Bobby Stainer is Aunt Carlene’s latest squeeze. No really, ‘squeeze’ is the word. She squeezes his ass all the time, in front of all of us, including Angel. Her daughters are mortified and I cringe each time I’m unfortunate enough to witness her doing that.
When she’s not squeezing his ass, she’s sticking her tongue down his throat. Public displays of affection or PDAs are one thing; but there’s a difference between PDA and groping.
Does he look like he minds? Nope. He loves it, judging by the size of the bulge in his pants.
“All alone with five women – how lucky can a guy get?” he says in a bragging voice. Five women? Fuckface is referring to Angel as a woman. Aaarrrggghhh!
He’s medium built, around 5-foot-8, tattoos on his arms and chest, long, stringy hair, blood-shot green eyes and his skinny jeans look like they have been tattooed on him. A Kid Rock wannabee, minus Pamela Anderson, a band and...
Let me rephrase that – a Kid Rock wannabee with … zilch.
“I see you got help?” he says, when he sees me vacuuming the living room.
I don’t hear Carlene’s response. Since he stares at my ass, I stop bending over and try to ignore him, but he continues to stare, making me self-conscious.
“Wow, that’s quite a suck you have there,” he mouths.
“What?” I snap, hitting the ‘off’ button.
“I said, “That Hoover sure sucks gooooooood!’”
I glare at him in total disgust, roll my eyes, then continue vacuuming.
As I hang out washing, he leans against the frame of the back door, beer in hand and watches me. As usual, he’s shirtless, with just a pair of ripped, dirty jeans. It’s 10:52 AM but guess what? The bar is open.
As he stares, I get self-conscious, so I casually hitch up my top to hide any cleavage.
No, don’t do that sweetpea!
Why the fuck is he watching me when there’s Lanie and Daisy walking around in next to nothing? Not to mention Carlene, who’s parading around in her fucking underwear.
What an ass.
I’m silently freaking out. When I go back inside, he remains at the door forcing me to have to brush past him.
Yeah … yeah ….that’s it baby….that’s it…ooooohhhhh!
I find him revolting and when he’s around, I feel pretty helpless. At times like this I feel like running away. If it hadn’t been for Angel, I swear I would’ve taken to the streets a long time ago. It would have been better living there than here for sure.
But I do nothing to make my aunt send me away, as it may mean that Angel and I may be separated and I cannot bear the thought of that ever happening. If I don’t do chores, nothing around here gets done. But I do them and I keep the place as tidy as I possibly can, as I worry that Social Services may drop by for an unscheduled visit. If they don’t like what they see, they could remove Angel from Carlene’s care and that is my single biggest fear.
Whenever Carlene brings men home, I worry about Angel. Most nights, since I don’t have a lock on my door, Angel and I drag a cupboard across our bedroom door to keep us safe.
How many sleeps till I’m eighteen? Can’t wait.
I daydream about the house I will own one day. It will be clean and pretty with beautiful, modern furniture and a lovely modern bathroom and I will have a little play area for Angel and we will be safe and comfortable and …
As I said, I just cannot wait.
****
I have the gift that keeps giving. Now that I’m aware of the gift, I’m a little more tuned into it and I hear a lot more these days. Unfortunately, I cannot choose whose thoughts I want to hear. It just happens. Like, if I need to read someone’s thoughts for whatever reason, it may not happen. And that can be a real let down, especially if I was banking on it.
But hearing a buzz of thoughts, like static when you don’t want to, can be a real pain in the ass. It’s like having a million people in your bedroom, all talking at the same time, while you’re sleeping. It’s like turning off your iPod when you’ve had enough of Kesha but she keeps going, telling you about Diddy and how she brushes her teeth with Jack, over and over and over and over …
The voices are random and make no initial sense.
What shall I have for dinner?
She’s such a slut.
Did I turn off all the stoves?
65, 66, 67, 68, 69…
Oooh baby yeah, bend a little bit more.
Drink up baby, I got plans…
…70, 71, 72, 73 …
That can’t be a real diamond…
Pink or white? White. No pink. No white. Or well, maybe I’ll have one of each in my hot chocolate.
AAAARRRGGGHHH!
Erro and Hawk are no help. None whatsoever.
As I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, I wonder if I will ever get rid of the voices. Will I eventually cave and become mental enough for them to institutionalize me? The thought is daunting and shrouded in despair, my eyes fill with tears.
“What’s wrong, Burn?” Angel asks.
“Nothing,” I say and blink rapidly. “Why?” I scan her lovely face – does she know something? Angel is the image of my mom – she has dark blonde, straight hair, blue eyes and white skin. She could easily pass as Kate Spelling’s sister. Doesn’t look like me at all. She was a beautiful baby – like a porcelain doll, and she’s just as lovely now. She may be quiet, but she’s very intuitive and misses nothing. In spite of our environment, she’s very innocent and pure. I protect that innocence with all that I have.
“You’re looking down these days. Like you lost your best friend or something.”
“I’m tired, I guess.”
“Then sleep.” She draws the covers up to my chin, tucks it around me and kisses my forehead. Just like I do for her. “You know how important it is for teenagers to get more than twelve hours of sleep.”
I smile. ”Aaaahhh! So that’s where my IQ is. And I thought they didn’t deliver it. You sure you’re eight?”
“Almost nine,” she chuckles and hops into her bed. We lie in our respective beds in the room that we share and look at each other.
After a while, I open my arms. She hops out of her bed and rushes into my arms where we snuggle and drift off to sleep. Like we do every night. Her bed is just for show.
“You really have to start sleeping on your own, Burn,” she whispers in a sleepy voice. “You’re gonna be seventeen soon.”
“Mfff.”
****
It’s Saturday and once again, I’m cleaning the house. Dusting, mopping, doing laundry – all the stuff I suck at, but I do anyway.
As I do, I spy the most beautiful white dress in Daisy’s room. Soft, flowing fabric with pearly beads on the front bodice, which, when it catches the light, almost lights up the dress. Awesome!
She’s going to some big party tonight and she’s really glamming up for it.
She’s got an even prettier pair of white stilettos with silver studs on the heels. I gasp at how gorgeous they both are.
“Can I try it?” I ask. “Please?”
“No,” she snaps, “you’ll …” Her lips curl, “you might split the dress.”
“No, I won’t. We’re almost the same size. Please! Please!”
Like hell we are. “NO!”
“Aw, c’mon, Daisy.”
“I said, NO!”
Bitch. I slink away.
Angel’s invited to a birthday party, so I drop her off at the party and return home.
Daisy’s left for the hairdressers and nobody else is around. Great! Wasting no time, I race to her room, slip on the white dress, the white heels and strut in front of the mirror. Wow! I look great. The white against my tan is awesome. I’m not that much bigger than Daisy and the shoes just about fit. A little tight, but who cares?
How lucky is Daisy.
Suddenly the room door is yanked open and there stands Bobby. “Helloooo, Sweetpea,” he says.
Oh no, not again!
“You look very, very seeeexy!” To my horror, he locks the door behind him.
“Wha …?” My voice dies as he inches closer, a glassy look in his eyes.
My heart beats like a bongo drum with every step that he takes. “Should you be wearing Daisy’s dress? I heard her say ‘no’ to you.” When he talks, I get a strong whiff of booze on his breath.
I shrug and try to look unafraid. “I’ll take it off when you leave.”
“Take it off … now, sweetpea.”
“Can you just leave?” I hiss when he backs me into a corner.
He runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. “You know, I always prefer dark chocolate to milk chocolate.”
Fear grips me and my knees start to shake. “Can you p … pleeease leave?”
‘Take off the dress, baby,” he says, his eyes slits. “Do it sloooowly.”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I know I’m in trouble. He’s going to hurt me. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! What do I do?
“Go on, baby, I’m waaaaiiting.”
“I … I … I’m gonna tell!”
“Tell what?” His smile is evil.
“That … that you asked me to take off my dress!”
“Yeah, the dress that doesn’t belong to you, honey. You shouldn’t be taking stuff that ain’t yours, Princess.”
“I … I …”
“Sweetpea, if Carlene finds out that there’s something going on between you and me, she’ll send you away. Then what? Where you gonna live?” His smile is smug.
Between you and me? Is he nuts?
“I can help you take it off.”
Fear seizes me. “Erro!” I yell. “Erro!”
Erro appears and stands behind Bobby. “I got it, Burn,” she says in a quiet, but angry voice.
Immediately, we hear a car in the driveway.
Bobby’s smile vanishes. He quickly unlocks the door and steps out of the room. I rip off the dress and shoes, place them where they were, slip on my own dress and hurry out of the room. Shaking, I run into the bathroom, lock the door and lean over the sink to compose myself.
“Erro!” I call.
She appears before me, looking mad as hell.
“Thank you for helping.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?”
“I can only help if you ask me to.”
“But you could see everything?”
“Yes.”
Maybe this gift is not so bad if it can save me from harm.
“Yes,” she says.
I give a small smile. “Forgot you can read my mind.”
She shrugs. “Your aunt is not here right now. I just created a little illusion of them returning to distract him and give you a chance to escape. He’s outside smoking. Go into your room and lock your door till they return.”
I nod and run out of the bathroom. Once in my room, I shut the door and since I don’t have a lock, Erro helps me push a cupboard in front of it.
“So, how did I manage to get this gift?”
“You inherited it.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes, your mother had it and …”
“My mother? You’re kidding me!”
“I’m not. She had it and that’s why she worked with the police and helped catch bad guys.”
“But … but … I thought ….” Suddenly, so many things make sense. “My mother – she was killed by one of those bad guys! Ohmigod! No wonder we got an extra payout and everything was kept so quiet and stuff!” I grow thoughtful. This gift – I don’t want it if it means something may happen to me, Erro. I mean, what about Angel? What would become of her if something happens to me?”
Erro drops her eyes. “I … look, Burn, you’re worrying for nothing. Relax.” Her tone of voice tells me she’s equally worried. “You’re not helping anyone right now – no bad guys on the scene, just petty stuff so ...”
“If my mother knew she was in danger, why didn’t the gift ‘Elders’ or ‘Overseers’ help her?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I’m afraid, I can’t answer that, Burn. But different people get different gifts.”
“Yeah, like the Virgin Mary.”
“Exactly. Why you smiling?”
“Well, I’m thinking what would happen if I explained my gift to anyone or tried to. They’d call me cuckoo - institutionalize me.”
“They might. But imagine the conversation between Mary and Joseph about Baby Jesus. Now her gift – boy did it require a ton of explaining. Imagine her conversation:
“Hey Jo, guess what? I’m knocked up.”
“What? How is that possible, Mary? I thought you were saving yourself for our wedding day? Well, at least that is what you kept telling me, Mary dear.”
“But I was, Joseph.”
“I don’t know, Mary. Something is not quite right here.”
“Now Joseph, don’t you start calling me a ho.”
“I’m not calling you a ho, Mary. I’m just saying. So who is the father, Mary?”
“God.”
“What?”
“God.”
“‘God’ as in ‘God only knows’ or God, as in you had …?”
“Joseph, I swear, it really is God. You gotta believe me, Jo.”
“Mm. Just how did you have ‘relations’ with God, Mary?”
“No, Joseph. I just lay in the sun and wham! I’m knocked up.”
“I don’t know Mary, let us run this by your parents and then mine.”
Erro looks at me. “There was no Maury Povich for paternity test then, Burn.”
I laugh. “Poor Mary.”
“Now that you’re laughing, I will be off. Daisy is on her way, so you should be safe from Bobby for now. Any problems, call me.”
I nod.
“Anything else you need from me, Burn?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, in that case I’ll go finish my chocolate cheesecake. And don’t worry about Bobby. They won’t be calling him ‘Stainer’ for nothing. I’m gonna make him live up to his name.”
“What do you mean?”
With a dismissive wave, she vanishes.