It didn't take long for me to learn that Uncle Luke was bisexual.
We had frequent visitors—both men and women—coming and going at odd hours. I never asked who they were. I never even stepped out of my room when they arrived. They always went straight into his bedroom, and I made sure to stay far away.
Like I said, I never trusted that man.
You might think that after living together for five years, we'd have grown closer—but you'd be wrong. There was always something about him that gave me chills. So I kept my distance. He lived his life, and I lived mine.
I'm fifteen now, and honestly, I'm fine with how things are.
Cold. Quiet. Distant.
Just the way I like it.
In fact, the last time Uncle Luke and I actually sat down to talk was two years ago. Since then, I've made it a habit to stay in my room whenever he's home. It's easier that way—safer, too.
You might wonder why he still tolerates me.
Well, that's simple.
After our first year together, my parents began sending him money—huge amounts, about three thousand dollars a year—for our living expenses. So, in a way, I became his source of income. I'm the reason he eats, drinks, and pays the bills. Nothing can happen to me, and he knows it.
But what he doesn't know is that the money in the briefcase—my mother's money—was never wasted. I secretly invested it in a small, struggling bank that was on the verge of bankruptcy. My investment saved them, and they've been good to me ever since.
Uncle Luke did enroll me in school, just as my parents instructed, but that was all. I never spoke to them directly—he never once handed me the phone when they called. Not even by mistake.
He only gave me seven hundred and fifty dollars — just a quarter of the money my parents sent for me. I quickly realized that was supposed to cover my expenses for the entire year.
I didn't argue. I didn't complain. I understood exactly what kind of man Uncle Luke was.
Besides, I didn't really need his money anymore. The bank I had invested in still sent my monthly earnings directly into my account, and I had an ATM card they'd given me. That card became my quiet lifeline — my freedom in a house that never felt like home.