The high of standing up to Chloe evaporated the moment I turned the corner toward the small, crumbling house on the edge of the district. The "Gold" I felt in my chest turned back into heavy, cold lead.
I pushed the back door open, trying to be as silent as a shadow. The kitchen was dim, lit only by the flickering orange glow of a single burner on the stove. The air smelled of stale grease and the sharp, stinging scent of cheap whiskey.
"You're late," a voice rasped from the darkness of the corner.
Uncle Levi was sitting at the small wooden table, his large frame casting a terrifying silhouette against the peeling wallpaper. My stomach did a slow, painful flip. I kept my head down, my fingers instinctively curling around the strap of my bag—and the pink ribbon hidden beneath my sleeve.
"The bus was delayed by the rain, Uncle," I whispered, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to stay steady.
"Excuses," he spat, the sound of a glass hitting the table echoing like a gunshot. He stood up, his movements heavy and unpredictable. "I work all day to keep a roof over your head, and you can't even get home in time to clear the table? You think because you have those fancy books and those high marks that you're better than this house?"
He was in front of me before I could blink. His hand, rough and smelling of engine oil, clamped down on my shoulder. His grip was bruising, a silent promise of the pain that usually followed his bad moods.
"I'm sorry," I choked out, the familiar sting of tears pricking my eyes. "I'll do the dishes now."
"You'll do more than that," he hissed, his face inches from mine. He looked at my wrist, his eyes narrowing at the small bit of pink silk peeking out from my sleeve. "Still hanging onto that trash? Your mother is gone, Sarah. That bear is gone. You're living in the real world now, not some fairy tale."
He reached for the ribbon, his fingers grazing the skin of my wrist with a violence that made me gasp. I pulled back—a reflex I usually suppressed—and his eyes turned dark with a fresh, toxic rage.
"Don't you dare pull away from me," he growled.
He didn't hit me this time, but the way he shoved me toward the sink was enough to send me stumbling against the hard counter. The corner dug into my ribs, a sharp, white-hot pain blooming in my side. I didn't cry out. I couldn't.
I stood there, staring at the dirty water in the sink, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my bruised ribs. He walked away, the sound of his heavy boots retreating into the living room followed by the loud drone of the television.
I looked down at my wrist. The ribbon was still there. Frayed, old, and smelling of jasmine perfume, it was the only thing that felt real. I thought of the fire I felt when I spoke to Chloe. Here, in this kitchen, the fire was a tiny, dying ember, but I wouldn't let him blow it out.
I would study until my eyes burned. I would get that scholarship. I would leave this house and never look back.
The shadows were deep, but they couldn't hide the gold forever.
"ATTENTION PLEASE"
This story is just frictional story. THANK YOU FOR 1.8K+ VIEWS! Next chapter is coming soon!