Book 0.5 - S. P. Macomber (best novels to read in english txt) 📗

Author's Note:

 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The character and story lines are created by the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.

 

> Basically please don't copy my work! I put all my heart into making this book and it would suck if I see someone copy it saying it's theirs.

 

If you are taking the time to read my book, I want you to know how much I love and appreciate all of you! This will be a short #20 Chapter book into the life of Ian Grayson before the start of Book #1. There might possibly be some grammar errors, so please don't be too harsh on me :) I have a bit of a difficult time writing, but I will try posting as often as I can. I started my book off on Wattpad so if your a user on that site you can also read my book on there and vote if you enjoy it!

Breaking & Entering

 1

 

HE WAS HERE AGAIN

My life was one giant mess. One problem after another was what my days consisted of. As the oldest, everyone automatically looked to me to solve those problems, and considering our parents were fucking useless, I naturally fell into the role. Like now, as I lay on my bed trying to fall asleep, I can hear a slight buzzing noise near my ear.

It was my phone alerting me to an incoming text. Turning my attention to it I debated whether or not to ignore it but knowing it might possibly be from one of my brothers, I wasn't able to. My screen revealed a message from David. One of my neighbors and a kid I attended school with.

Opening the text, I read the message he had sent.

Hey Ian, sorry to bother you, but I thought you should know, it looks like someone is trying to break into your house.

Cursing, I got up from my bed, quietly creeping, to my window phone in hand. My room window overlooked our front driveway and for a few moments, I didn't see a thing until I did.

I stood in front of the window, hidden by darkness, clenching my fists and grinding my teeth. My mind went blank, the rage preventing me from moving back. My hands shook, but still, I stood there silently grasping the windowsill in a death-like grip.

I knew it wasn't my brothers on the account that I was home alone at the moment.

Sending a quick reply back I toss the phone onto my bed. Thanks for looking out, man. I'll handle it.

Taking a seat next to my withering bed-side table, I reach under the drawer, feeling for the blade I kept taped hidden under there for emergencies. It was a Saturday night, which meant my brothers were out enjoying the weekend while I had chosen to stay home and catch up on some much-needed rest. So much for resting, though.

Reaching under the bed, I pull out my black, worn leather boots, placing them on my feet before standing to slide the knife in my boot. It had taken me a few minutes to get ready. A few minutes too long.

Creeping my way to my door, I glide across the carpet, having memorized all the parts of the house that make noise and avoid them. I make my way to the stairwell, obscuring myself using the shadows.

Watching from my position, I see our front doorknob rattle and turn. The asshole was trying to pick our lock. Clenching my fist, I sent a cold gaze at the doorknob, willing it not to give, but I knew it wouldn't be long for it to break with how old the house was.

Click! The lock gave way.

He didn't appear for a few seconds until he did. My eyesight had adjusted to the dark, allowing me to see that the intruder was indeed a male and a small one at that.

Opening the door, allowing just enough room for his body to squeeze through, he takes a quick glance back. Making sure no one had caught him in the act of illegally breaking and entering before trying to quietly shut the squeaking door. If only the dumbass knew that all the kids living on this block made sure to keep an eye out for these types of situations, knowing I would grant them a favor in return. The intruder didn't bother looking around, instead just headed straight for the kitchen. 

Raising my hand, I rest it on the stair wall, feeling my skin stick to it like cement. I felt as the peeling paint clung to my hand coming off the wall the further down I moved. Once again, the intense cold took hold in my gut and pushed me onward toward the intruder raiding my house.

Finally making it to the kitchen entryway, I peer around the corner. At that moment, the lights of a passing car flooded the kitchen. Allowing me a glimpse of the intruder standing at our counter. I instantly recognized his face before the light disappeared, plunging the room back into darkness. It was Frank, my father.

Much didn't surprise me anymore, but this sure did.

I hadn't seen Frank in the past five months, which wasn't unusual, but I hadn't expected to see him this soon.

He looked like he had seen better days, but heroin would do that to a person. His clothes barely clung to his body and his arms looked to be covered in a rash that I noticed he couldn't seem to stop scratching with his disgustingly dirty hands. His face, on the other hand, was giving off the effect that he wasn't well.

Keeping to the shadows of the wall, away from Frank's vision, I slip into the kitchen. Easing into the dining chair I had left pulled out the hour before, I sat and observed him.

I didn't know if I was supposed to feel a sort of way at seeing my father again. Was I supposed to be angry? Happy? Scared? Honestly, I didn't feel a thing. It was like my emotions were kept abbey. As a child, I had used it as a way to cope with the abuse I received from him, and now... Now I was just broken.

He had broken me.

Maybe I would never be fixed, but I was okay with that. I was strong because of it. Strong enough to protect my brothers. Strong enough to keep us alive.

Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I noticed his body twitching. He was sweating, restless, and agitated as he dug through the drawers, throwing everything on the ground. My stomach twisted. Frank was going through withdrawals. It meant he was here looking for cash to get his next fix. Too bad for him. We knew better than to just leave cash lying around. Bad for me, it meant he would be looking for a fight when I confront him. Searching every drawer and finding nothing of use, he cursed and pulled the last drawer out before flying it to the ground.

Every nerve in my body tensed. I was ready for anything.

He slapped his hands on his head a couple of times in frustration before slamming them on the counter. "Fuck! These fuckers."

My eyes narrowed in anticipation. He was losing it. It was only a matter of time before he turned around and noticed me but still, I didn't want to call attention to myself until the last moment. I don't know why that was. Maybe I wanted to see how much further he could fall in my eyes? Maybe after all these years, I still had a small glimmer of hope that Frank could change? Though, I knew better.

His head tilted up toward the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, he exhales it out slowly before placing his head back down. I wondered what was going on in that brain of his, but I didn't have to wait long as he reached for the beat-up backpack he had hanging off his left shoulder. Moving it in front of him, he places it on the counter unzipping it. Leaving the bag, he opened our cabinets and began taking out all the food that he could carry. The same food I had just bought the day before. I barely contained a scoff at how predictably disappointing Frank made me feel every time I set my eyes on him. What a waste of life he was. If I could, I would find some way to get him permanently out of our lives, but today was not that day.

"Frank!" I snap out in a hollow tone.

He whips around, dropping all the food in his hand, and looks at me in fright. "Ian?" The blood drains from his face. "How long have you been sitting their son?"

Son? When had this low life ever considered me as his son?

Feeling for the light switch on the right side of my head, I switched it on, finally visible to Frank's squinting eyes. I snort. "Long enough."

He stiffens before trying to brush it off with a laugh, wiping the sweat dripping from his brow with the back of his hand. "You should have said something instead of hiding in the dark. I'm always happy to see my oldest boy." Hiding? Me? I never hid, not during those days when he would beat me unconscious and definitely not now.

"Hiding? If I recall correctly, I was here first, before you decided to break into my house." I point out.

I stretched my legs out and crossed both arms, waiting for my father's response. Of course, I expected his anger. After all, my father wasn't one who liked to be challenged, least of all by his own flesh and blood. His face turns a slight shade of pink and his cheeks puff out from all the air he had inhaled; I wasn't surprised by the quick mood shift. He was going through withdrawal, after all. Had he been more coherent, he would have tried to play word games with me. Finding my weak points to get what he wanted, and Frank knew my weak points very well.

"Your house?! Don't forget, boy, I own this house. This is my house! I can come and go as I please!" He slams his fist on the counter, facing my general direction.

I stiffen. My body vibrating in rage. This little fucker.

The nerve he had was unbelievable and yet was never unexpected. My father may have this house under his name, but he had not been the one paying for it for a long time.

I tried to breathe, tried to keep my anger in check. I learned from a young age never to act based on emotion. Always think things through, but it was hard when it came to Frank. He always finds a way to