Earning the Cut Jayna Vixen Read Free Online

Earning the Cut

Jayna Vixen

Earning the Cutting
Copyright 2013 Jayna Vixen

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment but. This ebook may non exist re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, delight buy an additional copy for each recipient. Thanks for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Begin Reading

Author's Note

About the Author

Other Works by Jayna Vixen

Earning the Cut

Hungry. That was the get-go awareness he could recall feeling. He was always hungry. Ravenous actually. Fifty-fifty when his stomach was total of whatever crap happened to be lying around after they were through he was still hungry. Like a domestic dog, they merely threw him the scraps. He was a half-starved afterthought. Just something to be tolerated. Even though he was young, the male child was old enough to understand that he was meaningless to them. Opening the fridge revealed a half-eaten pizza. He gnawed at information technology. It was cold and it tasted funny. His tum gurgled a familiar warning then he stopped eating. Sometimes the stomachache that followed eating the funny food was worse than the hunger pains. Tired, he slumped downward on the couch to wait for mommy.

***

Laughter met his ears but it wasn't funny. The room spun around and effectually. Information technology wasn't similar when you twirled in circles. It was worse that that time on the merry-go-circular. Oh, that fourth dimension was a rare fond memory. But, the dizziness passed once they got off the merry-go-round. This time was much worse. The bad feeling wouldn't go away. He felt ill, oh so sick. He threw up on the erstwhile brown burrow. Mommy was in that location. He idea she would be mad at him, but to his surprise, she was mad at the human instead. She yelled and he covered his ears. It was hard to tell if she was mad at him too. She was always mad.

"Yous gave him beer? He's but 6!"

The man laughed again. His head hurt.

"That's the last time I get out you alone with him, Trey!"

***

They moved a lot and then the schoolyard was always different, simply the way he was treated never wavered. The other kids made fun of him. They pushed him around. They said his clothes were ugly. They called him, "Skunk," 'cause they said he stunk like i, too. He knew they were right. The other kids had new shoes with no holes in them. No dirt under their nails. They had shiny new lunchboxes filled with food. Sometimes, he had one-half a burger or some common cold chicken nuggets from the nighttime earlier. The ruddy apples looked so good. He was so hungry. He tried to take one from Tommy Gill, 'crusade he had two, and Tommy pushed him. He fell in the dirt. A hole opened up in his patched, also-large jeans. His knee bled. The other kids laughed. They chosen him a loser and a reject. He wanted to fight back, but he was and then tired. And weak.

The classroom was warm, even though it was cold outside. There were desks to sit down at. He had his very own desk! With a nametag and everything. D-A-X-T-E-R. Information technology was his ain desk. He loved it. Within, in that location were books and pencils and paints and everything. He wanted to stay there, in the classroom with his own desk forever, but when the bell rang he had to go home. He dreaded the bell every day, even though the other kids seemed excited when information technology rang. He was confused past their behavior. Why would anyone ever want to go home?

His teacher was pretty. She wore floaty dresses and she never yelled. But even though Mrs. Thomas had a kind smiling, he was still wary of her. Sometimes when mommy smiled, she was non happy, she was mad. Mrs. Thomas smiled at him a lot. She ruffled his hair, even though he flinched when she touched him. He had to stay within today, she said. No recess. He was in trouble and he was scared. No recess meant he broke a rule, but he didn't know what it was. Breaking the rules meant a penalisation. He had become quite adept at figuring out the rules. It was a survival instinct. But this time, he had no idea what he had done wrong. He looked down at his sneakers, his large toe poking out the forepart. He was too big, mommy said. He outgrew his shoes as well fast.

"Is everything okay at home, Dax?"

He jerked his caput up to look at Mrs. Thomas. Her abdomen was round and distended. She had a babe in information technology. He knew that, 'cause mommy'south friend had a baby in her tummy likewise. Her proper name was Sheila. Sheila was squeamish, sometimes, only the concluding fourth dimension he saw her she cried. She was upset 'cause her belly was getting besides big and she couldn't ride the 'bicycle with Trey'south friend. Trey's friend had a new Sheila, said mommy. Dax liked the 'cycles. They made a loud, rumbly noise that was somehow comforting. You could just get on one, and ride away. Sometimes he wondered what it would exist like to exist big and ride i himself.

"Dax? Are you okay?" Mrs. Thomas' vocalism sounded funny, similar she was going to cry or something. He nodded mechanically, like mommy said to do.

"Well, honey we are going to have to call your parents. Nosotros need to talk about some things. I want yous to know that you have washed nothing wrong. Dax?"

He started to shake, his thin shoulders rubbing against the frayed material of his borrowed coat. He
had
done something wrong. He glared at Mrs. Thomas. She wasn't nice at all! She was going to become him in big problem. Mommy wouldn't similar coming to talk to teacher. Information technology was early on. Mommy didn't wake upwardly until after he got off the omnibus. She didn't like getting up early. It gave her a headache. She would exist mad. Trey would be mad. He hung his head quietly, imagining the chirapsia that would surely follow teacher'south phone telephone call.

***

They wouldn't let him get on the bus so he waited in the function. Mommy came and she was actually aroused. She put on her smiley face up, but he knew she was mad considering her eyes were mad even though she was smile. Even though she was aroused, Mommy looked pretty. She had brushed her blond hair and she was wearing her expert jacket and clean boots. He shuffled his feet and the dainty lady showed him a place to sit and wait. He waited. His tummy grumbled. He could hear muffled voices coming from behind the airtight door. He was afraid to heed.

The nice lady in the part appeared. She looked worried, he thought. Or mad. He wasn't sure; it was difficult to tell. Loud, aroused voices came from the primary'southward role. Everyone was mad mad mad. His tummy grumbled again. Tears stung his optics as the shouting increased. Mommy was aroused. He would exist punished. Trey would get his belt. The nice lady tried to put her arm around him and he hissed like a serpent, lurching away every bit though her impact burned him. She took her hand away. The lady's eyes were sad. She held out a cookie. He was scared to take information technology. Sometimes Trey would offer treats and they would make him ill. Merely, he was so hungry. Warily, he accepted the cookie with a shaky little mitt. He ate information technology quickly, licking the crumbs from his dirt-tinged palm. He curled up in the chair and slept.

***

Seeing the policeman had made him go wild, feral well-nigh. The pigs would injure you! Mommy and Trey hated the pigs and he did likewise. He struggled and screamed when the pig grabbed him. Instructor looked at him and he saw that she was crying. Mommy came out and she was crying besides.

"Daxter! You ungrateful little bounder!" She was loud and angry merely she was besides grabbing at him, trying to yank him from the policeman's artillery.

A wail issued from his lips every bit he was hauled bodily out the door. Where were they taking him?! "Mommy!" he cried. Some other pig held mommy back. They took him abroad. They put him in a constabulary car. He was going to jail where the bad boys went. He was bad. He was very bad. He had tried to exist skillful, but the pigs knew he was bad. He was bad within, like mommy said. He shook and cried, feeling the cool leather of the seat against his dirty cheek.

***

10 Years After

"Mr. Jamison?"

The voice was annoyed. As usual. Why couldn't these teachers give him a intermission?!

"Yes?" He could hear the snickers of the damned jocks and nerds in the form as Mr. Jenner picked on him.
Fuck!
Jenner was ever on his case. If it weren't a condition of living with the Bodeckers, he would take bailed on schoolhouse a long ass time ago.

"The answer, Mr. Jamison." Mr. Jenner challenged.

"Which question?" He let boredom lace his tone, feeling a sense of satisfaction as Mr. Jenner bristled at his blatant boldness.

"Eleven."

Dax stole a peek at his seat partner's book, and noted which page was open. He flipped his own textbook open up and took a cursory glance at number xi. "Ten equals iv."

Mr. Jenner looked surprised and Dax liked that. They always underestimated him. For some reason, he felt like that gave him an reward.

***

Home? What was that anyway? Dax got off the bus and paused to stare at the house he currently lived in. He had never felt comfortable in whatever identify that was supposed to be his home. Bouncing from foster care to foster care had been tough. He had seen it all. No one wanted a lanky, half-grown kid who was always hungry. But now, he had been with the Bodecker family for ii whole years. They were the first family that didn't kick him back like a fish that wasn't big enough for the take. At first, Dax figured they took kids in for the government stipend. Lots of foster families did that.

It was him, an older girl, and two younger kids, twins, living in that house. Different the other homes they had tried to place him in, here he had his ain room, up in the attic. As he grew taller, it got harder to stand up in in that location, but at least he had his own infinite. He liked that more than he would ever allow on. He had learned early on that if you told your fake "parents" what you lot liked, they could utilise it confronting you. To manipulate you.

The Bodeckers were pretty strict. They fabricated it pretty clear that he had to follow their rules or he would exist out. Do your chores, go to school, go along your olfactory organ clean. At starting time, he balked at the rules. Merely, all in all, Dax had to admit, it wasn't that bad. He got iii meals a twenty-four hours, and Mrs. Bodecker liked baking too, so there were always cookies around. He accustomed the cookies with a forced smile because he knew it would hurt the lady if he refused her overtures. He even high-strung a few down, trying to ignore the reflexive clenching of his stomach. He had learned it young:
Never trust a person bearing cookies
. Dax had decent fitting clothes and shoes. His pilus was still long and unkempt, only at present it was considering he chose to article of clothing information technology that manner. Nevertheless, Dax knew that the clock was ticking. His seventeenth birthday was but around the corner. That meant one more than year, and he would be on his ain. Again.

Dax smiled ruefully, remembering his beginning day in this house. He had been sullen, angry, and he was certain he had radiated distrust. The final 3 places the land sent him had been nightmares, chock total of the same calumniating bullshit he had been yanked out of when he was a kid. He refused to tolerate information technology anymore. No, after the third place, he had vowed that no i would push button him around again. Then, he fought dorsum, and he got sent back. Six times. Like a defective motorcar, or a stray dog that kept getting sent back to the pound, he was returned like and so much junk. He became jaded, depressed, and harbored a silent rage that started to manifest on the schoolyard. Soon, he had a reputation. What a surprise, no 1 wanted him. Merely similar his mom used to tell him.

What the hell was the indicate? He had entertained no promise of ever finding a tolerable living situation, so when the social worker's motorcar pulled up to a well maintained, three-story home with a porch swing and a spotter fence, a jolt of irrational fear ran through him. The identify was creepy in its normalcy. He met the wife first. Mrs. Bodecker was pleasant and calm, and she greeted him at the door with a smiling and a freshly baked tray of chocolate chip cookies. Dax hesitated to eat them. He always had to asphyxiate down the first few bites of food offered by a stranger, peculiarly cookies. It was an former problem.
No place could be this perfect.
In that location had to be a catch. Only, information technology looked like there wasn't.

Mr. Bodecker seemed like a total foursquare, but at to the lowest degree he wasn't a Jesus freak or a hateful drunkard. Sometimes, Dax got an odd vibe from the guy just he had never washed anything to invite distrust. The couple claimed that they trying to requite back or some such, by helping out the disadvantaged. Over fourth dimension, Dax figured out that Mrs. Bodecker couldn't have her own kids, or something, so that was probably why she filled her house with everyone else's rejects. No, that wasn't fair. Of the four of them,
he
was the just refuse. The twins were cute and everyone loved them. The older girl kept to herself. She was seventeen, and she knew she was on her manner out anyhow. Adamant to have a meliorate life than she started with, Rachel had applied to several colleges and with her grades and circumstances, she was sure to make it on full scholarship.

Dax sighed, looking at the pile of homework that sat on the pocket-size wooden desk-bound. Of all the thin furnishings in his attic hideaway, he liked the desk-bound best. It was old, but it had lots of little drawers and places to stash things. He pulled out the lesser drawer and establish a space backside it, just big plenty to slide his notebook. No one knew he liked to write. He was certain they would laugh at him if they did. Stories of his by, verses that belied his teen angst, wishes and dreams that would never come up to laissez passer, filled the pages of his journal, written in harsh, black ink. Pushing his algebra book to the side, he started to shade in a familiar sketch: information technology was a bike. Non a bicycle, merely a bike. A hog. A
Harley Dyna,
to be exact.

shiersmorive.blogspot.com

Source: https://100vampirenovels.net/pdf-novels/earning-the-cut-riding-the-line-series-prequel-by-jayna-vixen-free

Share this post