Six #2
I raised an eyebrow at Alex. Friend? We had only just met, so him stating that I was his friend caught me off guard. Though, introducing me as a random guy he found sobbing in a park ten minutes ago was not a better option. Alex then gave me a reassuring smile, so I nodded in agreement to Killian.
"We found him crying on the playground!" Millie exclaimed as she took the lid off her lemonade and took a sip. "He was super sad."
Oh, how I loved children and their loud mouths.
Alex’s eyes widened. He mouthed a ‘ sorry’ to me for Millie's blurting before looking back at his friend.
Alex and Killian were giving each other knowing looks, looks that I did not know the meaning of.
I shifted in my seat. Alex had such a welcoming personality, but his friend was a bit off putting.
"Maybe...maybe I should go," I mumbled as I tried to scoot out of the booth.
Alex grabbed my arm and pulled me back closer. "Don't go. Killian doesn't bite, I swear."
Killian gave me a forced smile.
Despite not wanting to, I settled down. Honestly, being with three strangers was much better than having to go home and face the people that I knew. These people had no preconceived notions about me, or at least if they did, they did not show it. It was easier.
Eventually, we fell into conversation. They told me a bit about their lives, and I told them nothing about mine.
They did not pressure me into talking about myself which I appreciated.
Killian got less scary as we conversed. He might have just been upset at the fact I barged in on their friend date.
It also seemed that it was his usual demeanor; intimidating and angry.
Despite having walked past this pizza place many times in the past, I had never actually been inside and eaten because I never had any money that I was willing to spend on pizza.
Money. Shit, I had no money with me.
We finished the pizza and the waitress was coming up to us with the bill. I did not have even a dime on me. I spent my last bit of cash on—well, what I spent the money on was not important.
When the waitress handed me my portion of the bill, I froze. I did not want to dine and dash. It was stealing and my conscience could not handle that, but I couldn't tell that lady that I had no money. I sat there and stared at my bill, not a clue of what to do.
But my bill was suddenly pulled out of my hand. Killian held his bill, mine, and Alex's. "I got you, don't worry about it."
"No, I—"
"Killian's treat," he said.
I looked between them both. “I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Killian waved me off and put his debit card on the bills.
I thanked them multiple times to show them that I truly was grateful.
I didn't know if they could tell that I had no money or if they were just being nice because of how they found me.
Either way, these two were good people and they really cheered me up.
It was a pick me up I desperately needed and probably would not get again soon.
They invited me to their place after pizza, but I politely declined. I did not want to take up any more of their time, plus I needed to make my way home. I did not want to bother them for a ride home, so I opted for walking. It was not like I wasn’t used to it.
I didn’t make it home until late. I made a couple of detours on the way back because I found the walking peaceful. Not only that, but I enjoyed cherishing my moments alone.
Once I arrived, I unlocked the door slowly and carefully so as to not alert the house that I was there. I had managed to sneak past my aunt who was knocked out cold on the couch, and then I made it into my bedroom. The twins were both there, their eyes widening in surprise when I entered.
“You owe me twenty dollars, Easton,” Emerson said with a smirk
“Dammit, why do you always win the bets?” Easton groaned.
My sister shrugged in response. She noticed the confused expression on my face and explained, “Easton bet me twenty bucks that you weren’t coming back, but I knew you were. You just won me cash.”
"I live here. Where else do I have to go?” I asked with a scoff, my arms flying outward in disbelief at their unseriousness.
Neither of them responded. I should have left it at that, I should have shrugged off their carelessness and moved on, but no.
That was not what I did because I didn’t know how to leave things alone.
Despite having lived with my siblings for my entire life and being completely used to their behavior, I never learned to ignore it.
“I’m surprised you two noticed that I left.” I glared.
Emerson scoffed. "The whole school watched you run out of the gym while bawling your eyes out, how couldn’t we notice? Do you know how embarrassing that was for Easton and me?"
Embarrassing for you? What about how embarrassing it was for me?
“Easton and I ,” I mumbled the correction to my sister's grammar.
She rolled her eyes. “Guess who doesn’t care? Me.”
Sometimes I felt bad for my brother and sister. It must get tiring constantly having to come up with new insults and ways to offend me.
I often wondered if things would be different if our parents were alive.
People loved to tell me that it would, that our parents’ deaths the only reason the twins treated me the way they did, but was that true?
Did they treat me terribly solely because they blamed me for our parents, or would they still hate me, but for a different reason?
Maybe those people were right. Maybe if we weren’t orphans then I would be close with my older siblings.
We would have a normal sibling bond, and I would be able to rely on them.
Maybe it would affect other things too, like the relationship we had with our aunt or the way I found comfort in alcohol.
Unfortunately, there was no way to ever know.
I would be lying if I said that my siblings' coldness toward me didn’t still hurt. It was all they had ever been to me, so one would think that I would be used to it by now. I learned how to not let it eat me alive, but that did not mean that it didn’t still get to me at times.
"Macy's pissed that you ditched school in the middle of the day. Good work," Easton said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not very 4.0 student of you."
I didn’t care that my aunt was upset—she was always upset. I opened my drawer so that I could gather my things to hop into the shower, but Easton kept talking. "If that guy who won today had lost to you, I doubt he would have ran out of the gym in tears"
"Fuck him," I gritted through my teeth. My anger was misplaced. I knew it was not Javier’s fault that he won, but I needed someone to be angry at.
"Imagine hating someone just because they're better than you," Emerson quipped as she shook her head in disapproval.
"Imagine being a shitty sister," I retorted.
Emerson looked at me, flabbergasted. Easton whipped his head around so fast he should have gotten whiplash.
"Me? A shitty sister?" Emerson stood up angrily, astounded at what I had called her. "I do so much for your ungrateful ass!"
Easton joined in on the argument. "Yeah, she bought you the shoes you’re wearing right now."
That was true. One day when she was in a spectacular mood, she bought me new shoes. I didn’t even need new ones at the time. However, that one good action did not negate the hundreds of bad ones.
"Don't act like you're any better. You're a worse brother than she is a sister." Easton tried to cut me off, but I didn't let him. "I know that you do some nice things, alright? I'm aware of how you guys help me. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for it."
“As you should be,” Easton muttered.
"But you both treat me like I'm gum on the bottom of your shoe!" My heartbeat was loud in my ears, and my fingernails were digging into my palms. "Neither of you have ever been nice to me. Siblings are supposed to be there for each other, but I can't come to you for anything!"
We have had this fight many times before, but this time was different. I was angrier than ever. It was probably because of the stress of the day, but also because things had been building up for a while. Their neglect felt heavier than ever at this moment.
"Do you think mom and dad would appreciate how you treat your little brother?"
I knew immediately after those words came out of my mouth that I should have never said that. I watched as the angry expression on their faces darkened, it happened any time I would bring up our parents.
Easton was in front of me and picked me up by the collar of my shirt before I could even comprehend it. He pushed me against our bedroom wall, his face two inches in front of mine.
He gritted his teeth. "You have no right to talk about mom and dad."
"They were my parents too," My voice cracked as I spoke, tears welling in my eyes at this point. The moment I noticed this I immediately fought the tears. I would not cry in front of my older brother.
"And you killed them." When Easton said it, he said it low and grueling. He did not need to yell anymore; he could get his point across with the sharp tone of his voice.
And I killed them.
I was angry and I wanted to cry, but I refused. Crying never worked, it only made people think less of me and hate me more. So, unsure of what else to do, I spat in his face.
Wrong move. My brother cocked his fist back and drove it right into my eye.
Emerson screamed as Easton let me go and I sank down to the floor, my hands flying to cover my hurt eye.
This wasn't the first time I had gotten punched by my brother, we had fought a few times over the past years.
However, this was the first time he had hit me to harm me and not just to get me to shut up.
It was the first time he hit me so hard that I would for sure have an ugly bruise.
I didn’t know when, but Emerson ended up by my side. She kept trying to pry my hands off my eye to see the damage, but I was in too much distress to let her.
"You're the reason we have been orphans since I was two fucking years old!" Easton shouted.
It was a good thing my aunt was a heavy sleeper.
"You're the reason we live in this shitty house with our shitty aunt. Everything is your fault, Elias," he seethed.
Unwilling to listen to this anymore, I stood up and reached for my phone.
I looked under my bed to grab a bottle, not caring what kind or how much liquor was in it.
I just knew that wherever I was going, I was going to need something.
I didn’t care that my siblings would see because it was now clear to me that they had known for a while and didn’t care.
However, my brother ripped the bottle out of my hands before I could even register what was happening.
"And you're a goddamn alcoholic at the ripe age of seventeen-years-old. Think mom and dad would be proud of you?" he scolded. “Well, we know dad would be proud. Like father, like son.”
"I'm not an alcoholic!" I yelled, my voice raspy. “And neither was dad.”
And I truly believed both of those statements.
He threw the bottle at the wall, a loud and deafening clash sounding the house as it shattered. Glass shards flew everywhere, and the liquid soaked into the carpet.
"Easton! What is wrong with you?" Emerson screamed in disbelief and genuine concern.
He grabbed the other two bottles from under the bed and used all his force to throw those at the same wall.
The glass broke again, so far that a stray piece cut into my arm.
Now blood was trickling down, and that was when I realized that I was shaking.
Easton got angry easily, but he was never this violent. This was new.
I stood up and shrugged Emerson off me. I wasted no time standing up and running past Easton, ignoring Emerson protests in the process.
I almost stepped on a glass shard in the process, but I paid it no mind because all I was focused on was getting out.
My aunt was awake by the time I made it to the living room, but I rushed past her without any words.
I left the house, making sure to slam the door behind me.