Sandy had to work the late shift. Latesha and her latest beau were off somewhere. Julia was asleep in the upstairs bedroom, and Morgan was on a sleepover. Tyler was running on the streets with a bunch of his so-called friends. Aubrey was alone downstairs when the knock came on the door. She went to it, glanced out the peephole. Roger. Sandy’s most recent acquisition.
Sandy wasn’t all bad. She kept them fed and clothed, and Aubrey was grateful that she didn’t try to force them out on their ears when she found out about Latesha and Tyler and the bedroom reindeer games that the three had been playing. It was rare for children in the system to stick in one foster home for the duration, but Aubrey had been with Sandy and her foster siblings for four years now, and that was practically a record. After Sandy found out about Tyler and Latesha, the woman who’d taken Aubrey to McDonald’s and brought her to Sandy’s came for a visit. She counseled Aubrey, asked all sorts of questions with dolls and such—anatomically correct dolls—but Aubrey assured her nothing untoward had happened. Maybe Tyler had tried to feel her up once or twice, but that was normal, right?
The woman had pursed her lips and shook her head, then signed off on the house and went back to her own world. It was better that way. Things could have been so much worse. Sandy didn’t abuse them, or yell and scream. She basically left them to their devices so long as they obeyed the rules. Sandy didn’t necessarily love them, but she didn’t hate them either.
But Tyler and Latesha had upset the gentle balance, and now they all had to pay the price. Scrutiny from the system messed with their freedom. Better to keep their mouths shut and let the heat die down.
Sandy seemed to like Roger, so they all tolerated him because a happy Sandy was better for all involved. Aubrey didn’t care for Roger much—he had a lazy eye, and she never quite knew whether he was looking at her or not—so she avoided him whenever possible.
So when he came knocking, Aubrey followed the rules. She didn’t open the door. She knew she wasn’t supposed to. No one was allowed over when Sandy had to work at night.
She said through the crack, “Sorry, Roger, she’s at work.”
Roger gave her that lazy grin, the one Aubrey knew Sandy liked, a lot, and leaned against the door, pushing the wood against her.
“Come on, Aubrey. Lemme in. I’ll just have a beer and wait. Sandy knows I’m here. I just talked to her. She’s bringing home chicken after her shift. Someone covered for her, she’s getting home early.”
Aubrey cocked her head to the side and thought about that. Roger was Sandy’s boyfriend. He was over here several nights a week anyway. The kids weren’t allowed to have friends over, but no one said anything about Sandy’s lovers.
She opened the door.
Roger came in and made a beeline for the fridge, where he helped himself to the beer Sandy had bought for him. “Make me some eggs, Aubrey,” he commanded, and she did, knowing it was better to just acquiesce to Roger’s demands. She’d watched Sandy and Roger together over the past few months, and he certainly got whatever he wanted.
She cleaned up after him and started to the living room to finish her homework. Roger followed, sat in the chair by the television. He put on a baseball game, drank a couple more beers. Aubrey had no problem working in the noise—she was accustomed to the cacophony that came about from having kids and people around at all hours.
At the seventh-inning stretch, Aubrey closed her notebook. “I’m going to bed. You should probably head out.”
“I’m gonna wait for Sandy. Why don’t you come here and give me a kiss good night?”
“Why don’t you go jump, Roger?” She infused her voice with as much tone as she could, the sarcastic notes taken from Latesha and Sandy when they were annoyed. Roger just smiled at her. She started to walk by, but he put out his leg.
“Kiss me good night, Aubrey.”
“No. Let me by.”
He was fast. Before she could react, he’d leaped from the chair, grabbed her shoulders, and pinned her to the floor. He shoved his tongue in her mouth, and she nearly gagged on the taste of beer and eggs and man.
She pushed against him, but he was big, and heavy, and she couldn’t get any purchase. She knew what was going to happen next. She tried to fight him. She tried to scream. But he just clamped one hand over her mouth and used the other to rip her shorts open. He put his hand between her legs, squeezing and kneading and pinching. That place was private, one she’d barely begun to acknowledge, and here he was, drunk and hot and moving on top of her like a wriggling bag of cement. She managed to get her mouth away and bit hard into his arm.
With a roar of pain, he smashed his forehead into her face. Her nose cracked; tears flooded her eyes. Blood began pouring down her face.
Roger slapped her, hard, then flipped her over, put an elbow into her back. “You little bitch. I’m bleeding. I’ll make you pay for that.”