Prologue

They say the system fails everyone in one way or another. Everyone is traumatized by people as they grow up. It's a part of life, of being human. It's something older generations were more accepting of and my generation is intolerant to.

Everyone makes mistakes, even when those mistakes leave them dripping in the blood of others. Blood isn't too bad though. I'm drawn to it in an unexplainable way. The crimson hue grows in my vision with each passing day.

There's something inside me that I can't identify, but every second, it grows.

I pass the mountains of trash bags in the hall and force myself to breathe through the scent of rotting food before making it to one of the only clean rooms in the house.

As soon as I step inside, I tear open the zipper of my backpack–barely held together by the seams–and pull out the air freshener refill I stole from the store on my walk home.

Mom would be so disappointed, but she's dead so she can't say much. It's not like Samantha is going to put out the money to make this room more bearable for our guest. She stands up in the little gated pen she spends her days in and giggles when she sees me.

Bellatrix Rothchild. My only guess is that her parents are huge Harry Potter fans and decided to take one of those weird names and give it to their only daughter. I call her Trixie though.

Samantha is an extended-stay babysitter, but Trixie is the only one who stays for more than a few days at a time. Samantha only has one rule for the parents. They aren't allowed in the house for obvious reasons. It's insane that people actually trust her to take care of their kids. Mom never would've left me with Samantha if she hadn't died in that plane crash seven years ago.

Samantha, the legal guardian in question, is my much older step-sister. Rodney, Samantha's dad, and Mom married shortly after I was born and I was told the only condition was that Samantha never be left alone with me. I didn't understand why, but I do now. Samantha is in her late twenties and she's always on something and in a foul mood.

"Hey, Trixie," I say as I plug in the air freshener before dropping my backpack. She claps her hands with joy before flashing a toothy grin my way.

I try to remind myself that babies are like dogs. They love you as long as you're the one feeding them. However, every time I try to keep that in perspective–that Trixie doesn't actually care that it's me who came into the living room–it feels wrong. She doesn't smile like that for her parents when they pick her up once every couple weeks for a few days.

I do everything for Trixie even though it's Samantha who is supposed to be taking care of her. If I left it up to my evil step-sister to tend to Trixie, she would starve and live in her own feces. Trixie is a well behaved little girl. Before I leave for school, I give her breakfast, leave her with three cups of water, change her clothes, and empty her potty chair. I leave school during lunch time to do the same things as I did in the morning except for changing her clothes. When I get home, it's another repeat, except I tend to bring her with me to my room while I do homework or whatever else Samantha makes me do. That's usually only when we leave the house though. Good thing Samantha brought Mom's bike here when she died. It's one of those bikes with a little playpen attached to the back so I can take Trixie with me.

I don't feel right leaving her here with Samantha. She doesn't do anything and, when she does, it's not good.

"Damien!" Samantha calls from across the house as I rub my stomach, feeling the ache of the bruises along the muscles. "Are you home?"

I grimace before reaching into the pen and I lift up Trixie who quickly hugs me. "Dame dame!" Her arms tighten around my neck and I get the sense that this little girl wants to protect me from the monster in the next room. No one else sees it, but she does because she's here all the time. She clings to me and gets so upset when her parents come for her. In some way, she knows that when she leaves, I'm alone with pure evil.

I should be counting down the days until I can leave, but I'm not. Leaving means abandoning Trixie and I don't want to do that. I could tell her parents the truth, but they won't care. No one does as long as evil puts on a mask and pretends to be something it isn't. A person can be kind, but people are too wrapped up in themselves to see someone crying out for help. I've been crying for years, but everyone ignores it. As long as Trixie is taken care of, I don't mind taking the abuse.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

"Are you hungry?" I ask before I set her on the floor outside her pen and squat down. Samantha doesn't like it, but I keep all of Trixie's snacks in here, so her friends don't eat them all. I can only steal so much with my backpack and I can't steal from the same places or they might notice a pattern.

Trixie sits on her knees and claps as I open the cabinet doors in the entertainment center and pull out a box of graham crackers. Flipping open the top, I pull out two sheets before handing them to her. Trixie shoves one in her mouth before she extends the other out to me, pleading in her doe eyes. She wants me to eat, too. I'll eat later. This is her food.

"That's yours," I say, but she shakes her head and thrusts the graham cracker sheet at me again, adamantly.

I sigh in defeat before I take a small bite off the end. She mimics the move as if to say keep going. My stomach rumbles in agreement with her so I follow her unspoken request until the cracker is completely gone.

"Thank you," I whisper to her before I press a kiss to her cheek. Then, she shoves an entire graham cracker in her mouth, but it"s too big. Half of it falls out of her lips as she chews with a big smile across her face.

"Damien," Samantha chastises as she stumbles into the room, clutching her robe around her body. The way she moves tells me everything I need to know. She's halfway to passed out on the floor. It's barely three. "I was calling your name," she slurs as she drops onto the sofa, groaning from the lumpy surface.

"I was taking care of Trixie." I grab her cup from inside the pen and hand it to the toddler as she grins up at me like I'm her favorite person in the world.

"Fucking brat has been making too much noise. I had a migraine all day." Samantha presses a hand to her forehead with a groan, but I ignore her antics. A headache is no excuse for ignoring Trixie. She's basically a baby. She can't take care of herself.

"I'll make some food," I offer before lifting Trixie into my arms. "You'll feel better after you eat."

Samantha sends me one of those smiles that tells me she's thinking of something truly evil. "Such a good boy."

I duck my head and carry Trixie to the kitchen. I don't have very many cooking skills, but I can make due with the basics. Trixie doesn't stop clinging to me until we're away from Samantha and in the kitchen. I place Trixie in her high chair before I get to work on cleaning up the mess Samantha has made today. Then, I start making food. Once I sit a plate on the kitchen table, I take Trixie and my plate of food up to my room before locking the door.

* * *

Trixie breathes softlyas she lays in her playpen set up in my room. We use it as a bed since Samantha can't seem to put enough money aside to get Trixie a toddler bed. Standing up from my desk, I grab Trixie's blanket and lay it over her sleeping form. The child snuggles into the fleece, but doesn't wake back up. Her nightly bath always puts her to sleep.

I rub my eyes before yawning then I hear her calling my name from downstairs. The needles prick up my spine as I stiffen. The last thing I want is to go downstairs, but if I don't, Samantha will come up here and I don't want Trixie to see what she does. It's bad enough that she witnesses the beatings.

Grudgingly climbing out of bed, I switch off the light before turning on the box fan in the corner. I don't want her to hear it either.

Stepping out of my room, I head down the hall and down the stairs. "Coming," I mutter with anxiety creeping up the back of my neck. It's going to happen again. I just know it. It's the only reason she ever calls me down here after Trixie has fallen asleep.

I don't want it to happen. I hate it. Everytime she does this, I get sick and lose everything I ate for dinner. I can already feel the bile rising as I make my way down the halls with trash bags stacked along the wall.

"Yes?" I say as I stand in the threshold of Samantha's room and she sits on the edge of her bed in that robe I hate so much. It's bubble gum pink with magenta flowers all over it. It's her unspoken sign. That dang robe. It's meant to tell me what she's going to do to me.

"Come here," she says with that strange look on her face.

"I should take the trash out." Anything to escape this, but I try this excuse every time she does this and it always makes her mad.

"You can do that tomorrow. Come here, Damien," she demands, that rage in her eyes. "You know I need your help." She tries to look innocent. She is anything but.

Swallowing down the rising bile, I take a step inside her room and nearly trip over the trash and dirty clothes littering the floor.

She grins like the cat from Alice In Wonderland. "Good boy. Now, come sit with me." Biting my tongue, I move over to the edge of her bed and take a hesitant seat beside the evil witch that controls my existence.

She stands and moves in front of me before pushing me back on the bed and pushes her robe over her shoulders and down her body. Samantha moves her filthy fingers to the elastic band of my shorts and tugs them down. Slamming my eyes shut, I try to imagine I'm somewhere else, anywhere else. As long as it"s not this hell. Still, I feel her climb on top of me and force me inside her.

My stomach rolls as my arms shake and I'm so thankful Trixie is asleep upstairs. She doesn't know this is happening. She doesn't know the worst part of my sentence in this house. The worst part isn't the trash, the beating, or having to take care of everyone that comes through the front door. No, it's the thing Samantha does in the dead of night.

"Such a good boy," the beast purrs in my ear as she moves against me and I refuse to open my eyes.

It will all be over soon, like it is every time she makes me do this. It never lasts long, only until she is satisfied, and then I can go puke, shower, and go to bed. Just for it all to start over again.