Page 12 of Scapegoat

“Fine,” I ground out, jerking my hand from her grip.

“And you’ll do so with a better attitude than that, young lady, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” I sneered.

But any feeling of strength I might have felt disappeared the minute I got downstairs. Anna was sitting on her phone, tapping out messages to her friends, I bet, but Dad? People are taught to look for the signs of domestic violence in women, but do they do the same for men? He moved slowly, too slowly, as he sipped from his coffee cup and when he did, his sleeve pushed up slightly. Just far enough to reveal a band of greenish yellow bruises. Nausea forced saliva to flood my mouth, my guts rolling and rumbling at the sight of them, but Mum noticed that. She shot me a smug smile and then sat down at the head of the table, waiting expectantly.

I knew what they each wanted, though Mum and Anna delivered their orders imperiously. That was half the appeal of having me cook breakfast for them. This was an exercise in control and Mum flexed her muscles as I busied myself in the kitchen. But I set her coffee down before her with too much emphasis, listening to her splutter when the drink slopped over the rim and stained the tablecloth.

“That’s your great-grandmother’s good tablecloth you’re staining, young lady!” Mum said, puffing up, ready for another fight, but I just turned around in the kitchen and stared her down. My gaze held hers for some seconds, something I’d never been able to do before. The wolf inside me, she flexed her muscles, shifting. She was like a chick in an egg, tapping away at a hard shell, ready to come out. But I could feel her strength right now, and more importantly, so did Mum. “You’ll clean it up afterwards,” she ordered, but in a much more docile tone, so I turned back to the cooktop and kept working.

Dad had said he just wanted toast, as if ordering the minimum for breakfast was a sort of a salve to me when my mother forced him to treat me as the hired help. But I’d cooked eggs and bacon for him as well.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, gazing up at me as I set it before him. I just nodded.

“Where’s mine?” Anna demanded, looking up from her phone for a second.

I stalked over and dropped a bowl of cereal in front of her, not caring if the milk splattered everywhere. When Mum began to growl, I slapped her bowl of oatmeal with sliced strawberries down on the table next to her.

“You got milk on my clothes!” Anna cried.

“Why do you care?” I replied with a steely look. “I’m the one who’s going to have to clean them, so just stick them in the basket like everything else that needs washing.”

“Don’t talk to your sister like that!” Mum snapped, getting to her feet. She then shoved the oatmeal back at me. “And I told you to cut off all the white parts of the strawberries so it doesn’t turn the oatmeal bitter.”

Dad started to make small sounds of frustration as I stomped back into the kitchen, wrenching open a drawer and then pulling out a paring knife.

“Now, girls, let’s all take a deep breath,” Dad said.

“Do it yourself.” I slapped the knife down on the table and then pulled the apron I was wearing off. I tossed that onto the table too and then faced down my mother. “You’re going to have to soon enough. The choosing happens in less than a week and I’ll be out of here the moment I find my wolf—”

“You won’t be going anywhere.”

This was the pattern of our relationship. Me complying to try and avoid trouble, then when nothing I did pleased her, I rebelled until I was smacked back down and put in my place again. We were trapped in this toxic tug-of-war and she would never put down the rope. So there she stood, stepping up to me, the wolf inside me coming instantly to attention, sniffing the air, picking up the sharp stink of rage from her.

“You think you’re going to escape here at the choosing?” she said, then smiled, the expression on her face one that struck fear in my heart, far more than any threat would have. “You think anyone in this town is going to employ you? Rent a room out to you? Give you a loan for a car?” She shook her head slowly. “Put that apron back on and get back into the kitchen and clean up this mess!”

And with that she threw her bowl of oatmeal against the kitchen wall, the thick goo spreading all across the wall, then slowly dripping down. Anna let out a terrified little yip and Dad froze, blinking, blinking at the mess before staring back at the two of us.

“I think—” he said.

“Go to work and earn some money,” Mum commanded. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Doesn’t concern him?” I’d never said anything about this before now. The inequality between the two of them had stayed the elephant in the room. I turned to my father. “We don’t have to stay here, Dad. You could show those bruises to the alphas and they’d do something.”

But my dad just flushed bright red, tugging his sleeve down as his face took on a strange shuttered quality.

“We can get out,” I told him, almost pleading.

“Get out? How are you going to do that?” When I turned around, Mum was smiling smugly at me. “I told the alphas about what you’re good for and it wasn’t much.”

I went ice-cold right then, the fire inside me fluttering and then dying out.

“Abigail, don’t,” Dad said.

“They asked me what you’re good for, what kind of job you could do and I was honest with them.” She was never so alive as when she was being vicious to me, her eyes dancing with glee. “I told them that you’re flighty and unpredictable—”

The house was kept clean, orderly, because of me. People didn’t eat in this house if I didn’t cook. Alongside keeping on top of my schoolwork, I did all the washing, the ironing. I cleaned up the room I shared with Anna, and the bathroom and toilet. I ordered the groceries and got them delivered. I—

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