Page 28 of Full Throttle

I shook my head as I watched her dad smile down at her, running some of her shiny hair through his fingers. He gave her a kiss on the head before getting in the car—which was a nice car. A Honda. Those lasted a long time. Their engines were really really good, according to the old car magazines the old man from Mom’s garage let me take the last time she needed to get a new tire.

Once the dad was gone, the little girl went and sat in the middle of the driveway and pulled out a box of chalk.

Chalk.

How old was she?

Chalk was for babies.

The green-eyed girl looked my way, and something felt funny inside of me. I didn’t like it. I didn’t smile back when she smiled at us, her arm going in the air. She waved wildly.

What was she so excited and happy about?

“Fuck, she’s annoying.” I looked to my left. My older brother, Xander, shook his head, glaring at the girl next door as if she was some disease.

I didn’t think she was a disease.

I just didn’t like how colorful she was. Her skin was a golden tan, and her hair was a mix between brown and red. I hated it. Why couldn’t her head just pick a stupid color and stick to one?

“Yeah,” I mumbled, ignoring the way Xander cussed. We weren’t allowed to cuss, even though Mom cussed at us every other word.

Xander told me he could cuss because he was older—by two years.

I looked back to the girl, who was now focused on whatever she was drawing on the concrete.

How old was she?

Would she go to my school next week?

What was her name?

Did I have to be friends with her? I mean, we were neighbors and all.

“CAIN!”

I jumped, looking away from the girl and her chalk. The front door of our house opened, the screen door slamming against the siding as our mother stepped out.

Xander and I didn’t have a pretty mom.

We had a witch.

When I was younger, I used to think that God was punishing us for some reason by giving us horrible parents. Our father left when I was six, a little over three years ago. I didn’t like him anyways. He hated me.

But not Xander. No, our dad loved Xander so much.

I was nothing but a freak to him.

I don’t know why I was born with such pale skin and why my hair was so light. Our parents both had dark hair and skin that darkened underneath the sunlight. I couldn’t be out in the sun very long.

When I was five, Mom took us to the pool once. I was only outside for about ten minutes before my skin was on fire. It stayed red for days, and I couldn’t sleep. Mom told me to quit being a baby about it. I cried into my pillow when the pain got too much so she wouldn’t hear.

Today, Mom was wearing her stained sweats and an old Lions t-shirt that had multiple holes in it. Her hair was dirty and tangled in a big knot on the side of her neck. She just woke up. It was after lunch time.

“Yes, ma’am?” I called, wondering what I did this time. Or maybe it was my day.

Xander and I had days. Mom would pick one of us to focus on and yell at. Xander had two days this week so far. I could hear her from outside as she screamed and told him he was worthless. She didn’t call me worthless. She called me a “weird little fuck” because I liked to take things apart and build them back up again. She called Xander other things too, but I didn’t like to think about those.

“Get your ass in here!” Mom hissed, showing her yellowing teeth.

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