shiver. She looked like she wished she could disappear into the ground. Slumped shoulders, hands neatly placed on her knees, gaze down. Well, well... my Mike, who could tear anyone apart with a single cocky smirk, now sat here like a meek little lamb. What the hell?
Damn it! Mike! What the fuck?! Maybe I should provoke you again, huh?! I tried to wake you up in the kitchen, but you didn’t say anything like you used to—what the hell is going on?!
— Why isn’t your girl eating? — John squinted at Apolonia and leaned back in his chair, smirking. — What, Mrs. Kowalska, on a diet? Or is my Clara’s food not good enough for you?
Marek slightly tilted his head toward Apolonia, muttered something in Polish, and she instinctively reached for the breadbasket. Oh, so now she listens?
I almost lost it. Damn, I couldn’t watch this. That look, those obedient movements... Who the hell is sitting in front of me?! Where's the Mike I knew? Where’s the one who could stand up and tell that bastard John to fuck off?!
Apolonia lowered her head, like she hadn’t heard his words, though she definitely understood the meaning. God, how... no, he... No. Not like that. God, I can’t watch this!
— I don’t wanna eat! — I snapped, jumping up from the chair.
The chair crashed to the floor, but I didn’t care. Fury boiled inside me—wild, raw, almost animalistic. Fucking John! Fuck this house! John stared at me with narrowed eyes, breathing heavily through his nose, while Clara instinctively shrank back, like she was expecting a punch. Marek tensed but didn’t say a word, just tilted his head, watching me. Apolonia... goddamn, Mike... She jerked, as though she thought I was about to lash out at her. Fear flashed in her eyes, and that... killed me.
— You out of your mind, you little bitch?! — John yelled, squeezing the beer bottle so tight it looked like he was going to crush it. — Sit your ass down, I told you!
I was shaking. If I stayed here another second, I was seriously going to kill someone.
— Fuck you, asshole! — it slipped out of me. I didn’t even think, just said it like it was normal, even though it wasn’t at all, I’d never been like this!
The room fell silent. Loud, ominous silence, so heavy I could feel the pulse in my fingers. Something predatory flashed in John’s eyes, his thin, beaten face twisted into a smirk, but it wasn’t a smile—it was something else, something terrifying. The beer bottle in his hand tilted slightly, like he was considering whether to throw it.
— What did you say, little bitch? — his voice dropped to a low growl.
I felt Clara tense up, her hands fidgeting on her lap, clutching her apron. Apolonia... damn it, Mike, what the hell are you silent for?! Your precious girl is being humiliated and insulted! But this scared woman just sat there, huddled in her chair, as if she wanted to vanish.
Marek shot me a look, one that seemed... ambiguous. Somewhere between approval and warning.
But I didn’t care.
I’m a rebellious teen, right? Well, whatever, I’m acting like I should, so I don’t give a shit!
— You deaf, old man? — I hissed, folding my arms across my chest. — I said, fuck off. Or do you have hearing problems, huh?
John jerked so sharply the chair squeaked under him. He jumped to his feet, throwing the bottle on the table, and I already knew—now the belt, the fist, anything was going to fly because this asshole lives for hitting someone.
— Listen here, you fucking bitch... — he started, but I wasn’t listening anymore.
I quickly turned and headed for the door.
— Where the hell are you going, bitch?! — John yelled, but I didn’t hear him anymore.
I heard Clara’s weak scream, Apolonia gasped, Marek said something quietly, but I was already rushing for the exit.
— Hey, wait, Mari! — Clara’s voice was pleading.
Fuck all this.
I stepped into the night, slamming the door behind me so hard the glass rattled. Fury, irritation, rage, fear—everything was bubbling inside me. John. This house. Clara, Apolonia, even Marek, fuck! It was all some cheap, pathetic circus, and I didn’t want to be a part of it.
I pulled out my phone and opened the chat with Eric.
"Where are you?"
The reply came almost immediately:
"In 'Bistro.' Babe, what’s with the serious face?)))"
Babe, fuck. That was so out of place right now, though cute. So, fuck off, Eric, with your "babe." I’ll come over and show you who the "babe" really is!