I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS

Madison's pov

Savannah laughed—strong, bitter, derisive. "A gift? Who in their sane mind would throw money away on you?"

I remained quiet only made her furious.

Her hand closed around the spine of the book, her knuckles bleaching.

"No," I gasped, my chest tight with panic.

She tore out the first page with a disgusting tear.

My breath was frozen in my throat.

Then another.

And another.

I rushed forward, trying to grab it from her, but she shoved me out of the way so hard I bounced into the crate, my aching hand smacking against the wood. Pain shot through my palm, but I barely noticed.

I had to stand there—helplessly, hopelessly—while she ripped the book to shreds, page by page, scattering the pieces on the floor like dry petals.

"Please," I gasped, searing tears stinging my eyes. "Please, stop."

Savannah just smiled.

And with one final, deliberate motion, she ripped the cover in two and sent the tatters to my feet. 

Anger and despair convulsed within me, constricting, strangling. But I did not dare incur anger.

For Savannah was far from done. 

She strode closer, her expression settling into a rigidity. "Do you have any idea what thieves are used for in my house?"

I had no moment to steel myself.

Her hand struck me first, snapping my head sideways.

Then the kick, directly into my side, and I fell to the floor.

I barely had a chance to draw breath before a tuft of my hair was grabbed and I was jerked up.

"You can just sit here and read?" she snarled. "While we're out there waiting for you to get on with doing your job?"

"I—I wasn't—" 

Another slap.

Another kick.

Then, hands tugging at my hair, yanking my head back so I had to stare into her hate-filled eyes.

"You are nothing," she spat, her words trembling with anger. "Nothing but a dirty, useless encumbrance. And the sooner you know that, the better."

She shoved me back, and I collapsed on the floor, gulping for air.

Savannah brushed her hands off her skirt, as though she had gotten dirt on her from me.

Then she laughed, a delicate airy laugh, as if she'd just finished a pleasant conversation instead of battering me like a ragdoll.

"Now stand up," she said. "Dinner is not going to cook itself."

She whirled on her heel and strode out, leaving me in a crumpled heap on the cold floor.

I did not move for a long time.

The shredded pages of my book were scattered around me like a mocking, scornful halo.

My hand thudded. My ribs ached. My face smarted.

But nothing hurt more than my heart.

There was one thought that repeatedly pounded in my mind, the loudest of all.

I can't live like this anymore.

I levered myself up. My legs trembled beneath me, my ribs aching raucously, but I dared not fall. Not yet. Not when I still had to make supper.

I had no other option.

I wiped my face clean of any hint of weakness. Crying had never worked. Whining had never worked. Standing up for myself only served to make things worse. So, I placed the pieces of my book—the one gift I had ever been given—gently into my nightstand. Maybe, just maybe, I could tape the pages back together.

Then, I opened the door and stepped out into the darkened hall, walking towards the kitchen.

Dinner needed to be exactly right. If I got anything wrong-even the smallest detail-it would simply be one additional detail to give the authorities investigating me. 

I worked swiftly, silently, hands on automatic pilot as I prepared the dinner. The savory smells of chicken roasting, potatoes buttered, and the green vegetables steaming filled the room, contracting my own belly into a stomach-contracting cramp of hunger. I knew better, however, to even think of taking a bite.

By the time I'd reached the end, the family was already seated at dinner, their laughter and chatter drifting through the open door. A warmth in which I'd never be included.

With a calming breath, I took the tray and laid out their food in front of them.

Savannah was the first to make a comment.

"Mother," she gasped dramatically, slapping a hand on her chest. "You won't believe what Madison did today!"

I steeled myself.

Jennifer—the woman I used to address as mother—turned to her with interest. "Oh? What did she do this time?"

Savannah smiled.

"She stole a book! From Mr. Samuel, of all people!" she exclaimed, shaking her head in mock hurt. "And when I caught her, she had the temerity to lie to me! She even threatened to slap me."

I almost dropped the tray.

My heart thudded against my ribcage. "I—I didn't—"

A deafening crash echoed throughout the room when Jennifer slammed her fork onto the table.

"Do you accuse Savannah of lying?" she snarled, icy eyes glacially freezing me in place.

"I—no, I never—"

"You have the gall to steal from our guests?"

Stephen—the father who had always been mine—cut in, his voice filled with disgust.

My throat shut down.

"I didn't steal it," I whispered, gritting my teeth to keep on standing. "It was given to me. Samuel—"

"Enough!" Stephen's voice boomed around the room.

There was silence.

Even Savannah appeared content with herself, as she witnessed her father's face darken.

"You are an embarrassment," he growled, his words biting like a knife. "To this family, to our name—to all that we hold sacred."

My stomach twisted in torment.

"You were given a second chance in life when we brought you in," he continued, venom dripping from his words. "And this is how you repay us? Stealing? Lying? Playing the idiot at every turn?"

"I—I didn't—"

"Shut your mouth."

The words hurt more than any slap ever could.

He pushed his chair back, standing up as he glared down at me. "You always embarrass this family. You are nothing but a mistake—a stain that we should have cut out years ago."

I swayed a little, my eyes blurring.

A mistake.

A stain.

I had been called these words before. Too many times, in fact.

But today, something snapped inside of me.

Savannah feigned a sigh, tossing her head back dramatically. "She doesn't even look sorry, Mother. I really think she does these things on purpose. Just to humiliate us."

Jennifer's lip curled. "She doesn't deserve supper tonight."

Savannah feigned a gasp of horror. "Oh, but Mother, isn't that too kind?" She turned to me, her blue eyes glinting with malice. "I think she should starve for a week."

Jennifer laughed.

"We'll start tonight," she answered curtly, pushing me aside with a hand wave. "Leave me alone, Madison."

I swallowed convulsively, my hunger boiling into nausea.

I wanted to struggle. To beg.

But it wouldn't do any good.

So, I just nodded, turned on my heel, and departed—away from the warmth of the dining room, the aroma of food, the laughter—away from all that I would never know.

As I went into my room, I crouched on the pitiful mattress, my wounded hand thumping, my stomach aching, and my chest emptier than ever before.