Sexiled

It must have been that night. The night my step sister witnessed the strike of my mother’s hand against my flesh.

“You can come stay with me for awhile. To take a break from your mother,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”

So I packed up a backpack and we went over her house on Friday. I slept next to her that night, listening to the cars passing by in the street below. For now I was distant from my mother’s anger. From her harsh words cutting into me, from her hands wrapped around me, bruising my heart, scraping my soul. Safe. The word escaped my lips in a soft whisper, like a breath of relief.

The next day her boyfriend came over. While I sat on the couch and watched television, they flirted nonstop with each other in the other room.

“Keep that up and you won’t get any tonight,” I heard her tease him.

Later that day she told me I had to leave.

I said I could sleep on the couch. I wouldn’t be a bother. They wouldn’t even notice I was around.

No. She said. You have to go home.

I called your mother, she said. She’s on her way here.

I gathered my belongings, placed them into my bag, as I prepared myself for the wrath of my mother.

She came silent, cold like the concrete of a statue. In the stillness I could see her thoughts of how to hurt me the worst.

My step sister didn’t even glance my way as I was leaving, for she was too busy flirting with her new found lover.

Author's Note

Please critique kindly.