I tapped my trembling hands against my thighs under the table as my legs shook; my shoes tapping nervously on the floor as I watched the clock on the wall above the white board.
I, along with the rest of my lower sixth maths class had found ourselves being kept behind after school because the majority of the class had not bothered to complete their homework. Mr. Rogers sat at the front of the class, his eyes scanning the room for any sort of movement out of place whilst those that hadn't done their homework hurriedly did it under his watchful gaze. The only sound that could be heard was the sound of pens scribbling against paper and I was sure that everyone could hear my laboured breathing in the otherwise silent class room.
It had already been fifteen minutes since the bell had run signalling the end of the school day and as time passed I grew even more panicked. I was sure that my face had drained of its natural creamy colour whilst sweat beads gathered on my forehead. I was a ball of nerves as my eyes darted around the room before returning to watch the clock as if it would magically speed up so that I could leave.
I knew that I was going to be in trouble as soon as I walked through the front door, I just didn't know how much. He was going to be angry when I didn't walk through the door before 4o'clock and he was going to be even more angry as I was sure to embarrass him in front of his work friends that would be there.
He prided himself on having the perfect family. My mum was the perfect house wife, she didn't have a job instead she spent her days at home, cleaning, washing and cooking whilst presenting herself perfectly. She always wore a tight pencil skirt with a blouse tucked in and heels, her brown hair that I had inherited, was always up in an elegant bun while her make—up was light but flawless. It didn't matter that she wasn't going out; he liked her to be presentable at all times.
I wasn't the perfect teenage daughter that he wanted. It didn't matter how hard I tried at school or at home, I was, and never could be perfect in his eyes. It wasn't a secret to me that he had wanted a son instead of a daughter. I knew that it was because he thought that I was incapable of taking over the family business, his private business that I knew nothing about; that he went out of his way to make sure that I knew nothing about. I had no idea what he did or where our income came from.
It didn't help that I looked more like my mum than him. He was disappointed that the only feature we shared was our eyes; a feature I hated because they were identical to his. Our eyes were a bright green colour, the colour of grass on a summer's day or an emerald gem polished and cleaned until it sparkled in the dullest light. Our eyes weren't just a unique shade of green but what made them unique were the golden flecks that fanned out around our black irises.
The genetic mutation has always confused me as I had never thought that it would be possible to have such a feature but I was living proof that it was possible.
The rest of my features I had inherited from my mum. I had gotten her small frame standing five foot two; an entire foot and a bit shorter than him. I had gotten my curly brown hair from my mum, the splash of freckles across the top of my cheeks and the bridge of my nose and my red cupids bow lips. I looked just like my mum, small and feminine, or in his eyes; weak and useless. I was nothing like the son he desired and he loathed me for it.
I pulled the sleeve of my jumper further down my arm so that I could hold it around my palm with my fingers. It was a habit that I had developed a few years ago from trying to hide the bruises around my wrist from where he would grab me with bruising force whenever he thought I had done something bad. I was currently hiding the week old yellow and green bruise that I had gotten for taking a day off school because of the stomach flu that I had gotten. I had returned to school the next day only to spend it in the nurse's office throwing up as I told them that no one would be at home to take care of me.
"Shh!" A hiss to my left has me slowly turned to see Jason Wilson glaring at me whilst he gave my shaking legs a pointed look. I instantly stopped my feet from tapping against the floor as my knees quivered, knocking against each other as the unwanted attention would cause trouble if he ever found out.
"Yes?" Mr. Rogers snapped from the front as I looked to see that he was staring directly at me. My breath caught in my throat as I feared that he had seen the exchange between me and Jason and I would find myself in even more trouble, he would not like that.
"I've finished sir." Jenny, the girl that always sat behind me in this class said as I felt my shoulder's sag a little in relief that he hadn't caught onto the exchange between me and Jason moment ago.
"Put it in the tray on my desk," Mr. Rogers said as he leaned forward on his desk whilst he thought for a moment, "I'd like you all to put your homework in the tray, whether it's completed or not."
I could hear the many sighs of relief that floated through the 'not so silent room' anymore. The sound of chairs scraping against the floor could be heard as my classmates got to their feet. I grabbed my backpack from the floor as I stood up; my eyes focused on the door as I put it over my shoulder and tucked my chair underneath my single desk.
