Page 31 of Pain and Possession

He smirks, "You can wear what you want baby, within reason. If they look that's my problem. Not yours."

I shake my head as my stomach growls loudly, interrupting my chance to argue. Nona's short form rounds the corner quickly, eyeing our proximity with a small smile on her lips.

"Ah my boy good morning." She mutters lovingly, Noè bends letting her kiss his cheeks. She pinches his chin tightly, narrowing her dark eyes at him.

"Good morning it is Nona. There's someone I want you to-"

"Yes, I met Olive earlier. You need to go back up there and shave your face. Your grandfather would throw a fit running around like you do. I'll take Olive and get her fed."

He nods, pulling from her and giving me a small wink before heading back down the hallway. I raise my eyebrows, "He listens to you?"

"They all do if they know what's good for them, come."

I smile at her, surprised that most of the people here seem so normal. I don't know what I expected from acriminal organization, but it wasn'tthis.

Groups of people sit at tables scattered around the large room; I must fall behind because soon Nona's boney hand grips my wrist pulling me along with her into the conjoined kitchen.Her small worn hand gentle but unwavering on my bruised skin.

"This is where my Noè prefers to eat, he's never been a fan of crowds."

She practically shoves me into a bar stool sitting along the kitchen island. All the appliances look perfectly polished, the wooden panel walls that line the walls of the compounds bottom half is tiled in pristine white.

She grabs a plate as a few people filter in and out thanking her before washing their dishes. I feel him before I turn. Noè rounds the island dressed in all black, his face now clean shaven. He grabs the pot of coffee and two cups sitting one beside me.

I thank Nona as she sits down a plate stacked full in front of me. Eggs, bacon, sausage and waffles. My mouth waters as I stare at it, unable to make my hands move towards the plate. This feels wrong. This kindness shouldn't be here.

Olive Age Six

I know as soon as I step off the school bus something isn't right. My stomach churns as Brandon the eldest brother in the Carter household shoves past me racing up the rotting porch steps to his house. He's much older than me and by far the worst part of the household. Which is saying something. I adjust my tattered backpack on my shoulder as I quicken my steps, my head feels off. Like it weighs too little on my shoulders.

"Hey, don't you fuckin’ run inside my house." George Carter’s voice makes me jump as I rush past him inside. I know that will piss him off, I'll probably be punished but I need to get to the bathroom.

Now.

I only got here a few months ago and already the Carters are by a landslide the worst foster family I've been pawned off on.

The worst so far at least.

A large hand clamps down on my shoulder causing a sharp pain to race down my small arm. I cry out, my stomach doing backflips as George whirls me around to face him. His sore covered face twists in disgust, "The hell is wrong with you?"

I shake my head, my hands gripping my stomach willing the contents to stay in place for a few more minutes. I can feel sweat form across my forehead as he gets in my face his rotting teeth always make his breath awful.

Today it's particularly pungent.

"Answer me stupid ass!"

When I open my mouth to answer, my hands start to shake, a wave of heat washing across my skin as I throw up at his feet.

"I'm sorry!" I cry out as his large hand grips my ponytail jerking me to the floor.

"Stupid little bitch, look what you did!" He screams as I brace my hands on the ground trying desperately to keep my face from the mess.

"Ew, the ugly girl threw up on dad!" Brandon cackles from behind us.

Ugly girl.

Tears fill my eyes as my arms give out, allowing George to shove my face roughly into the vomit.

I hate them. I fucking hate them. It was an accident.

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