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ANNE LITTLE
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APRIL, 2006
DUSTING HER hands, she tried her very best to get the dirt off her fingers and around her nails as the pad of her thumb rubbed aggressively so it wouldn't be obvious she was just digging in the dirt under the few steps in front of the house. She didn't want Trent finding out otherwise she would pay for it. She looked closely at her fingers in the dim light illuminating everything around her, deeming her hands presentable as she picked the grocery bags back up. Walking to the door to unlock it with the key she got out of her pocket.
Stepping inside, she closed and locked the front door behind her and made her way to the kitchen only to feel her heart being punched in her chest, her body shaking for a mere second. She stepped back a few steps as she stared at her husband at the dinner table, atm resting on the table, his hazel eyes filled with poison as he stared at her in the threshold.
"It's late, isn't it?" he chastised, the tone of his voice was harsh to her ears. "Where were you?"
"Groceries. . ." she faltered, nodding her head down to the bags in her arms as if it wasn't obvious enough. His eyes trailed down to the bags, eyeing them for several seconds.
"At this hour?" He raised his eyes to meet hers, a brow raising above those diabolical eyes, creating wrinkles on his forehead. Anne couldn't help but feel interrogated by her own husband, he was pushing her into a wall and trapping her, his breath fanning down in her pale skin. "Answer me, Anne!"
She blinked, stuttering: "I—I just wanted to go and get some groceries to make your favourite dish. T—That's all." A fake smile to her thin pink lips, she only hoped it looked truthful and didn't show any dishonesty, revealing to him she went behind his back.
If it was possible, she hoped the ground beneath her opened up and swallowed her so she would be far, far away from this wicked man. It wasn't hard to tell there were some missing bolts in that brain of his, all you needed to do was stare into those eyes — they revealed everything in mere seconds.
He remained silent, letting the hair-raising atmosphere thicken the longer he sat there with his eyes lingering on her in thought. She didn't know whether she was allowed to move and put the groceries away, or just stand here and wait for his dismissal. She wasn't going to take a chance to have him pull her up by the hair, and slap her face continuously until she had a river of tears running down her pale and bruised cheeks.
"Alright," he said, grabbing her attention as she looked at him again, eyes widened to the size of saucers. He got up, pushing the chair under the table, the bottom of the legs screeching against the wooden floors, and walking toward her. Her whole body seemed to taut with each step he made toward her, instinct was telling her to run or hide or dodge him — anything — but she stood still, like her feet had been glued to the floor.
He took the groceries and placed them on the table for her, turning and placing a hand on her cheek, bringing her closer so he could plant his lips on her other cheek in a tender act of affection. Her body pressed into his, even though he felt so warm, she felt anything but warmth from him. He felt like darkness and ill-natured. His other hand wrapped around her and squeezed her arse, fingers digging into her flesh even through the old denim fabric, too harsh for her liking as she became wary of his actions. His hand released her arse as he stepped away and left the kitchen to probably join the kids watching TV on a Friday night.
Left alone in the kitchen, Anne composed herself, inhaling and exhaling a few times to rid the anxiety digging deep into her bones.
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Everyone's plates were empty, Arlo taking a little longer to finish compared to his eighteen-year-old brother. Arlo stayed back to help his mother with the dishes as he wiped them dry and she washed them clean. He didn't talk much, just kept quiet and enjoyed the company of his mother. She enjoyed these times with her baby boy, he was getting older and more distant each week going out to the woods with his dad and brother. After the years she understood what their father was trying to, teaching these boys to be like him or worse. And by the looks of it, Trent seemed to be very pleased with how Ethan has turned out.
Those same poisonous hazel eyes that made her feel weak, polishing their shoes and making sure they felt like Gods.
Those same shadows creeping over his facial features, a splitting image to his dad's.
That same tone and harshness to his voice, it was all too similar as she tended to confuse them when they spoke.
But Arlo? He had a more tender look to his hazel eyes, the blue specks in his eyes being his saving grace. She could lose herself in his eyes, feeling free and seen with a simple glance from him.
A gentle glow to his skin, making everyone around him feel drawn to him, yet he still managed to keep people away without a single word uttered. It was a simple furrow of his brows and a hard look that kept them from going near him, his fingers twitching at his sides.
However, when he did speak, he spoke with a kind and compassionate tone to his voice. It wasn't loud or threatening, he just sounded like he wanted to make sure the other person was comfortable just because he felt like an outcast. The things that happened in those woods pulled him further and further away from the norm of society. He knew he didn't belong with everyone else in the world, even at thirteen he understood the way his mind worked because of the abuse from his dad. It was obvious his dad was trying to get him to the level Ethan was at, resulting in hand to skin contact to make sure Arlo knew that, pushing him into what Trent thinks is the right direction.
It tore her heart to see Arlo's face swollen and bloodied with blood, his eyes so puffed up and crimson he could barely see. Anne tried to confront Trent about it, but he didn't see eye to eye with her. He never did.
"How was school?" She didn't expect him to answer her, she was okay if he didn't want to talk.
"I don't understand them." Her eyes widened and her brows were raised when she heard his voice, it made her heart warm to hear him speak to her about something bothering him so he wasn't dealing with it alone.
She turned to him. "Understand who?" Her brows furrowed then, watching his eyes paying attention to the cup he was drying.
He shrugged. "Everyone," he directs his eyes to her, a desperate want to be like them swimming in his orbs. "They're so happy, like they don't have horrible thoughts. And I'm just . . . living in a darker world where I know I'm capable of killing—" he paused to stop himself, his hazel eyes widening as he looked toward the threshold to make sure his father or brother were there to catch him. And when he felt sure no one was there, he turned back to his mum. "—because dad says I am—or will—whatever. It's this stupid thought that crosses my mind and I can't get rid of it."
Anne had a feeling there was more to this killing thing his father had Ethan and him doing. It didn't sound good.
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She didn't go to sleep. She just closed her eyes and waited for the soft snores of her husband to signal he was in a deep slumber. And when it was well into the night, Anne rolled onto her back carefully, making sure not to move the bed in a way that would wake her husband. As he laid beside her, back facing her, his snores bouncing off the walls and around the room into her ears, she definitely knew he was sleeping and there was a minimal chance he would wake up.
Slowly, she peeled the blanket from off her body and sat up with her feet on the ground beside the bed. She got up and tiptoed her way to the door, her toes feather light on the wooden floorboards. She reached out for the door handle, it was cold against her touch, her fingers and palm coated with a thick layer of perspiration. Turning the handle, she opened the door in the slowest way possible, afraid if she opened it too quickly, it'll creak, sending a loud scream throughout the house and, more terrifying than not, into her husband's ears. Immediately once she had the door opened to an appropriate size that would allow her to slip through easily, she turned back to steal a glance at her husband, who laid with an arm hanging off the edge of the bed, face half buried into his pillow. If he wasn't such a monster of a person, she would've stopped to admire his calm features as he slept.
Shaking off the thought, she slipped out of the room and quietly — as best she could — closed the door, managing to leave it slightly ajar for when she returned. Stepping through the undisturbed hallway, walking past her sons' rooms and going straight to the front door. She unlocked it and briskly stepped out into the darkness of the night, the moonlight being her own source of light as she tiptoed down the few steps. Squatting down, she started digging through the dirt like she had done earlier that night, before she had stepped into the house with the groceries. The earth was soft under her fingertips, smooth and cold from the night air, as she tried to find what she had hidden away from under her husband's nose. When her fingers grazed over the object, hard and chilly to the touch, she hastily dug the dirt and grabbed it in her hands, dusting the dirt off more. She blew at it, blowing out the earth in the small nooks and crannies.
In the moonlight, the silver pocket knife in her hands reflected the soft glow of the moon, making it look almost enchanted. The engraving she had asked to be on the handle was gorgeous and more than she could have imagined when she asked: can you engrave it?
Anne stood to her full height and then went back inside, closing the front door and locking it gingerly behind her, careful to not make a single sound. The slightest pin drop of a sound could be the end of her.
Stalking her way back to the hallway she stood in front of the room, hand hovering over the handle as she questioned if she should. It was a stupid thing for her to hesitate, wanting nothing more than safety to be his one priority. The cold metal of the door handle to her fingertips sent a chill running up her arm as she turned it, opening the door enough and slipping inside before closing it behind her. She turned her head to look over her shoulder, her hand still on the cold metal of the doorknob, her grip a little too tight, relieving her stressful thoughts that her husband may wake up and notice she was gone.
Heaving a shaking breath, she exhaled the worries that were once flying around her anxious mind.
She let go of the doorknob, trailing her way to her son's bed and sitting on the edge of his bed. He looked so peaceful, sleeping on his stomach, head facing the window. She couldn't wake him up, could she? He was so calm compared to when he had to deal with the norms of society. But she had to give him the pocketknife, it would make her feel better knowing he could protect himself out there in those woods.
Placing a delicate hand to his shoulder, she shook him a little. "Arlo, dear?" she whispered, so light she wasn't sure it even left her thin pink lips. She repeated her words again, shaking his shoulder with more force. He groaned, moving more as he slowly awoke from his peaceful slumber.
He leaned up into his elbows, looking behind his shoulder at her before turning around and sitting up, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. "Mum?" he said, voice deeper. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything is fine." She smiled lightly. "I just wanted to give you something," she said as she held out the small silver pocket knife to him. His chocolate brows furrowed and a look of confusion crossed his gentle hazel eyes the lower he stared at it, going through all the possibilities as to why she would give him such a thing. "It's for self protection, my sweet boy. If anything happens to you or me, I want you to use it on him."
She didn't have to specify who, though, because his eyes softened as he reached his hands over to allow her to place it in his hold, knowing who exactly she was talking about. It was a silent understanding between them both.
"Only if your life's in danger. He mustn't know you have this — at all costs — who knows what he could do if he finds out."
Arlo took his eyes off the silver pocket knife, his thumb running over the engraving of his name, looking her dead in the eyes with such seriousness his brows pulled down even further with certainty, wrinkles forming between his brows. The sleepiness in his hazel eyes had vanished in mere seconds, the blue specks in the bottom of his hazel orbs shining in the light from the moon outside. "I promise."
ＡＵＴＨＯＲ'Ｓ ＮＯＴＥ
Word Count: 2300+
There's one more prologue chapter, though, I'm just having trouble planning out how I want it to go. I wanted to post them all at the same time but last week I had an interview and was extremely anxious about it so it stopped me from writing, because I did write the first three chapters after each other and I wished I still had that momentum. Unfortunately, I get exhausted easily and have to have breaks after periods of writing. Give me a week or so to write the last prologue chapter, lol, I just really wanted to share it with you guys. 🤍
Thoughts on the chapter? Any criticism (please be nice I have anxiety lol)?
— DYLAN