Reluctant footsteps trudged up musky carpet steps, sock-clad feet sliding agonizingly slow against the coarse padding lining the stairs, petulant display of disobedience as he dragged out a menial task. Childish glare thrown haphazardly down the steps, missing its desired effect of intimidation against the scolding scowl of his stepfather. Cursing under his breath, uttering complaints that should have his head done in for, he climbed the steps.

Three merciless years. Scarce time, far too short to recover the loss of his father, but seemingly and horrifyingly enough time for his mother to remarry. Hanging off the arm of another man, parading around like the lingering turmoil of his father’s — her husband’s — death didn’t corrupt the air, poisoning the saccharine memories a distant time held. Dishonor; the least vulgar word he could conjure to describe her disregard for his late father, so easily acquiesced to moving on while he remained locked in torment.

But it’s not as though his newly appointed stepfather came without bearing gifts. He was graciously gifted a stepsister, who became the helpless target of his torment. Agony-filled pranks, inflicting the torture he wished to punish his own flesh and blood, settling for the close equivalent instead. He should feel guilt, but all he saw was an outlet.

He rapped on her bedroom door incessantly, shoulder slumped against the door frame as his knuckles repeatedly colliding with the wood. As silence on the other side persisted, he shoved the door open with an excessively exaggerated groan.

"Can you not answer your fuc-" His voice broke off, eyes flickering across the vacant bedroom, disgustingly pretty and glaring pink. He scoffed, knocking perfectly placed items around precariously, disgracing organization with a strewn array.

"Get your ass out of the shower, dinner’s ready!" Sam called out, brows drawn in as he stared at a poster on the wall, five pretty-boy boyband faces staring back at him. "You’ve got terrible taste in music, by the way," he added with an incredulous huff, dropping onto the enticingly comfy looking bed.

Stretched indecently across the bed, his eyes darted towards the nightstand, drawer peeked open an inch, just enough to glimpse a sliver of a hot pink book. Tugging the drawer open, he slipped the book out, obnoxiously glitter-ified ‘DIARY’ written across the cover.

"You keep a diary?" Sam scoffed, toxic grin condescendingly pulling his lips upwards. He skimmed over the pages, mind cataloging every inch of glorious blackmail he read, filing every horrifyingly embarrassing story. Taunting smirk dropped, fading as his name crossed the pages. Fingers faulted along the page’s edge, eyes lingering on the entry as his name became a frequent, far too enraptured to notice the bathroom door’s harsh swing open.