Somewhere In Mexico

“No, Mum,” Marcus called over his shoulder, brushing past the kitchen with barely a glance. His voice was edged with fatigue and frustration. “The traffic was hell. I didn’t even make it to Donald’s place. I’m beat.”

He paused, nostrils flaring as the smell hit him. “Toasted bread again?” His tone turned sharp. “Seriously, I hate toasted bread.” He disappeared into his room without waiting for a response.

In their shared room, Emma was hunched over a sketchpad, lost in her drawing of a glittery, doe-eyed Barbie. Just down the hall, Aiden was carefully painting a picture of Ben 10, tongue sticking out in concentration.

From the kitchen, Mrs. Kinney’s voice cut through the calm like a blade. “Emma! Aiden!” she snapped. “Those two better not be wasting time with those ridiculous cartoons again. Always playing, never helping.”

The phone rang on the balcony. She stormed out to answer it, muttering under her breath. When she returned, smoke greeted her—the toast had burned to black. The smell curled into her nose like an insult. She slapped the plate into the sink, her face twisting in rage.

“Get in here!” she shouted. “Start over. Maybe noodles this time,” she added under her breath, defeated.

Hearing this, Marcus reappeared, a rare spark of enthusiasm lighting his face. “Noodles? I’ll help.”

Just then, Emma walked in, already tugging at the freezer door. “I’m not eating noodles. I’ll just have pizza and ice cream.”

Aiden chimed in, eyes wide with hope. “Mum, can I get three bucks for gummy bears and doughnuts? Or do we have some here?”

Mrs. Kinney spun around, her voice a whipcrack. “Enough! Both of you—help me with these damn noodles before your father comes home!”

Emma’s eyes rolled so hard they nearly touched her scalp. She turned on Aiden, venom in her voice. “You fool! Always copying me. Asshole!”

Aiden flared. “Don’t call me that, dumbass! You’re the stupid one!”

The kitchen seemed to tilt as tension exploded. Emma, furious, lunged forward and grabbed Aiden by the collar. With a violent shove, she slammed him into the dishwasher. The steel clanged. A stack of plates crashed to the floor.

The house froze.

Mrs. Kinney’s eyes narrowed into slits. She didn’t yell. She didn’t ask questions. She reached for the whip on the counter. Marcus, jaw clenched, silently picked up the other.

The punishments were swift and merciless. Leather cracked against skin. Cries bounced off the walls, hollow and raw. There were no lectures. Only discipline. The sound of impact echoed long after the room had gone quiet.

By nightfall, the house was silent, shadows heavy with tension.

Later, Emma crept into the kitchen, rubbing her bruised arms. “Mum… can I have some pizza?”

Mrs. Kinney didn’t look up from the sink. “No.”

The word dropped like a hammer.

Hours later, Aiden slipped into the kitchen at 1:20 a.m., his ribs aching. He tore into a cold slice of pizza like a starving animal. But just as he licked cheese off his fingers, Emma appeared in the doorway, arms folded, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Please, Emma,” Aiden whispered. “Don’t tell Mum. I’ll do anything.”

Her smile was slow, calculated. “Give me all the money in your piggy bank.”

His eyes widened. “That’s not fair! I’ve been saving for weeks!”

She leaned in. “Then don’t eat.”

He growled, his voice breaking. “You’re cruel.”

She turned away. “Fine. I’ll just—Mum!”

“No! Okay! Take it!”

But then the kitchen lights flicked on. Mrs. Kinney stood there like a ghost summoned by guilt.

“What are you two doing in my kitchen at this hour?”

Emma blinked, caught off guard. “Water. Barbie says hydration makes you prettier.”

Mrs. Kinney’s face twisted. “Barbie again? Can you go a single day without that trash? And you—” she turned to Aiden. “Let me guess. Ben 10?”

“I was hungry,” Aiden muttered. “And I know my rights.”

That did it.

Mrs. Kinney’s eyes glinted with fury. “From now on, don’t expect me to do your laundry.”

As the door slammed, Emma dragged Aiden down the hallway by his belt.

“You idiot! Look what you’ve done.”

Aiden yanked free. “You’re scared of laundry at your age? Pathetic.”

“Get out! You stink!” she yelled, hurling him from her room.

The next day, at school, Marcus was buried in a novel when a group of rowdy boys motioned him over.

“Hey, Marcus! Come hang with us.”

He barely looked up. “No thanks.”

The teasing came anyway.

“Serious boy. Probably gossips with the girls,” one of them muttered, laughing.

Marcus ignored it and walked off.

He found Emma and Aiden arguing again near the vending machines.

“Marcus! Mum gave me ten bucks and said to give Emma eight, but she’s keeping all of it!”

“She’s lying! Why would I get less than him? I’m older!”

Marcus sighed. “Here.” He handed Aiden two dollars from his wallet. “You both have ten now. Happy?”

They stopped—for now.

At home, things worsened.

Mr. Kinney came home early, exhaustion written across his face. He walked into Emma’s room and stopped short.

Barbie posters. Pink glitter. A Barbie phone case.

“Emma. What the hell is this? Did you turn your room into a toy store?”

She didn’t flinch. “Maybe knock next time. What if I was changing?”

He grunted and walked out, rubbing his temples.

Aiden’s room? Empty.

When he finally showed up—sneaking in through the side door—Emma spotted him immediately.

“Well, look who’s back. I hope it was worth it. Mum’s going to lose it.”

“Give me my phone,” Aiden snapped, seeing it in her hand.

“You’ve got a boyfriend?” he blurted after one glance at her messages. “At thirteen? Oh, this is gold.”

Emma paled.

“Give it back!” she shouted.

They fought again. Loud. Violent.

Their parents and Marcus rushed in.

“Aiden!” Mrs. Kinney barked. “Where have you been?”

“I was home all day,” he lied.

Mr. Kinney folded his arms. “I checked. You weren’t.”

Marcus glanced at Aiden’s phone—then at Emma. “You have a boyfriend?”

She looked down, suddenly small.

Mr. Kinney grabbed both of them. “Garage. Now. No phones. No games. Two days. You’ll leave only to shower.”

The door slammed shut. The silence afterward was loud—and long.