Claiming What's Mine

by Holt, Leah

  “Dad—”

  “It's done, Blue.” He was firm in his command, causing Blue to surrender. I watched as her shoulders rolled in defeat, her body loose and weak as she gave up.

  Her father was right, Blue was still just a girl. She was only sixteen, which meant he held all the cards.

  And right then, as he stole the only person who ever stood by my side, I watched as the house of cards collapsed around me.

  My future was dissolving before my eyes, what I thought my life would be was gone.

  I always thought I'd fight for her, that I'd fight for us. But I wasn't strong enough to challenge the man who gave her life.

  He was her father, and I had to respect his rules. . . Unless, she didn't live under his roof anymore.

  I can't live without her. I won't let him keep us apart.

  Chapter One

  Jayden

  Six Years Earlier

  “Boy, you best come out.” Lurking around the front of the house, my father's eyes kept shifting side to side. “Make this easy on yourself, don't make it worse than it has to be.” His voice was a growl, not a yell, not a scream, but a full blown growl.

  There was a tempered layer to his voice, a subtle urgency to tear me limb from limb, maybe nibble away on my fingers, while smiling down on me with each bite.

  He loved seeing my fear, feeling my fear, breathing in my fear. That's the man he was. He had become a solitary force, one who held no remorse or care for anyone else. He lived for himself, he worked for himself, and he drank to avoid himself.

  When you don't give a shit about anyone else; why not just drink until your soul feels satisfied with its own reflection?

  The devil lives in my house, and I call him dad.

  The term hate should never be used lightly, and trust me when I say—I don't. He wasn't kind. He wasn't loving. He wasn't a father. And for that, I hated him.

  He was just a person to me, nothing more, nothing less. And even that was giving him more credit than he deserved.

  “Where you at boy?!” The anger in his voice was sharp, ready to slice me to pieces once he found me. “Boy!”

  I had gotten pretty good at hiding from him. New spots seemed to scream at me, calling me in to harbor me and cradle me with some form of safety.

  Diving into the thick elderberry bush beside the front window of our farm house, I crouched low, folding the branches around my body. Quietly, I sat and waited, listening to him call for me, demanding I show myself and take my punishment like a man.

  Because being a man meant taking a licking for nothing. Because being a man meant having bruises that weren't mine to own.

  Fuck being a man, I just wanted to be a kid. I deserved that much—if nothing else—I deserved being a kid.

  “You just wait till I find you, boy, I'm going to make you regret hiding!” His heavy boots thudded by the bush as he walked around the house towards the pen in the back. The ground bounced with each step, making my small frame vibrate. “You think you can hide from me? You think you can run from me? You'll never get away, I'll find you, you know I will.” His voice faded as he went further behind the house, further and further from my safe little nook.

  I lived on what used to be a farm, but not now, not anymore. There were no more chickens, no more cows or pigs. The goats were all buried up on the hill, and the rooster hadn't crowed in years. It was all gone, all except the corn crops.

  The farm had been in my mother's family for generations, passed down until it traded hands from my grandparents to my mother, and sadly, from her to my father.

  My father took this safe haven and turned it into a graveyard. It didn't look anything like the pictures in the attic, they were just faded images of something that used to be grand. When I looked at our home now, I saw nothing but sadness.

  I didn't remember my grandparents. My grandfather died when I was two, and according to my mother, my grandmother died of a broken heart not long after.

  A broken heart—You know I actually believed that lie for years. I was foolish enough to think if you truly loved someone and they died, your heart would shatter, sending you straight into the ground.

  Then my mom passed away, and I hurt, I ached. I can still feel it in my chest when I take a breath. It was like a giant thorn bush was wrapped around my lungs, digging its sharp spikes into the muscle of my heart.

  Yet, I was still here, still living—and to add salt to my wounds, so was my father.

  But it wasn't even the fact that I had lost my mother and my asshole father was still living; the part that bothered me more than anything was that it felt like she lied to me.

  There was no such thing as a broken heart, there couldn't be, because I did love my mother, I loved her more than anything else on this earth. If her story was true, I would have died the second God took her home.

  Yet, every single day my eyes still opened, every single day my heart kept beating, and every single day death laughed in my face, allowing me to live in fear.

  What kind of God does that to a child?

  “God dammit, boy! When I get my hands on you. . .” His voice echoed through the air as he moved around the property. “Where the fuck are you?”

  Making sure the coast was clear, I cut across the grass and through the stable, doing my best to be fast and undetected. As long as he couldn't see me, he couldn't find me, and most importantly, he couldn't hurt me.

  With steel and grit in his words, my fathered yelled, “Boy! I said come out here right now or I'm going to make you wish you were never born!”

  I already do. . .

  His punishment for whatever he thought I had done wrong, wouldn't just be a firm lashing of the tongue, filled with verbal assaults; no not with him, not my father. He'd make sure I could see how upset he was the next day.

  “Fuck, boy, you just wait!” The tone in his voice was clear, if he caught me, I'd have trouble walking for a week.

  So I ran.

  I ran through the open field behind the empty stables, hopping between the slats in the fence. I ran through the cornfield, not caring that the leaves whipped my face and sliced my skin. I ran because I didn't have a choice.

  Holding my arms in front of my face, I pushed my legs harder. The tall stalks were packed together tightly as I ran with no real direction in mind. I didn't think about where I was going, I didn't really care, so long as it was far away from him.

  With one final shove of my feet, the cornfield spat me out like a giant hairball. Tumbling forward, I fell to the ground, catching myself with my hands. I felt the pin pricks of sharp thorns and the gritty burn of sand across the skin on my elbows and knees.

  “Ah, shit,” I said out loud, sitting on my backside and looking down at my hand. A thick thorn was jammed deep into my palm, causing a throbbing sensation under the surface. The stumpy brown edge was just peeking from under a thick layer of skin, causing blood to back up into a bubble beneath the tip.

  Running my thumb back and forth over the end, I tried to grab the small stub poking out. “Come on you dick.” Huffing out a breath, I attempted to grip the thorn with my teeth.

  “What are you doing?” a soft voice asked.

  Angling my head, I squinted my eyes and looked up. A young girl was standing a few feet away, her arms tucked behind her back as she balanced on her heels.

  She had long black hair, so long it wrapped around her arms, spiraling around her wrists. Her dress was navy blue with pink polka dots, reaching down to her calves. A big pink bow was holding back her bangs loosely, allowing thin strands to get captured in the wind and blown around her face.

  Blinking with wide open eyes, the sun caught the hazel orbs dancing around my face as she squinted a brow and waited for my answer.

  “I have a splinter,” I said, lifting my palm to my mouth and trying to grab the end again with my teeth. “It's in there pretty good.” My words came out sounding like I had a mouth full of food as I dug the sharp edges of my teeth into my hand.

&nbs
p; “You should leave it alone, it'll come out when it's ready.”

  “What do you know, girl?” Cocking a brow, I rolled my eyes.

  “I know lots of things.” There was no shyness in her voice, only confidence. She wasn't afraid of me, not in the least.

  And that surprised me. I was a Henry, a dirty, ratty, bad-mouthed Henry. Everyone in our small town knew who I was, even if I didn't know them.

  The labels were there, given by preconceived notions that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

  I was a troubled child, the son of a dead woman. I was the kid parents didn't want their children hanging around with because I knew bad words and liked to use them. I was the poor boy with worn and dirty clothes.

  There were so many whispers and rumors about me being a thief, about me damaging property and causing hell in school.

  But that's what happened when you lived in a small town, and the village drunk was your father. It would have been really nice if someone who was so eager to spread rumors would see the truth and step in.

  I needed a family, I needed a sober parent, not a hopeless fool.

  This girl, with her wide stare, half smile, and relaxed shoulders—she didn't seem to care who I was.

  “Oh yeah, so do I. What do you want, a damn trophy?” I felt annoyed instantly with this little girl, and I wasn't sure why.

  Maybe it was because I wasn't in the mood and she was just being a nuisance. Maybe it was because her clothes were clean, she looked well fed, and she wasn't covered in bruises.

  Either way, I was ready for her to vanish. I wanted to be alone. Because that was how I liked it.

  “Well?” she asked, setting her small hands on her hips.

  “Well, what?”

  “Aren't you going introduce yourself and ask me my name?”

  “Nope,” I said, pushing myself up off the ground and brushing the dirt off my pants. Tipping my head back towards the cornfield, I listened carefully.

  Wind blew between my ears, crows screeched from the few scattered trees, and I could faintly hear the sound of cars from the highway in the distance. But, I couldn't hear my father anymore, and that was all that mattered.

  Keeping my head down, I focused on the splinter and started walking. I could hear the dirt as it was tossed like feed for the chickens and caught a glimpse of her shadow as it moved in the same direction.

  “Where you going?” she asked as the sun caught her toe, sending a laser beam of light right into my corneas.

  Blinking, I lifted my head and rubbed my eyes because her obnoxiously shiny black shoes almost blinded me. “It's none of your business.”

  “You don't know where you're going, do you?” Her voice held a sliver of amusement as if she had caught me with my tail between my legs.

  Keeping my head forward, I spoke so my voice projected outward. “My mama used to say that the best laid plans were the ones we didn't write down.” Flaring my nostrils, I kicked myself in the ass.

  Damn it, now she's going to think I want to talk to her. Why did I say that?

  “Not that it's any of your business, now go away,” I quickly said, keeping my tone flat. Trying to walk faster, I hoped she would listen and leave me alone.

  It didn't work, she stayed at my side, her small mouth still flapping. “My name's Betty-Sue, but everyone calls me Blue.”

  “Blue? What kind of name is that?”

  “Uh, it's a nickname, duh.” Arching one brow, she let that last word hang in the air on its own for a second. “You do know what a nickname is, right?”

  Flicking my eyes in her direction, I groaned, not giving her an answer. Because it was a stupid question, of course I knew what a nickname was, I wasn't that dumb.

  I might not be a privileged child, I might not have straight A's, or read at a level that was years above my age, but I did know stuff, I wasn't a fool.

  Tucking her hands behind her back, she kicked down tall blades of wheat grass, stomping the tops into the dirt. “When I was really little I couldn't say my name, it always sounded like I was saying Blue instead of Betty-Sue, so that's what my mama started calling me.”

  “When you were really little? It couldn't have been that long ago, what are you—six?”

  “What? No, I'm ten, but I'll be eleven in a few months. What are you, four?” Her voice was shifting lower, thick in sarcasm.

  “Ha ha, good one, and no, I'm thirteen.” Fiddling with my palm, I watched the ground as I walked.

  “Thirteen? Really? You don't look thirteen.”

  How would she know what a thirteen year old looks like?

  And why does she even care?

  “Not that it makes a difference, but I'm basically thirteen, my birthday's in February, I think that's close enough.”

  “That's six months from now.”

  “So? I asked.

  “You're twelve and a half then.”

  What is her deal?

  Stopping, I turned to face her. “What are you doing out here anyway? I've never seen you around here before. Besides, isn't it past your bed time?” The corner of my lip perched higher as a sly smile crept across my face.

  Now you'll leave me alone.

  Dropping her chin to her chest, she rolled her eyes, not even entertaining my bedtime comment. “I live right there, in the house on the hill,” she said, pointing to a once abandoned farm house. “We just moved in.”

  Glancing up at the house, I could see the windows were glowing with light and not black like they normally were. The curtains swayed back and forth against the sill as the wind blew. A wind-chime jingled as it dangled from the eave of the front porch, the soft notes barely making it down to us.

  Turning back away from her, I kept walking, cutting through the tall grass, and following the fence that lined her family's property. “No one has lived there in a really long time, but I think that's only because it's haunted.”

  Ha! Nightmares for you little Blue bird. . .

  Smirking to myself, I waited to see her flinch at the thought. She didn't, simply arching a brow.

  Lifting her legs high above her waist to wade through the grass, she watched her feet as she walked. “My mama said that no one wanted it because it needed so much work, but my daddy said it was because the house was waiting for us. He says fate has a way of finding you, although, I'm still not sure what fate has to do with our house.”

  “I don't remember asking for a story.”

  “And I didn't ask to meet a jerk, but we can't control everything.” Shrugging her shoulder, her lip curved up towards her nose. “Are you going to tell me your name or not? Because I really don't want to have to give you a nickname, I don't think you'd like it.”

  “And why's that?”

  “Because what I'm thinking won't be nice.”

  Chuckling lightly, I smirked. “As long as it's not red or yellow, I think I'll be fine.”

  Grabbing my arm, she held it tight and stopped me from going any further. “Why are you being so mean to me? I haven't done anything to you, have I?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, I hung my head and scratched my fingers through my hair. She was right, it was just weird for me to have another kid being so nice to me. I didn't have any friends, so it was just easier to be a jerk right away than it was to lose a friend later on.

  Trust me, I had been shit on enough times to know it wasn't worth the rejection, but I still felt bad about how I was acting.

  I guess I'm still human somewhere inside.

  “I know, I know, I've just had a bad day, that's all.” Stopping, I looked over at her, my expression less hard. “Jayden, my name's Jayden Henry. I live on the other side of that field.”

  “See, that wasn't so hard, was it, Jayden Henry?” Blue gave me a funny smile, then grabbed my arm and pulled it towards her. “Now let me see.” Sticking her tongue out the corner of her mouth, her brows furrowed into the bridge of her nose.

  I felt her pinch my skin, but not in a painful way. Using her thin nail, she scra
ped a finger over the splinter. “There, now you're all set.” Holding up the thorn, she bared her teeth with a giant grin. “You want me to make you a necklace with it so you can keep it forever? You know, like people who wear shark teeth and stuff.”

  “No, I'm good.” Chuckling, I stepped out onto the dirt road, and started walking towards town. Looking down at the small hole in my hand, I gave her a half smile. “But thanks.”

  “You're welcome.” Blue stopped at the edge of the grass, her eyes never leaving mine. It felt like she was studying me, trying to figure out who I really was on the inside.

  Was I a good kid or a bad kid?

  I didn't consider myself to be either. I was just me, Jayden Henry, a soft mass of sludge, with nothing to say, never really wanting to go home, but no place else to go. I was always anticipating the next shitty thing to come and never thought about my future, because the odds were against me.

  We had no money. There was no college fund waiting for me when I hit eighteen, or some inheritance that my father had squirreled away for me. If I was lucky, I'd maybe be able to get a job at the local grocery store once I got older, and hopefully make just enough to survive.

  According to my father, I was either going to end up dead or in jail. That wasn't ever going to happen, because I was never going to be like my father. I wanted to be the complete opposite of him. I might have been just a kid, but I knew well enough to not become that man.

  My plan was to leave this crappy town the first second I could and never look back. I'd runaway now, but I knew they'd just bring me home. And my little sister needed me. I wouldn't leave until it was safe for both of us.

  “What, you're not going to follow me anymore?” Turning around, I walked backwards slowly, slipping my thumbs into the loops on my pants.

  Shaking her head, she said, “Nope, not allowed to go past the grass.”

  “Well then, this is where I say goodbye.” Holding my hand to my forehead, I saluted her. “Goodbye, little Blue bird.”

  Blue sat down in the grass, tucking her knees up into her dress and wrapping her arms around her legs. “It's not goodbye, we're neighbors, I'll see you again.”