"STEPHEN JACOB FREUD!" She yelled. She was always yelling. "GET YOUR GOOD FOR NOTHING ASS UP HERE AND CLEAN UP THIS MESS!"

He hadn't made a mess. He'd been in his room all day like she'd told him to be. She must have made the mess and now he has to clean it up. 

"I AM NOT ASKING YOU AGAIN, YOU USELESS POUND OF FLESH!"

He pulled himself off his makeshift bed and opened the bedroom door. It was easier to do what she wanted than it was to ignore her. Either way he was going to be punished. But it might not be as bad if he just went and did what she asked. Maybe today she would just leave him to clean. 

"Sorry, Mommy," the eight year old said. 

"You're sorry?! Look at this mess! Clean it up! Your stupid social worker called. I don't want her to see this mess. Get your ass in gear and get this cleaned. 

Arlene was coming? Why would Arlene be coming? Now Stephen was panicking. If the social worker was coming it was because someone might have called her. Which meant probably his teacher. It wouldn't matter how much he cleaned, he could make the house shine like the top of the Chrysler Building in New York (at least he thought it was New York, based on the movie 'Annie' he'd watched at school once).

 Stephen started the task of cleaning up the empty bottles of beer, vodka, gin, tequila and the multitude of red Solo cups that littered the coffee table and the floor. Cigarettes and ash covered the surface. And some funny-smelling cigarettes, too. 

Stephen wiped down the coffee table with a damp rag after throwing the bottles into the bin Alex, Mommy's newest boyfriend, would take back to the store to get money back and buy more alcohol.

Once that was done, he got out the old vacuum and started vacuuming the living room. She didn't like that. 

"Shut that thing off!" She smacked him in the head. His ears rang. 

"But, the carpet, Mommy."

"Fuck the carpet. If she can't handle a little dirt let her take you. You're just a waste of space. God knows why I kept you."

Mommy loves me. Somewhere inside, Mommy loves me, Stephen said to himself.

"Go clean the fucking kitchen!" 

She pushed Stephen towards the kitchen, but he tripped over the vacuum cleaner. 

"My god. You're just a klutz, aren't you?" She yelled as he picked himself up. She helped. By grabbing the back of his worn t-shirt and pulling him up. The collar of the shirt pressed against his windpipe and he coughed, trying to suck in some air. 

"Oh shut up with that noise. You're fine."

She pushed him again towards the kitchen, but he kept his footing this time. 

He looked longingly at the fridge, locked tightly with a padlock. He wasn't allowed in the food cupboards or the fridge and freezer. Only when Mommy said he could cook her and Alex dinner. 

The cleaning supply cupboard was always unlocked. Sometimes she pushed him in there and locked him in. The mix of smells from the chemicals always made him feel sick and dizzy. 

Stephen opened the cupboard and pulled out the cleaning sprays and the bleach. He looked at the sink and decided to tackle that first, then he could bleach the sink clean. He started by washing the dishes piled up in the sink. How could there be so many dishes? He'd just washed them two days ago and he hadn't even used any. She'd thrown a sandwich at him yesterday. It wasn't even on a plate. And the cheese was a little mouldy. 

Stephen worked for an hour. The kitchen was spotless, mostly. The clean dishes were stacked in the drying rack waiting to be put away. The living room was as clean as she was going to allow it right now. 

"Go get changed!" She yelled at him. He headed for his basement room. 

"No stupid!" She yelled. "Upstairs!"

"But..."

"But what!? Do you want Arlene to take you away? Do you want to wind up in foster care? Do you want to go live with strangers who won't take care of you? They'll just collect the State's money and you'll be nothing more than a meal ticket for them. Go upstairs and put on the clothes on the bed. NOW!" She screamed when Stephen didn't immediately move. 

Stephen went upstairs and looked at the clothes in the bedroom he never slept in. Khaki pants and a long sleeved, striped t-shirt. It would cover the bruises and cigarette burns on his arms and legs. He quickly changed into the clean clothes and went into the bathroom. He found a comb and combed his hair and washed his face. There was a red mark on his neck from when she pulled him up by his shirt. Hopefully, Arlene wouldn't see it. He'd keep his head down as much as he could. 

"Shitface! Get down here. She's here!" She screamed up the stairs. 

Stephen went downstairs. In moments the doorbell rang. 

"Hello, Stephen," Arlene smiled at him. 

She was a large woman who had a kind smile and tired eyes. Stephen knew she worked hard. He tried to keep from being trouble so the teachers would stop calling her to check on him. Mommy hated her. Stephen wished he could tell her the truth. 

"Hi," Stephen said shyly after Mommy pinched his arm. He'd learned not to show the pain that caused. 

"Arlene, always a pleasure to see you. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? I think we have some iced tea," Mommy offered. She'd put on clean jeans and a nice t-shirt and makeup. She'd brushed her hair and sprayed some perfume. In any other context, she'd be a beautiful woman. Stephen still thought his mommy was beautiful. Even if she didn't. 

Stephen didn't know who his daddy was. His mommy said he was a 'no good, two timing loser who was better dead to the world than in their lives'. 

Stephen was his spitting image.