Marcus POV
I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have judged where she lived. Things probably went downhill after Mom died. But why wasn't I called when she died in the first place? Why did her stepfather have custody? What happened to her nose?
So many questions were swirling around me, but I couldn't bring myself to ask them when I saw her current state. She looked terrified, as if she was worried I would be upset. I'm not upset, she's a teenager. Having dealt with 3 teenagers before, I knew their mood swings.
"I'm sorry Brooke, I shouldn't have said that. Let's go now, ok?" I had no idea how to handle my mess up. Thank God she nodded along and got up.
Her eyes widened as she took in my Aston Martin. She approached it with wonder, her hand hovering over the surface. She gently touched the side mirror, then snatched her hand away and looked at me apologetically.
"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched that. I probably left a smudge."
What the hell? She shouldn't care about that. We live in New York City, pigeon central.
"Brooke, it's fine. It's just a car, don't worry about it."
Brooke POV
Damnit, I shouldn't have touched the car. Benny didn't like it when I touched his stuff. It was just such a sleek, vibrant red that I had to make sure it was real. So I was shocked when he assured me that I didn't mess it up.
Marcus guided me to the passenger side and opened my door for me, which was the sweetest thing anyone's done for me in a long time. I gently sat down, hoping I didn't mess up the leather seat. This is a beautiful car, I wouldn't want to be the one to ruin it.
Everything was calm until Marcus spoke unexpectedly. I jumped, not anticipating the sudden deep voice. "So, you want to tell me how you got that bandage on your nose?"
Crap, I forgot about that. Well, I've got two lies. Which one should I use? Probably not the mugged one, he might freak out. So instead I said, "I play basketball and got hit in the face with one. I don't think it's broken, though."
He hummed quietly and left it at that, leaving me to observe the world around me from a gorgeous car.
It drove so well, I didn't even notice the bumping of potholes on my street. I braced myself as we came to the one-story house I called my home for 5 years. I knew he would be disgusted and ask questions about it, so I needed to come up with a good excuse. Maybe...Benny was too busy to fix it up and everyone we called to come repair it was too expensive. Yeah, that should work.
"Um, sorry about the house. Benny–my stepdad–was too busy to fix it."
"You could have called someone to fix it."
"It's a bit expensive, I mean do you see the amount of work that needs to be done?" I tried to joke but he just let out another quiet hmm. Please, please believe me.
He pulled into the cracked concrete driveway and turned off the car. "I'll wait here for you, just don't be too long or I'm coming in to check on you."
Well we can't have that, so I gotta be quick. I jumped out of the car, gently shutting the door so I wouldn't damage it, and rushed inside the house. Tiptoeing across the broken bottles and burnt out cigarette butts, I reached my room.
I tore apart the pitiful space looking for the stuffed bunny I was given at birth. It's been with me for 16 years and it's not abandoning me now, like everything else. I let out a sigh of relief as I found it beneath week-old laundry and hugged it close.
Glancing around the room, I couldn't find anything else worth taking. Benny burned any memories of my mom, so there was nothing I could take for her. It was his way of grieving, apparently.
Before leaving the house, I did a quick tour of the rooms, just to make sure I didn't miss anything. I couldn't stop myself from freezing when I walked in the kitchen, looking at the chip in the counter.
Flashback
I was 13. It was a Saturday, yet Benny had still gone into work. He would be home soon, and I needed to have dinner done. I hadn't reached my growth spurt, so I used a step stool to reach the stove. Peeking at the recipe, I poured 2 cups of water into the pot as the directions said. I was waiting for the water to boil when I heard the rumble of the garage.
No no no no no. He can't be home. But he was home, and he was angry. The water had just started to bubble as he slammed the door open and bellowed, "WHERE ARE YOU?"
I was hyperventilating, curled up on the floor praying to anyone to save me. He stormed into the kitchen, glaring at me with a hate-filled gaze. "ALL I ASK IS FOR DINNER TO BE DONE WHEN I COME HOME. THAT'S NOT MUCH, RIGHT? YET YOU STILL MANAGE TO F*CK IT UP!"
I panted, pleading with him, "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, it'll be ready soon." "NOT GOOD ENOUGH." He picked up the pan of boiling water and angrily threw it at me.
I screamed as the scalding hot water flew across my skin, and watched as the pot took a chip off the cheap counters. It took me 3 weeks to recover from those burns.
I stared at the missing counter piece, shaking with silent sobs. That wasn't even the worst thing he did to me. I shook my head to clear it, wiped away the tears, and clutched my bunny.
I walked back over the broken bottles with my old sneakers, wincing when a particularly sharp piece of glass would break through the worn rubber soles. I carefully schooled my features into a blank expression before climbing into my brother's Aston Martin and telling him I was ready to go.
He glanced at me periodically as we drove, as if he knew I had been crying. His eyes softened when he saw my bunny's ears peeking out of the plastic bag I had placed it in.
"That's what you had to get? Your bunny?"
I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know about my bunny?"
He smiled gently. "I gave it to you when you were born. I can't believe you still have it."
Yeah. Me neither. I guess I hid it from Benny well enough for it not to be burned with the rest of the good memories.
I didn't know he gave me my bunny; my mom said she bought it for me when I was born. But since my mom obviously lied about 90% of my life, I'm trusting his word.
"It's a comfort thing." He stayed silent the rest of the drive, and I didn't attempt to engage.