Asshole reached into the fridge.
This is it! Get ready to die you murderous piece of shit.
Without ceremony, he grabbed the open can from the top of the fridge and chugged it.
That's it... drink your doom, murderer! The less he tasted it, the more chance I had of getting away with-
A loud belch shook the walls of the house, making the lights flash. He smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"Hmm... beer tastes a little off." He reached in and took the rest of the pack that had sourced the poisoned vessel and dumped it in the trash. "Good night for whiskey," he grabbed a bottle of No. 99 Jill and popped the top off, pouring himself a double.
The smug bastard even whistled as he left for the bedroom.
I stared in disbelief.
I'd put enough arsenic in the can to floor most living beings instantly. And he'd walked it off without so much as a fart.
Stay calm, Ash. No need to get worked up. At least now you know...
The problem with being six with the mind of a twenty-six-year-old was that my emotions didn't want to stay calm.
I felt myself start to hyperventilate and immediately ran for my room, which I shared with Fiona, and screamed into the blue and white man-sized beaker-shaped pillow I custom-ordered using Asshole's unlimited credit card. What can I say? The grounding was worth it.
After a solid minute of screaming, I planned to quickly compose myself.
Unfortunately, as the door clicked shut, I found myself glaring across the room at Fiona.
"Are you mad at me?" my twin asked.
"Why would I be mad?" I replied, hiccuping a little.
"Because I told Mom you were laughing like a bad guy..."
"I'm not mad about that. I just... miss Kora." I lied, "I'd rather live with her than Christopher."
Fiona fidgeted uncomfortably. "Why don't you like Daddy? He saves a lot of people every day."
"And then he comes home and ignores us. He's mean to Des- to Mommy."
"But they hug and kiss and stuff..."
"Grow up! Mom's just a trophy wife. She's only with him to make him look good. Hell, they got married in a megachurch owned by Heroics Incorporated." The same corporation that was housed on the floors immediately beneath our little slice of capitalist hell.
Did I mention I'm a socialist?
"What's a trophy wife?"
"It's what I said. She's not with him like a loving couple would be. Everything she does is a performance to keep him happy. That's why she kisses him with her eyes open. The only good thing she ever does is defend us from him."
"You mean to defend you. You just don't like Daddy because he gets mad at you."
Oh, the logic of a child. If only she knew what reality was like... But she was barely becoming a person at her age. If I was old enough in body to stay calm, I'd have calmly laid out all the ways she could learn for herself who "Daddy" really was.
What I shrieked instead was, "Get out!" I threw my pillows at her, even the beaker pillow which weighed about fifteen pounds. All the while screaming until my favorite pillow slammed the door shut behind her.
As soon as that was done, I heard her yelling in the hall. "Mo~m! Aislin threw things at me!"
"Sweetie, go back to your room and tell your sister I said for her to apologize. Your Daddy's having a stomachache." I heard Mom yell back.
A stomachache! Yes! Maybe the arsenic was just delayed a bit! I am SO going to fake cry by laughing at Asshole's funeral.
I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. Maybe I could get away with a mad laugh or two as he croaked like a rat... Yeah, I could just make it seem like I'd snapped from the sadness of losing him. No way anyone would believe a six-year-old intentionally murdered the so-called "Greatest Superhero Of All Time."
Ugh, they only started calling him that after he killed me...
In my temptation to go look, I opened the door to the hallway, only to be hit by a wall of stink so disgusting it almost had a physical force to it.
Oh shit, he's farting out arsenic!
Suddenly Destiny appeared and plucked Fiona and me from the room, dashing with us to the garden before puking her guts up in the nearest flowerpot.
"Is he dead?" I asked her as soon as she seemed recovered enough to speak with.
"What? No, Daddy's just having a little diarrhea. Don't worry about him, whatever it is he caught won't work twice."
She turned her back on me to start comforting Fiona and I took the chance to quietly snap my fingers together as I jerked my arm in front of my chest in frustration.
Dammit-hell-shit-farting-redneck-son of a fucking bitch! I should have used the whole freaking box!
After a couple of minutes where I swore I could see a cloud of stink hovering along the ceiling, Asshole came out into the living room with a loud, "Whoo. I knew someone moved my beer. Darling, I think we need to fire the babysitter."
"Nooo!" I wailed, which only made him look down at me with a condescendingly raised eyebrow.
"Honey, you know Kora doesn't drink. Maybe you got some blood in your mouth during the fight?"
"I've been wanting to fire her already, but she was good at keeping Aislin in line. I keep getting disgusting medical stuff on my recommendations, and she probably poisoned me by putting her fucking goth lips on my can."
"She doesn't have a toxicity factor. Her Talent is shadow manipulation, remember?"
"Hey, my house, my rules. I'd like to have her kicked out of college for this bullshit, but hey, I tell you what, you can let her know. Be diplomatic and all that shit. I'm going to open a few more windows."
Of course he'd ruin someone's education on a fucking whim... He didn't even hire tutors for us when he could just dump us on his PR staff and have them entertain Fiona with makeup and "princess lessons." The only reason we were ahead of the game was Kora, who was able to make learning fun for Fiona, and my past life memories.
"Please don't fire Kora!" Fiona stands next to me in sisterly solidarity, for once, and I... really appreciate it.
So I do something stupid, even though it might mean a spine snapping for me. Right now I'm desperate not to lose the one beacon of sanity in my life. "I-I did it! I moved the can!"
"Na-ah-ahh! Don't lie Aislin. You can't even reach the top shelf with those stubby little arms. Certainly not without spilling it." Asshole turned and looked at Destiny. "Get it done," he ordered, before walking back into the house.
For the second time since turning six, I start to cry.