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"He left everything to that stupid kid, after all the work I put in, after marrying him, after pretending to like his fucking devil spawn."
"Cool it, you're still in charge of the kid ain't ya?"
"Sure, the little shit's mine now that their rich fuck of a father dead."
"Look, it says here that the care-giver is allowed to spend money in place of the kid until it's old enough to fend for itself."
"Only on things for the kid. What the hell do kids even need? Bit of food maybe some water? Easier than taking care of a dog."
"That's right, we keep the kid, make sure it stays alive, spend the money on whatever we want but tell anyone who asks that it for the little shit."
They said all this like I couldn't hear them, like I wasn't listening to their plans to destroy my life. The bitch who married my father and her boyfriend. They'd be my tormenters for the next 13 years. I was too young to understand their selfishness and I was too naive to stop them destroying everything my parents had set up for me.
He lifted me up by the front of my shirt.
"What do you think you're doing you little shit?"
I could smell expensive wine and cheap beer on his breath and a mixture of dirt and sweat on his clothes and body.
"I'm hungry."
"You've been fed, I watched her poor your food out."
"That's dog food, I'm not a dog."
"It's fucking expensive dog food, got all the nutrients and shit you need. This here," he peeled what little food I'd managed to grab from the table and shoved it in his mouth, chewing and spitting as he continued. "is adult food. This food ain't for little shits like you, got it?"
I'd been trying not to cry, the effort created a delay to my answering so he shook me, hard and fast. Jolting my brain around in my head.
"GOT IT?"
His yells hurt my ears and my throat felt tight from the way my shirt was twisted. I just wanted him to let go. I nodded. He didn't let go nicely, apparently my answer hadn't been convincing enough, instead he threw me at the wall and into a small table with a decorative vase on top. The table broke and the vase smashed cutting a bit of my cheek. My arm was bruised from where it'd hit the table and my feet got scratched up and bloody when I tried to stand. They didn't have to tell me to clean up the mess, they just continued with their dinner, plotting out what my punishment would be later. They seemed to have fun torturing me, it was like a game, each player trying to outdo each other. Then they'd disappear into their bedroom often leaving me stuck in whatever new contraption they'd devised.
What was now their room used to be my parents' bedroom, then it was a kind of shrine to remember my mother by. My father had always let me inside, always let me feel close to my mum. Now the room was bared shut, even if I'd wanted to go inside.
The room I'd once lived in was also closed to me now, it was too nice, too good for such a waste of air. They'd moved me into what had once been an underground ladder, back when the house was less of an estate and more of a cottage. The floor was dirt, the stairs and door splintered wood, and the only furnishing was hemp sacks which I was permitted to sleep on. The plush couches and spare beds weren't to be touched in case my grimy fingers ruined them. I'd tried cleaning my fingers, rubbing them so raw they hurt, it'd earnt me a laugh and a swift thwack to the head, later I'd earnt two nights without food for using too much soap.
I used the tap in the garden to clean my feet, it was a bit rusty and hard to turn but using the taps in the house would get me in trouble. I grabbed the broom and headed back to the dining room desperately trying to make myself as small and unnoticeable as I could.
"Did you see the little collar I bought him? It's going to be adorable."
That was the lady. She was eating some kind of thin steak, cooked to perfection and.., it made my tummy growl. I looked away in case either of them heard.
"People don't usually put those on children."
It was a gruff and barely have hearted response but part of me hoped he'd be able to stop her. I only had a vague understanding of what a collar was but it was enough of an idea to support the theory that I didn't want one.
"It's bright pink with diamonds and it's got this leash that you can pull it around with…"
Apparently the prospect of tugging me wherever was enough to convince her boyfriend of the collars necessity.
"I suppose the little shits close enough to being a dog that it does really matter."
"I knew you'd come around, we'll use it tonight hmm?"
I cursed silently. A part of me I never quite understood had been hoping they'd skip tonight. My feet were sore and I'd have loved to sit with them in the pond while I slowly watched the moon rise. When it was clear I'd sometimes stay out all night, avoiding the hard ground and musky smells of the pantry. The pantry had two entries, one to the garden and one to the house, at night the one into the house was locked. If anyone else had asked why my keepers would've claimed it was because they were worried about thieve but they were only worried about me and the food I might nab.
I watched from the hallway as the table was cleared, any scraps tipped into the bin in a kitchen I wasn't allowed to set foot. They'd call me soon. Take me into my father's redecorated office where I'd stand and watch as they presented anything knew they had to show to each other then they'd turn to me, a malicious almost hungry gleam in their eyes. I'd tried to hide once but if I wanted food I needed to come and that meant they'd have me, no matter how long I hid.
"Come on shit stain, we're ready to play."
He'd come up behind me while I was distracted, with fox-like reflexes he grabbed my arm and dragged me upstairs almost quicker than my legs could move. He tossed me to the floor and locked the door giving me a few seconds to catch my breath before he went back to his girlfriend.
"I found the kid, the fucking idiot was just standing there."
Unfortunately my late appearance hadn't dampened the ladies spirts at all and she quickly retrieve a white plastic shopping bag. Her smile scared me. How could someone be so happy while making me so miserable? It made me feel like maybe I was the bad guy, like maybe they really did just want what was best for me, maybe I was the problem. I was too spoilt by father to see how good I had it but then I'd remember how much love my father had held for me and how very lacking those feelings seemed to be now that he was gone. Perhaps I did want more then I deserved but surely I should be punished so much for that, didn't everyone want more than they had?
Apparently the collar was the only new thing either party had in store that night. I was summoned over with a wave of her hand. The collar was exactly as she'd described it, but it also thick, really thick, it was going to cover such a large portion of my neck. She wrapped it round, making sure to go under my hair, it held my neck firmly and made me feel uncomfortable.
"How tight do you think it should be?"
Naively I thought she wanted me to answer.
"This feels fine."
She pulled the collar tight catching my breath and holding it.
"If I wanted you to speak I would have told you to speak."
They quickly came to the conclusion that breathing was probably a good thing allow me to do and so the collar was secured firmly but not tight enough that it impeded any natural movement through my internal pipes. I spent that evening attached to a leash and treated exactly like a dog. I was commanded to sit, roll-over, beg; they even got some of my kibble to use as "treats." I was no more than a play thing to these people. Eventually they got bored and decided the two of them would have more fun without me and so they got up to leave.
Desperate as I was to rip the stupid collar from my neck I didn't hesitate before trying to unfasten it. My hands were slapped hard and fast. Apparently the lady didn't want my collar off or so she wined to her boyfriend. He thought for a moment then left. I was too scared to bring my hands back up but they fidgeted nervously. He returned with a lock. This one was some kind of number lock but the next night it was replaced with a pink heart padlock the key to which was placed on a necklace around my would be step-mothers neck.
It took me years to figure out why I never tried to run away. One reason I've come up with is shame. They'd fed me so much propaganda about how useless and worthless I was that I couldn't fathom asking someone for help, why would someone want to help? The second reason, I think, is that part of me knew I couldn't. Part of me knew the gate was kept locked and that the thick walls of the fence line were too high for me to ever pass. When I was finally old enough to take back my life it was too late. Most of the money had been spent. The house that once held happy memories of my parents now held only trauma and everything I'd once cared about was long gone. I was uneducated, malnourished and alone, so completely alone.