hey!

I just re-read this chapter and realised just how much editing needs to be done, mostly fixing cringe-worthy things like her past with David that I wrote a few years ago. Lmao, I will get to it soon!

- bree

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"I'm home!" I yell down the hallway while shoving my bag on The White Cabinet.

The White Cabinet is literally a white cabinet. Our Mum bought it when I was just a baby and we've had it ever since. It's huge with five large drawers to put school supplies inside, a large box to leave shoes in above every drawer, and above that a slot for random things. On top of that, we've used it to put party bags, containers, money boxes, things that we just need to remember before we run out the door. Above the cabinet are hooks to hang our school bags on, though we never use them. It's all so organised, and it's all my dad.

My dad only cares about what we should be like in his opinion. He wants me to be womanly, proper, petite, polite—basically how life was like in England in the 70s. He wants me to be like my mum.

And for David, he'd rather him be a real gentleman. David is everything but that. An extremely bad brother is what he is.

Everyone else wishes they had a big brother to protect them. I do too. I wish for the big brother I never got.

I head down the hallway and open the door to my room. Inside, I see a startled David jump from my bed.

"What are you doing in my room?" I screech. "Get out!"

He pushes past me in the doorway. "Jeez, calm down, little sis. I was just giving you an early birthday pressie." He smirks, running away.

I take three deep breaths, then walk in, calmer than I was before. I see my laptop open on my bed. I take a closer look. It's logged in. How did he know my password? I instantly change it and put a reminder of what the new password was on a sticky note under my bed.

I check to see what he's done but thankfully I can't see anything out of place. I'm about to shut it down when a notification comes up. It's an email from Jasmine saying, It was David, wasn't it? I'll kill him for you!

I'm about to reply when two more notifications pop up. One is from an Instagram chat I got added into. I click on it, curious. The group is named :))))).

When I see it's a chat with Serena and Olivia Benson, the school slut, I quickly leave. What is happening with me?

I log into my account and heaps of new messages come up on my screen. I frown, confused and check my posts. A new post apparently by me shows up.

Aha! I knew David would have done something.

I click on it and am horrified by what I see. It's a picture of me getting drunk at some crazy party. How? I haven't gone to one of those parties even once in my life!  The caption says, All I need is a party to brighten up my life. Such a cheesy caption, but somehow it only makes it worse. Then I see the absolute worst thing—my shirt is pulled so far down that my bra is visible.

"I hate you, David!" I scream. "I HATE YOU!"

A tear slides down my cheek. My vision is starting to blur so I wipe my eyes with the corner of my sleeve. Suddenly, in the corner of the picture, I notice a watermark. Ah. At least it's a fake photo. Surely people can tell, right? I check the comments underneath just to make sure.

What?

67 people have commented on the post. 46 people have shared the post. Some are asking me to come to their parties.

Ruby, a friend from primary school, has commented: not so innocent as you pretend to be.

I start to cry again. I thought Ruby was my friend! A girl I don't even know with the username _veronica.xx has tagged four friends and is calling me a slut!

Why, why, why does this have to happen to me? Why does my mum have to leave? Why does my dad have to be completely non-supportive? And the only sibling I have treats me like a piece of gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe.

I wish I had a better life. Anything but this.

Immediately, I delete the post and the comments. I go to delete my messages when I see one from Hunter.

I thought you were someone else. Someone different.

I freeze. What? He's the most popular guy in school, shouldn't he like things like this? But as he said before, he's not like most guys.

I slam my laptop shut and throw it at the wall, tears streaming down my face. It smashes into pieces, denting the wall. I know right now I should be worrying about the damage or begging my dad to forgive me for breaking it. I should be sorry.

But I'm not.

I feel way better than before. I feel relaxed.

Slowly, I make my way over to the mess of wires and throw the pieces into the bin. I sweep the rest of the plastic to the side and then collapse on my bed. I close my eyes and just lie there for what seems like forever.

I wake up at the sounds of sloshing water. I lie there with my eyes closed for a few seconds, deciding whether to get up or not, before realizing that there shouldn't be any liquid in my room. Dad's very strict about these things. Actually, about everything.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. "What the—"

Suddenly something cold and slimy is pushed down the back of my shirt.

"David!" I scream, jumping up and running around in circles, trying to get the ice out of my shirt. It falls out, already making a puddle of water. I shove my hands up the back of my shirt, rubbing where the ice was to stop that freezing numb feeling.

He stands in front of me with a bucket of melting ice, smirking. "Some guy is at the door for you. Probably because of my present. You can thank me later." Everything that happened today comes back to me and I remember what he did.

I shove him out of the way. "I'm still going to kill you." I mutter as I trudge out of the door.

I stop in the bathroom quickly to smooth down my hair so I don't look like a blubbering mess. I glance at the time. 5 o'clock! I fell asleep for 2 hours! I must have been calmer than I thought. I tread over to the front door and open it, surprised to see Joshua, a senior.  I eye him wearily.

"Hi."

"Hi... why are you here? And how do you know where I live?"

He looks at me weirdly. "I know David. I've been here before." Oh, right. I almost facepalm, I feel so dumb.

"So, I'm having a party next Thursday—"

I realise what he's here for. Fuming, and wanting to break down and cry again, I slam the door on him before yelling, "Not interested! I'll never be!", and hoping he'll take the hint.

I lock the door and sit next to it, blocking him from peeking inside. I can't believe this has happened to me. This is definitely the worst day of my life. But knowing David, tomorrow will probably be even worse. What did I ever do to deserve a family like this?

David and me, we used to be best friends. We used to go on trips together, and he was actually nice to me. We were the model siblings, we did things the way siblings were supposed to, to help each other out when we needed to. We were the type of siblings parents wish their children were like.

But just before I turned eleven, everything changed. My mum was diagnosed with cancer two weeks before my birthday. Everyone in the household was always tense. When my birthday arrived, the only gift I got was from my mum. And it was a book called "How much I love my mum". Yeah. Really. I never thought she was going to get such a dumb present like that, she could have at least gotten a "How much I love my daughter" version. But no. It always had to be about her.

On the morning of my birthday, I had jumped out of bed super early and had run downstairs. I had expected a Happy Birthday song at least, but everyone was crowded around mum. Apparently she had been vomiting all night so Dad and David stayed up with her, comforting her. I had decided that she couldn't ruin my birthday, so I got out the special box of Rice Krispies at the top of the cupboard, where the birthday breakfasts were always kept. I was humming to myself while I poured the milk, and David became very agitated. He had ripped the milk out of my hands, spraying it all over me.

"You are so selfish," he spat. "Your own mum has been vomiting for who knows how long, and you just don't care."

I remember that as if it happened yesterday, how hurt I had felt and how badly I wanted to cry, but then David would have bullied me for it. My bottom lip had started to tremble. "Dad—" I had started but stopped when I realised he was glaring at me.

Mum opened her eyes. "Happy Birthday, sweetie," she croaked. She passed me something wrapped in newspaper. She nodded towards it. "Open it."

I felt much better after that, actually getting a present. I tore it open only to find that "How much I love my mum" book. I remember the way my face had twisted into a scowl. "Yeah, thanks, mum. I love it so much," I said sarcastically. Mum's face went from confused to hurt, and I was cruelly glad for it.

"What's the point of this?" I yelled. "It's always about you! I can't get any attention for one second. Even my birthday present is about you. I hate it! I hate you! I hate all of you!" I had tossed the book into the sink full of water, not caring about it at all. With that I had stormed upstairs till dinner, during which we all avoided eye contact.

A year later, a few days after mum had died, I went digging through my cupboard looking for anything of hers, when I found the book. The pages were shrivelled up from the water, and the words on the front cover were already wearing off, but it was all I had left of her. So I left the book there, and I haven't touched it ever since, except for when I packed it away when we moved. I never opened it either.

After that, my dad became cruel. My kitten, Jemma, died from arthritis. And my brother stopped being a brother and instead became an enemy.

I still sit there, with my back pressed to the door, thinking about my past—something that doesn't happen very often. I like to forget the past, and aim for the future. Today, though, I'm making history. So I just sit still and think.

After a minute, I remember Joshua and peer through the peephole to make sure he's gone. Thankfully, he is. I sigh with relief and walk away when the doorbell rings again. I jump, sum up all my courage and pull the door open. I start to yell, "Get away from my house, or I'll call the cops—"

A hand grabs my mouth, muffling my voice. I start kicking and punching out of instinct. When one of my fists actually connects with a body, I take a peep. I stop short.

"Oh, sorry. Come in."