The Bad Boy's Rules

The heavy suitcase and duffel bag felt like anchors as I lugged them down the short stairs, past my stepfather and stepbrothers. My mother's confused glance asked a question I refused to answer; I wouldn't say goodbye, not to him.

Eleven years. That's how long it had been since I last saw my birth father. I was five when he left, and for years, my mother dragged me across different towns, trying to escape him. Divorce was just a word then, a distant rumble in my fairytale world.

Fourteen brought a new stepfather, a man I hated for pretending to care when my mother was watching, and for the cruelty when she wasn't. I couldn't take it anymore. I begged my mother to let me go to my father. He agreed before she even finished asking.

My stepbrothers' voices were thick with sadness. "We'll miss you." I smiled at the twins, the only good thing about that house. They had always stood by me. "I'll miss you too, but you know I need to go."

We hugged. I waved goodbye. Then I glared at my stepfather. He just shrugged and flicked me off. My mother was already in the car, oblivious. Great. I cleared my throat, grabbed my bags, and walked away, leaving my past in the dust.