Evening came with a droning rumble as her mother, Grace, pulled into the driveway, soon followed by some muffled voices as Tom and her mother greeted each other. Grace’s voice spiked with anger, no doubt spotting the coffee table littered with cigarette butts and empty beer cans. Tom’s voice rose even higher in response as they slung insults at each other. August mouthed the same vile words that traveled up to her room, already familiar with the daily verbal fights while working on her current piece. It was a drawing of Tom in a battle with wolves. He was losing horribly; the wolves ripping pounds of flesh off his overgrown belly. A wide grin appeared on her face as she added the finishing touches with a red pen to truly make the blood more visceral.

As she admired the piece, she remembered that if she had a dream related to the drawing, there was a chance the wolves would grow alive and become her imaginary friends. After all, that was how Lily, Harry Tophat, and Zephyr came into existence.

Heavy thuds ascended the stairs, passed her room, and headed into the bathroom. Then she heard the hiss of piss hitting the toilet. Of course, Tom lacked the decency to close the door. Even while relieving himself, he still had the mind to argue with her mother, his booming voice reverberating off the walls.

“The fuck?” he shouted, louder than ever.

She started in response, her heart jumping out of her chest.

Then his heavy feet marched to her door, followed by loud bangs that threatened to break the barrier between her and him. “Come on out, young lady! If you know what’s good for you, come out this fucking instant.”

“What did she do, Tom?” Grace came upstairs.

“The little weasel. Check the toilet.”

Tom wrung her doorknob. Finding it locked, he slammed his fist on the door repeatedly, the wooden frame rattling.

With stone-saddled feet, she made her way over to the door. Every passing second intensified Tom’s anger. Hiding behind the door was no longer an option. If Tom succeeded in breaking her door, there was no telling what he would do to her.

She gulped in air before unlocking the door and swinging it slightly ajar. Like a thunder strike, the tail end of his belt connected square with her cheek through the narrow opening. Her legs gave out, her head ringing from the nauseating pain. Tom, red-faced and fuming, barged and swung his belt over and over again. She screamed for dear life, begging him to show mercy. Her plights fell on deaf ears. The deaf ears of a raging animal. Her only reprieve came when Grace pulled the monster away from her.

“You don’t understand what’s good for you!” he barked. “Your mother wasted good money getting you help for your sickness! And what do you do to repay her? You flush your drugs down the fucking toilet. You ungrateful twat!”

For the first time since she’d suffered under Tom’s beating, her tears seized cascading down her face. Her eyes were still red and moist, yes. But with anger now. A fiery blaze she never knew existed within her.

“For the last time to you bickering assholes.” She pulled herself to her feet. “There is nothing wrong with me. Leave my room or I’ll call Child Protective Services.”

Tom froze, eyes wide, then charged. Grace jumped between them, shuffling to block the larger man. Behind them, Harry Tophat stood, looming over Tom, with his clawed hand raised. The sasquatch’s eyes focused on her, pleading for her signal. She glanced at her mother, who shielded her from Tom, then turned back to Harry Tophat and shook her head. The tall, blue sasquatch reluctantly nodded, lowering his hand, but still watched, ever protective.

Grace halted the animal, more so from her angry words directed at him than her strength.

Still not done dealing with her, Tom pointed at the door. “Down, psycho! Get out of this house! Since you can’t follow simple instructions, you’ll sleep outside.”

She looked to her mother for help, to tell the monster that she didn’t have to listen to him. However, her mother couldn’t even meet her eyes, not to talk about standing for her.

“Thanks for everything, Mum,” she muttered, grabbing her sketchbook and pencil case, then heading for the door. “You’ve made some splendid decisions since divorcing dad. Thanks for bringing this dickhead into our home.”

Lured into a sense of finality, Grace dropped her hands, not wanting to look at August. That gave Tom the opportunity to lung with his hand reared. With no hope of evading him, she closed her eyes and wished for the best. An ear-piercing scream came immediately after the impact. Opening her eyes, she saw Tom kneeling on the ground while clutching his wrist. It didn’t take long for her to put two and two together, with Harry Tophat standing beside her.

“What happened?” Grace asked.

“Are you fucking blind?” He screamed, tears flowing down his face. “She broke my goddamn wrist.”

A smile crept on her face, watching him shed tears. It was only fitting she witnessed this beautiful sight after all the pain he had caused her. Her mother’s eyes caught hers. So her smile turned into a sneer before she spun around and headed down the stairs.

About an hour whipped by, the sun giving way to the moon. Nevertheless, she scarcely took notice as she sat in the old tire swing by the tree, completely engrossed in her next drawing. Tom was still the subject. This time, though, she subjected him to death by a thousand bee stings, making sure to show the horror on his bloated face. In the end, he lay as a pile of flesh, fully covered in red bumps. She loved the drawing.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

A significant portion of her anger and stress dispelled with that drawing, she voiced out into the empty yard. “I told you not to interfere.”

Harry Tophat materialized before her. “And I heeded your instructions. Until he crossed a line, that is.”

“But I don’t want you hurting him. He’s still my mum’s boyfriend.”

Harry Tophat gave her a sidelong squint of the eye. “I remember in exact detail your demeanor after I performed the act.”

“Still, Harry, that doesn’t make it right.”

“Do you insist I let him hurt you?” Harry Tophat wrapped a warm, fluffy arm around her shoulders. “No, Augie. You should not suffer at the expense of others. If someone dares to raise a hand against you, you should be ready and willing to protect yourself. If anyone brings harm to you, we will do everything in our power to shield you, even if it means going against your wishes.”

She broke then, all the pent-up pain and anguish flooding in from a broken dam. Harry Tophat and Lily pulled her into a hug and let her wail on their shoulders. Zephyr perched on her head and sang a lovely tune that soothed her nerves.

The porch door swung ajar, letting Grace into the backyard. Her mother’s steps toward her were slow and tentative.

“Hey,” Grace said.

“Go away.”

After her imaginary friends released her, August reclaimed her seat by the suspended tire and started another drawing to calm herself.

Something peaceful this time, she said to herself, no longer wanting Tom on her mind.

“I made your favorite,” Grace said, still standing there. “Pork chops and lemonade.”

“Not hungry. Don’t care.”

Silence reigned, Grace fiddling her thumbs while she glided her pencil against the paper. Her next piece, though a rough sketch now, was coming on nicely. She just knew it.

“Forgive Tom. He means you no harm. He was just trying to make you take your medication. If you had done that, he wouldn’t have a problem with you.”

She shot her mother a baffled look. “He swung at my face.”

“And he is sorry for that.”

She repeated herself, this time enunciating each word slowly. “He swung at my face.”

“And he is sorry for that, okay? I am trying here, August. You both aren’t making it easy for me. I wake up at five every day. I prepare breakfast and head to work, coming back by 6 pm. What do I get for that, young lady, huh? A call that my daughter is acting crazy in school. A dirty, stinking house, littered with garbage. Constant bitching. Never following my instructions. Those drugs are meant to help you. You were there when the doctor prescribed them. Why won’t you fucking take your medication?”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” She snapped her sketchbook shut and peered up at her mother with furrowed brows. “I am not sick. I do not have a disorder. And I am not a fucking psycho! Whose idea was it, anyway, to bring Tom into the house? Huh? Dad was never like this. Dad never beat me with a belt. He always made sure that everything was functioning as it was supposed to be. He sure as hell never swung on my face! Leave me alone and go argue with the dickhead.”

Grace was stamping her foot on the lawn now. “Fine! Fine! What do you wanna do, young lady? Sleep out here with the ants and squirrels? With your pretend friends? What in God’s name do you wanna do?”

“Head over to Dad’s place. I hate it here.”

“You know what? Fine! Your wish is my command.” Grace stumped into the house, slamming the door behind her. Her mother’s livid tirade traveled up the house. Her bedroom light was switched on. Then off. Then the angry cursing descended the stairs and out the porch door. Grace tossed her backpack, along with her school uniform, onto the lawn. “Go! You wanna leave? Go!” Then her mother shut the door so hard the display glass nearly shattered.

She stood there, alone, too shocked to even utter a word. Her mother had never been this furious.

Lily chose that moment to appear. “Geez, talk about a category five hurricane. You essentially set off the meanest rocket gurl. I’m impressed.”

She glared at the fairy while picking up her belongings. Lily acted scared, but August knew that to be a ruse. Afterward, they rounded the house into the driveway. An urge to break the windows of her mother’s car surfaced. However, she quickly quelled it, glancing back at the house that no longer resembled the home she grew up in.

“So what’s the plan?” Lily asked, floating at her shoulder level.

“I’ll walk to Dad’s,” she replied.

“Woah. Hold on there, Augie. He lives smack dab in the middle of Old Town. That’s over two hours away by foot.”

She shrugged.

“I’m never one to say this, considering how much I despise your mum and Tom. But I think you should apologize just to stay for the night. Then we can think of running tomorrow.”

“Apologize? Never. I’d rather walk.”

And so they did. Well, August did. Luckily, her phone was in her backpack, so finding the right twist and turns to take wasn’t hard. The first fifteen minutes were sublime, a lively chat going on between her and the fairy. By the one-hour mark, fatigue set in, forcing her to shut her mouth and focus on the monotonous sidewalk ahead. Soon it was as if she threaded in the deepest quicksand, every step shooting jolts of electricity up her legs. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with sleep. Lily tried to shake her awake but her legs nearly gave out, no longer able to support her. So she found the nearest seat, a park bench in a random dog park, and fell asleep.

❊ ❊ ❊

Her eyes fluttered open, her blurry view clarifying to a white ceiling decorated with fairy dust and gingerbread stickers. She shot up, surveying her surroundings. The off-white walls of her room in her father’s house greeted her. Many posters of varying sizes hung on her walls, from underground metal bands to Taylor Swift. Cool morning light streamed in from the windows, the chirps of early birds soothing to her ears.

The first thing on her mind was finding out how she got here. She had expected to wake up in an unknown area, robbed, and possibly molested. A sigh of relief escaped her parched lips.

Oh, crap! School!

She swiveled, reading the time of the alarm clock on the bedside table. There was still an hour left before she had to live. So she rushed through her morning routine, showering, brushing, and meditation to prepare her mind for the coming struggles at school.

Her father’s house was typical of Old Town—old, tall, and narrow; the three-story, red brick building exuded the charm and sophistication of a bygone era. From afar, its thick-framed windows and steeply pitched roofs drew the most attention. However, August loved the interior since her father matched the antique feel of the house with the furniture. A lot of her creativity had been sparked by her long hours spent within these walls, imagining the fairy tales that could take shape.

From the third floor, she took the dark wood stairs down to the second floor, where the kitchen, dining, and a third bedroom were located. Her father sat by the dining table, prepared for work, with his hands clasped and a worried expression on his face. On the table, there were pancakes, syrup, and apples—her favorites. Her stomach grumbled in response.