All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
******
The fields overlooking our tiny greens farm were blooming. The rhubarb leaves were flowering open, the lettuce was rising, and the carrots were starting to peek through. The peace in the early morning light was nearly overwhelming. I wanted to let it overtake me, swallow me up in its ice blue blanket before I had to turn around and return to the shambles that was my life.
Sighing, I placed my hand on the wet earth I was kneeling in and pushed myself up. After brushing my knees off and double-checking the irrigation system, I started the short walk back to the house. My peaceful morning solitude was over.
Surrounded by green shallow hills and tall oak trees, the house stood out like a sore thumb. Prefab, I think they called it. The trend started right after the millennium, quick, cheap, easy to build houses made out of whatever material they could use. Ours is made out of those shipping containers that they used to use on trains or cargo ships. It looks like a bunch of big metal boxes that they cut and glued together. They started bringing the trend back when they were running out of resources to build houses for all of us Lower and Bottom born families.
"Noah!"
Fuck. That was my father. Officially jarred out of my thoughts, I ran the rest of the way to the house. Slipping inside the door, I immediately made my way to the kitchen. I could hear my father's steps lumbering down the stairs. As quietly as I could, I darted through the kitchen door to the stove. The holo-clock on the wall caught my eye.
Oh no. No no no.
It was almost eight thirty. I had spent way too much time outside thinking. I lunged for the cabinet and started yanking out pans. I punched in directions on the stove and rushed to grab milk and eggs from the fridge. I didn't quite make it.
The kitchen door crashed open. My mind took in the wobbling picture frames while my eyes trained on the figure before me. My father was still dressed in what he'd worn last night, a pair of ill-fitting pajama pants, a food stained undershirt, and a shabby old robe that reeked of alcohol. Desperately I hoped that he wasn't hung over. But as his red rimmed eyes locked onto me, I knew I was in trouble.
"Where the fuck is breakfast?" He ground out around his yellowed teeth. They fascinated me. I always wondered how he didn't get sick of the grimy feeling in his mouth. I knew he had a toothbrush.
SMACK! My head whipped to side. My ears rung from the force of the blow. Blood exploded into my mouth as my teeth sunk into my tongue. I really needed to start paying better attention. Lolling my head forward, I tried to focus on what he was saying.
"-breakfast! What the fuck are you doing? You stupid useless fucking whore!"
His leg lashed out and I barely had time to tighten my abs before his foot caught me under the ribs and a scream forced its way past my teeth. I fell to the ground and hunched in on myself. I could feel the cold tracks of tears as they ran down my face. He wouldn't like that. Men weren't supposed to cry. None too soon I felt his sweaty hand curl around the collar of my shirt and yank me up. He grunted in disgust before throwing me at the stove.
"You have ten minutes. Breakfast damn well be on the fucking table when I get back down."
Still in the position I had caught myself in, I slowly straightened myself out. He called me a whore. Yet he was the one who used me. Forced me. He was the one who -- Deep breath.
Ouch. Fuck, bad idea. No deep breathing. Breakfast. Taking a shatteringly painful breath, I started scrambling the eggs. I knew my brothers and sisters were probably right outside the door. Their breakfast was late too, after all. I heard the door open again, softly this time.
"Noah." Sam.
"Yeah, Sam."
The door clicked shut and I heard his footsteps quietly cross the floor until he was nearly against my back. Tears sparked in my eyes again so I shut them tight. I felt Sam's hand on mine, unclenching my fingers from around the pan's handle. Suddenly all the pain I had blocked out came rushing in. I whimpered. My head shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. I collapsed backwards into Sam as the pain from my fractured ribs exploded into my system. I felt his hands holding me up, running a damp cloth over my face to clean the blood and salty tears away. I let my head fall back against his shoulder. Through the gray haze that was my vision I could see that his own face was wet. Why was he crying? I didn't deserve his tears. I tried to reach up to brush the offending tears away but my side flared with fresh pain.
"Ah!"
Sam grimaced and shifted me so that he could hold me better. He spoke quietly, "Shh, Noah. Don't move. God, I wish I could take you away from him. Shh. I got you. Let me help take the pain away."
A hand brushed over my swollen ribs and pain spiked briefly before I felt the familiar warmth encompass me. My head buzzed pleasantly and I could hear a faint cracking as my ribs knit themselves back together. I was floating in a golden ocean, anchored by his arms as he slowly healed me. Sometimes I wondered if he would allow me to float here in this lambent silence forever. Maybe if I killed myself. Where else would I go? Even pitch-black nothingness for the rest of eternity would be preferable to the desolation I lived in now. Then maybe I could sleep. Dimly I heard my name being called. I tried to swim my way through my thoughts and emerge into consciousness.
"Noah. Noah come on, we don't have much time left. Wake up buddy."
I opened my eyes slowly, not quite wanting to leave my golden comfort yet. I blinked up at Sam, realizing he was directly above me. Sometime during the process he must have slipped down the wall, cradling me in his arms. I was happy to see that an amused smile now replaced the sadness I had seen before.
"Come on kid, you gotta finish up breakfast.' A groan escaped my chest before I could check myself, but instead of reprimanding me, he chuckled and hefted me up.
"I know, but if you finish that up, I'll set the plates out." With one last affectionate ruffle of my hair, he grabbed the tableware and headed out the door. I turned back to the stove. The eggs were done and I had just enough time to throw some bread into the toaster and get out the juice. When everything was ready, I juggled everything into my arms and tried open the kitchen door without breaking anything.
Lucas and Ally were already sitting down, chatting with Sam. As I walked in, Lucas jumped up and grabbed the egg pan.
