Trigger Warning:
This chapter contains assault. Please read with care.
Miss Reneta's voice rang out in the front of the studio.
"Genesis, please come here."
Genesis glanced toward her, noticing the gentle wave. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard.
Which brother?
She didn't have any brothers—except Jimmy and Mark—and both were monsters.
She didn't want to see them.
She was terrified.
She wasn't the same girl anymore. But Melanie and her friends weren't them, and the fear she felt now was almost paralyzing.
Slowly, Genesis began to make her way over to the ballet instructor, her steps hesitant and slow. Miss Reneta's brow furrowed as she approached and gently wrapped a hand around Genesis's shoulder.
"Are you okay, sweetheart? You look pale." She stopped and turned to face her fully, placing a hand on Genesis's forehead. Genesis nodded.
"Are you sure? If you're not feeling well, you shouldn't have come to class today. Is that why your brother is here?"
That word again.
Genesis shook her head fiercely. Please, she hoped Miss Reneta wouldn't make her go with him. She didn't want to.
"Okay, if that's not it, that's fine. He's waiting for you out there. You have just five minutes before the next class starts."
Genesis nodded, dazed, letting Miss Reneta guide her toward the door on the right.
When they reached it, Miss Reneta pulled the door open, and Genesis's heart rate spiked. Outside, there he was.
Mark.
Her stepbrother.
He stood with his back turned. She didn't have to see his face to know it was him.
Then he turned. His eyes flicked to Miss Reneta and then dropped to Genesis. A smile curled on his lips—predatory, all too familiar.
It was like she was teleported back.
Flashback
Caldwell Estate, living room.
"Did you catch the Arsenal and City match last night?" Jimmy asked, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth and washing them down with a gulp of beer.
Mark let out a loud laugh from the couch, his feet propped on the glass table like he owned the place. "City wiped the floor with them. Arsenal didn't even show up!"
Their friend Toby chuckled, slouching beside him with a game controller in hand. "Man, I told you — Arsenal can't hold a lead. Chokers every time."
The room reeked of beer and sweat. Empty cans littered the floor, and the TV blared some post-game analysis none of them were really paying attention to.
Genesis stood at the edge of the hallway, half-hidden behind the wall, fingers clutching the edge of the tray she carried. Her breath was shallow. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
She watched Mark take another sip from the bottle, his arm slung lazily around a girl she didn't recognize. The girl giggled at something he said, but Genesis couldn't hear what.
Jimmy noticed her first.
"Hey," he called out, grinning. "Look who's here."
Mark turned lazily, smirking. "Well, well. Little Gen."
Her name on his lips twisted her stomach.
"Come join us," Jimmy hollered, voice slurred, patting the armrest beside him. She frowned—something was off. He was drunk, no doubt, because there was no way he would let her sit on the chair. She was always "too filthy," he said.
She didn't move.
Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Don't be rude now. You always disappear like some little ghost. Come here."
Genesis looked past him, at the TV, at anything but their eyes. Then, reluctantly, she nodded.
"Why would she sit here? You have your maids to sit and eat with you," the girl beside him muttered.
Mark turned to her, eyes dark. "Of course not. She's not sitting here. My brother's just drunk and talking nonsense."
He kicked Jimmy's leg and laughed. Then he turned back to Genesis, smiling—his lips curling in a way that made her heart race.
With the tray shaking in her hands, she moved toward them, then stopped in front of the coffee table. She knelt down and dropped it.
She didn't dare look any of them in the eye. Slowly, she stood up, eager to leave—when Marcus, one of their friends, spoke up.
"How old is she again?"
"I don't know that. How old are you?"
Genesis glanced up at Mark from under her lashes. She had once forgotten, but after being moved from the basement to the attic filled with boxes of her childhood things, she had finally been able to count her age.
She looked down at her fingers, holding up one, then two hands, counting eight.
"Wow, she's eighteen? Doesn't look like it."
"Yeah, she looks like some malnourished teenager."
Genesis said nothing. She just knelt there.
"You can leave," Mark said.
She eagerly stood but wasn't allowed to run. Slowly, she made her way out as Mark's voice followed her around the corner.
"Of course, you can do anything you want to her."
Genesis shivered and rushed toward the kitchen.
She took a deep breath. It wasn't the first time, and she knew it wouldn't be the last. She was used to it—numb, almost.
Her eyes fell on the mountain of plates in the sink. Without thinking, she moved over and began washing them.
She was almost done when she heard the door creak open behind her. Her body stiffened. She turned her head slightly and saw the same man who had asked her age.
She rinsed the dishes with tense, mechanical movements. He didn't come closer, and for a brief ten minutes, she allowed herself to relax just a little.
Just as she was about to set down a ceramic plate, a rough hand grabbed her arm. She was spun around violently and slammed face-first against the counter.
Pain shot through her, but no sound escaped her lips.
He pressed her head down, as if expecting her to struggle. Then he pushed up her torn gown, bunching it around her waist, exposing her bare skin.
She didn't move. She didn't fight. Her eyes stared blankly at the door. The fight had been drained from her long ago.
Then, with no warning, he pressed into her, driving himself all the way in. Her mouth fell open and tears welled in her eyes.
Just then, Mark passed by the kitchen. He stopped, watching silently.
As she was violated, his lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile. Grunts filled the room, mixing with her silent tears.