Ugly Perfections

Chapter 1

ONE

Memories are alive. That sounds undoubtedly terrifying, but unfortunately, it’s true.

They breathe, they wait. They keep coming back, with a cold bitterness that sticks to you, like smoke in your lungs.

They crawl under your skin when you’re trying to forget, invade your mind like a predator.

And as much as anyone tells you that time heals everything, I’d like to tell you that they’re wrong, because time only hides the worst of it until you’re brave enough, or maybe reckless enough, to look again.

And when you do, when you finally pull back the layers, there it is, that moment you thought you’d buried. The one that won’t leave you, not in your dreams, not in your nightmares. The one that won’t let you sleep but won’t let you wake either.

I suppose losing them would be worse, although in moments like those I forget why that is. And in those moments, I wonder what it would be like to not remember anything at all. Best believe it would do me a lot of good to erase some of the more painful moments.

There remains one specifically that I’ve tried to let go. I’ve made multiple attempts to bury it somewhere deep and nameless, but it always comes back. Every time I close my eyes, every time I let my thoughts wander. It drags me back to that day.

February 14. I wish I had stayed home that day. I wish my stupidity didn’t reach its peak and I hadn’t called my father. My mother once told me not to dwell on the past and move forward.

Now she hardly says anything at all.

But I suppose she’s right, because I can’t change the inevitable.

I can’t change his death. Or the fact that my call is what resulted in him speeding in the first place.

It was an accident. Well at least, that’s what the town labelled it as.

A tragic accident. Yet there still lingered a suspicion in the depths of my mind that perhaps it wasn’t so simple.

It all seemed too strange, too sudden.

Regardless, the responsibility settled squarely on my shoulders: it was my fault.

The blame never ceased to torture me. In fact, it came in the form of my sisters.

They reminded me every day without fail that he would still be here if it wasn’t for my recklessness.

Sometimes it was explicit and in my face; other days it was the silent accusation, their not-so-subtle glances that told me exactly how much they hated me.

***

The faucet groans as I twist the handle, but all I get is a stream of ice-cold water and I pull my hands back with a hiss. I attempt to twist it toward “hot” again, but nothing changes.

A scream shatters the quiet, followed by a voice yelling from the upstairs bathroom that makes me flinch.

“Adeline!” Naomi’s screeching voice never gets less discouraging.

I hesitate a moment, slightly terrified.

I can’t believe I’m doing this again.

The urge to roll my eyes surfaces, but I resist that temptation. The image of Naomi charging down the stairs after me, or worse, yelling again and potentially permanently damaging my eardrums, holds me back.

But despite the apprehension, I quickly dry my hands on a thin, fraying dish towel and internally brace myself for the chaos awaiting me upstairs, before practically sprinting up the stairs.

I’m almost at the top when another hair-rising, window-shattering, godawful scream almost makes me fall down the stairs.

I didn’t think it was even possible for a human being to scream so loud.

When I reach the top, Naomi is standing in the hallway, her hair clinging to her shoulders and mascara streaked down her cheeks. “There’s no hot water,” she says, arms crossed. “I was in the middle of rinsing, and then bam—ice-cold. What’s wrong with it?”

I bite my lip, hoping I’m wrong, but I’ve been silently wondering when that grimy, outdated boiler would finally give in. I glance toward the bathroom, my heart sinking. “It’s probably the boiler.”

Naomi, on the verge of explosion, fixes me with a scary look that makes me take a careful step backwards, but I watch her as she takes a deep breath in and out, calming herself down. “Great.” She rolls her eyes. “I have class in a few hours, Addie. What am I supposed to do?”

I know the answer to that question, even if I don’t want to say it. “You could ask Sam, maybe you’ll even get through to her. You’re her twin.”

I remind her of that fact daily, and as much as she yells and rolls her eyes at me every time I bring Sam up, I know no matter what, they’ll always have each other’s backs.

Twins have a strange kind of connection. A bond I don’t think I’ll ever understand.

Admittedly, I’ve always been envious of it. Of them. No matter how much they pretend to hate each other, it never lasts. As for me, their resentment toward me never seems to go away.

Her expression twists, disbelief flashing across her face. “Sam? She’s busy living it up with her boyfriend.” She pauses for a moment, and then I see a flicker of something else in her eyes—a spark of an idea. “Her boyfriend with money.”

“Just think of it as borrowing,” Naomi says, seeing my apprehension, her tone light. “You’re just getting a little loan from a guy with money. No big deal.”

“No, Naomi…” The words leave my mouth in a hush, like maybe if I say it softly enough, I can erase the whole idea.

But the idea’s there, a solid thing hanging in the air between us.

Her boyfriend. His money. The thought hammers in my mind, relentless.

Like it’s all that matters. And maybe it is.

Maybe, right now, it’s everything. Money. Money.

Money.

But I can’t just ask a stranger for money. Least of all my own sister’s boyfriend, who I hardly know. Just this posh guy Sam fell in love with, all bright smiles and expensive jackets. Untouched by reality, or any of the things dragging us down. In other words, he’s clean. Comfortable.

I swallow, feeling the weight of the hunger in my bones. That gnawing emptiness inside me that never quite goes away anymore. Sometimes, I just get tired. Tired of living like this.

But I’ve become an expert at hiding it, concealing the depth of my exhaustion, and the extent of my hunger.

Ever since our father passed, it’s become almost natural.

I close my eyes, trying to block out Naomi’s stare, the almost empty fridge, and the overwhelming weight pressing down on my shoulders.

Money. The word tastes bitter even as I say it in my head, like something I’ve bitten down on too hard.

I can feel it with every breath, scraping against my ribs.

And it’s not just money we need. It’s food. Heat. It’s survival.

“Okay,” I murmur, hating the way it sounds like defeat. “Fine. I’ll just call Sam. See how it goes.”

Naomi looks relieved, but her relief makes my stomach churn.

This isn’t what I wanted to do. Not for me, not for her, and definitely not for Sam.

But the ache is there, and it’s relentless, and it doesn’t care about pride.

Doesn’t care about dignity. And as I pull out my phone, scrolling to Sam’s name, I remind myself of that hollow in my stomach.

This is what it’s come to, I think. Money. I guess you’ll do anything when you’re starving.

***

The phone rings for so long that I almost think she’s ignored me, and then finally, it clicks. “Hello?” It’s a voice I don’t recognize, deep and calm, with a smoothness I wouldn’t expect from my older sister. And the person I’m hearing now… well it’s a man. He sounds much older than Sam.

“Um, hi. Is Sam there?” I say, a bit thrown.

“Oh, sure. Hang on.” He doesn’t ask who I am, doesn’t pry. Just says, “Give me a sec.” He’s polite, almost gentle. I picture him with kind eyes and an easy smile—the sort of person who’s comfortable anywhere, who probably has a career, not just a job. Living not just surviving.

There’s a muffled exchange in the background, and then I hear a sharper, “Hello?” It’s Sam, with that faint edge in her voice, like I’m the last thing she expected on a Wednesday afternoon.

“Sam, hey,” I say, trying to sound as casual as possible. “It’s Adeline.”

“Oh. Addie! Hi.” There’s that brief pause before she recovers, like she’s adjusting to the fact that I’m actually calling her. Is it really so surprising that we want our sister? “Um, how are things?”

There’s no point pretending. She knows exactly how things are. “Not great,” I admit, trying to keep my tone steady. “Actually, that’s kind of why I’m calling. The boiler just broke, and we’re having trouble covering it…” The words hang there, heavy, and I let them sit, hoping they’ll sink in.

“Oh.” She sounds distracted, her voice softer now, but somewhere else entirely. “That sounds… yeah, that sounds rough.”

“I thought… I thought maybe, if you could help out, just this once…” I add, not feeling at all hopeful.

Sam’s silent for a moment, and I can hear Milo’s voice in the background. She lowers her voice, almost whispering, “It’s just… things are really tight for us right now, Addie. You know… we have things to do.”

“Yeah,” I say, even though I don’t know. I hesitate before asking, but the words slip out before I can stop them. “Are you… are you moving in with Milo?”

I didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to have it come to this. But as much as I hate to admit it, we need her here. With us. Because without her… well frankly, I don’t think I can manage another job alongside college.

There’s a pause, and I can practically hear her gathering herself on the other end of the line. “Well… not exactly,” she says. “He’s just, you know, helping me out. I’m, um… looking for a job right now.”

I blink, confused. “But you already have a job, Sam.”

Another pause, longer this time. There’s a sharp inhalation on the other end of the line, and I wait, half-expecting her to brush it off, but she just says, “Yeah, well… I don’t work there anymore.”