On Display (mxm)

8: Broken Pattern

Dad stayed longer than usual this go around. His usual stay of three to four days was now nearing a week and a half, and it had everyone in the house on edge. There was no end in sight, none of his standard pre-business trip routines and packing.

No one wanted to ask why, to see if everything was okay or what was going on. He was on a hairpin trigger. Every little thing set him off. We knew something had happened, but what exactly occurred was a mystery to us all.

Mom, Nadia, and I did our best to keep Zadie away from him, to protect her from his wrath. Each of us had different reasons, though. Or rather, Mom had different reasons than Nadia and I did.

Zadie was my sister. She was one of the only two people in this world who I loved and who loved me back. I knew I wouldn't amount to anything in this world, but she was so smart and so kind, she could do anything she wanted and truly make a difference. She could have a life after this once she was old enough to escape and disappear.

Nadia wanted desperately to protect us both, but when it came down to it, there was one of her and two of us. Zadie was younger, more fragile, and Nadia and I had a silent agreement that it should be her that's shielded from our reality as much as possible. Besides, Mom would be more likely to stick up for Nadia and keep her hired on if it was Zadie she was protecting, not me. At this point, I was expendable.

To Mom, Zadie was a cash cow. If anything happened to her, Mom would fall from social media relevance and the income and attention she garnered and craved so desperately would disappear. I was too old to have value anymore. I was too male, even as slender as she kept me with her ridiculous control over the food in the house and our access to it. Most people didn't have any interest in men and boys in general, especially once they turned from cute little boys to awkward teens.

Everyone in the house made themselves scarce, but Mom did her best to keep her content consistent. She posted about me less, even less than normal. She feared someone noticing the way I moved differently due to my injuries or catching sight of bandages or bruises. I was only in stills now, sets of photos carefully staged to look candid or obviously posed. She ensured whatever outfit she picked for me or whatever pose I held hid any sign of what Dad was doing.

She posted Zadie more, about herself more. Her pages were filled with Pilates and shopping and spa days. Not everything she posted with Zadie was tailored for a... specific audience, but even her more casual posts or outfits or outings with Zadie had her in clothing too adult for her age.

Mom and Nadia did their best to keep Zadie out of the house. I did, too, but this seemed to be one of Dad's triggers now. Anytime I left the house I was welcomed home with fists, claws, boots, and teeth.

I stopped pushing my luck. I stopped leaving the house entirely. I was a ghost, a specter in the halls moving as silently as possible between my room, the kitchen, and the bathroom. If I was caught anywhere in the common areas, basically anywhere that wasn't my room, Dad threw a fit.

He'd been slapping me around a bit ever since Zadie has been able to walk around, and if his trips went particularly poorly, he acted like this for a day or two, but... He'd never been like this for so long. He'd never actively hunted me in the halls, made a game of it. His mood fluctuated wildly from fury to sadistic glee when he caught me.

I don't know if it was his intention to hone my ability to remain silent and keep my senses on high alert or if it was just to entertain himself and release rage, but either way, my nerves were entirely frayed. Each time he popped out from a corner or spoke behind me or grabbed me suddenly, I swore my heart was going to rupture in my chest. He never came into my room, seeming to view it as an off-limits area or "safe zone", but he still seemed to take great pleasure in randomly appearing in the doorway to yell at me and demean me.