Page 1 of Savage

Prologue

The Past

Daddy was shouting at Mummy again, calling her some horrible names. He wasn’t talking funny this time though; I could hear every mean word. As soon as I heard them at the top of the stairs near my room, I knew I had to hide.

I took a deep breath; I wouldn’t cry, I had to be tough; like my best friend Melody. She wasn’t scared of anything. Not even Georgie Sweet who was anything but sweet. He was the school bully and I hated him.

I leaned my head further toward the sound. Daddy’s voice was the crossest I’d heard it, so I shuffled back against the wall in my wardrobe with my hands over my ears. My attempt to block out that noise didn’t work; it just made his words more muffled, almost like I was listening to them from beneath my bedcovers. I was so worried that my chest hurt and it suddenly felt like someone had sucked the air from the small space around me. I had a huge wardrobe, almost as big as another room, but right then it felt tiny.

I hadn’t pulled the light on and so it was dark in there, and I knew I shouldn’t be afraid. I was in my safe place. Nothing could hurt me there.

Plus, I was made of meatier stuff. Mrs Wale, my teacher, had told me that when Georgie had pushed me over in the playground. I’d kicked his shins, making them bleed, and Melody had laughed and clapped with glee. He had tried to force her to eat a mouldy sandwich from her bag the other week. I remember she’d booted him so hard in the willy, that his eyes had watered all afternoon.

Dropping my hands, a creepy silence followed what sounded like breaking glass, and I pushed onto my knees and leaned against the door of my wardrobe. It was then that I heard it—that noise that always made me feel sick.

The sound of my Mummy crying was the worst. It forced the dinner that sat in my tummy to churn around like a washing machine.

I wanted to go to her, see if she was OK, hug her, and explain how Daddy would calm down soon. He always did, eventually, and then he was so very sorry. He even cried the last time. When Daddy’s face looked like that, you could forgive him for anything. He was so busy and had lots of pressure on his shoulders, so we had to be supportive. Those were the words my mummy used anyway.

I pushed backwards as I heard what sounded like my bedroom door opening. I could hear shuffling feet and my mummy’s voice got louder. The sound was high-pitched and screechy. I was only eight, but I knew this was different to the last time. And then a light appeared—a thin line of brightness beneath the door of the wardrobe I was squatting in. Daddy’s voice was also louder. They had moved their fight into my bedroom.

I pushed myself further into the corner, in between a box of old Barbie dolls, my skateboard, and Ronnie Hek, my favourite bear I had brought in there with me. He was my backup when I needed a friend. Right then, I knew I needed more than that.

“You can’t take her! She stays with me,” I heard mummy sob; her voice a broken whisper.

I then closed my eyes, jammed my hands back over my ears, and waited for it to end.

One

Savage

noun

a brutal or savage person

Eleven Years Later

The thud of the fist against my bedroom door was impatient and aggressive. In no rush to answer, I plodded across the floor of my room, instantly knowing who it was: Jaxon, my stepbrother from hell. Any hopes I’d harboured for having a good day suddenly plummeted.

“Yes?” I replied with a pitch that was surely dogs-only high.

“It’s me. Open up,” he boomed, in that abrupt voice of his. He was a soldier and used to barking orders. Well, this wasn’t the bloody army; this was my home too, and Jaxon Savage could do one!

My mother and I had moved into the Savages' luxurious residence a couple of years ago. And it blew; I still wasn’t used to sharing a house with two older stepbrothers, (a part-time stepsister, but I’ll come to that later) and a step-father. Life living with my gran had been much more straightforward (with the bonus of zero boy smells).

“Today Wynter,” I hated the way he said my name, but it still gave me goosebumps.

“I’m not decent,” I barked back in a haughty voice.

“Like I give a shit.”

I lifted my robe from where it was hanging on the back of the door and slid my arms into the sleeves. I took my sweet time, of course.

Silently counting to five, I straightened my PJs and briefly checked my face in the mirror. As usual, not being a morning person, I looked like shit.

“Open the fucking door, or I will,” he snapped irritably. Jaxon did not like to be kept waiting.

Huffing, I did as I was told and scowled through the gap, annoyed that he'd caught me unawares. My hair was mussed from sleep and flopped about my shoulders in straggly waves. Knowing my luck, I probably had death breath and sleep crust in my eyes too.

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