But We Were Happy Part One
Next Wednesday I’ll get it sorted out, promise” 

I was lying through my teeth. I hated lying to my brother but what choice did I have? Come clean? Tell him that I’d taken it to pay for 20 bottles of vodka? Tell him that I wanted to be like all my crazy, drunk friends? Because they were happy and bubbly? Say that I really wanted to live with Mum because she did not care about me and I like that. I craved that. That, really, the partying was the only thing keeping me alive? 

My brother, Jack, looked at me, but his eyes were empty. I’m not sure if he could tell I was lying, but what was he expecting when you ask your sister why there were 100 dollars missing from their father’s credit card? My father did not’t care about us anymore, anyway. He only cared that we did not crease his reputation. His rebellious, teenage children from his drunken ex-wife. He looked younger than his 19 years, even my age although I was 2 years his junior. Was it true that this boy, this child had been my legal guardian for the last year? 

“OK” he muttered before stumbling out of the doorway. 

I fell back on my bed and stared at the pin board. It was empty now but I could see the crumbled remains of the photograph of Emma and me at her party. She was high as a kite and I was tipsy. But we were happy, our smiles were ecstatic, our eyes were bright. There was a stream of glitter pouring over us.  

I got up and looked in the mirror. “God I’m fat” I thought as I squeezed my soft pale arms. “I liked my face though” I thought as I stared at my large, transparent grey eyes and flecked with pale blue and green. I had elfin features and high cheekbones that stood out. Although I wished I could be traditionally pretty like other girls. Just pretty, easy girls that boys liked. 

I checked the time. I told Emma I’d be at her house in half an hour. We’d probably do what we always did. Go to her house; load up on anything we could find. Go to a party, any party, go a little crazy. We’ll wake up in a groggy daze with only shattered images of what happened the night before. How many times had I done that? It must have been dozens. It was always the same people, in the same neighborhood. Drugs were a given. I always did it. I did it till I was high and then I did a bit more. I knew I was going to do it tonight. 

I grabbed my fishnet tights, my sequenced dress and my doc martins. I applied mascara, eyeliner, and a strong dose of glitter eye shadow. I looked in the mirror again. I looked in the mirror again. My mother would have said I looked good. My father would have said I looked cheap. I did look cheap. But this was how everybody looked, how I was expected to look. I grabbed my purse, nothing but my fake id and bus pass, no money; I’d grab some from Jack’s wallet on the way out. He would not mind, he probably would not even notice. He would be held up in his room all night playing bloody video games. Opened my front door and shut it behind me. I let out a gasp of surprise when I saw my father’s shiny BMW in the driveway.

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Short Story
writing VeraWinters
I'm the kind of person to try and toast marshmellows in the microwave
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