The Grandparents

In the dim haze of Grandma Jean's creaky living room, shadows cling like secrets to the walls. Lucy, that wild 18-year-old skater punk with fire in her veins, slouches arms folded tight between her defeated dad and a battered suitcase. The old bird, Erica Lauren as Grandma Jean, eyes her with a predatory glint, while her grizzled hubby, Alec Knight as Grandpa, looms stern beside her, grey beard framing a face carved from judgment. They size up the girl like fresh meat. Dad stammers gratitude for scooping her up on zero notice—ever since Mom bolted, Lucy's spiraled into a whirlwind of booze-soaked rages, fucking anything that moves, guys and girls alike, thumbing her nose at every goddamn rule he lays down. Nowhere left to dump her ass, his preacher pimped this twisted 'homestyle' fix-it joint. Grandma Jean coos promises of tender care, treating her like blood kin—that's their sick game. She dangles cookies; Lucy snorts in disgust. Dad starts his lecture, but Grandpa's gravel voice slices in, cool and ironclad: hit the road, pal. Monthly peeks and phone chats, per the deal. Dad bolts, abandoning the wide-eyed vixen to the wolves. Silence stretches taut as a noose... then Grandma sweeps back with the treats. Lucy's gut twists, nerves firing like bad acid; she chomps down while the hag peels off her tomboy cap, voice honeyed venom as she lays out the house laws. Every broken bitch they tame bows to their intimate grip on the reins.