"We fought an uphill battle. One we had no hope of winning."
~~~
Felicity-Flick as most call her-Carter, has learned a thing or two in her 12 years of life. How to deal with drunk parents without waking the neighbors, how to smoke a cigarette withou...
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"Flick, can I talk to you for a second?" I groaned loudly when I heard Emil call my name as I walked past the living room doorway. "Flick, please, 10 minutes, that's all I want." He sounded tired. Like he hadn't slept.
"Two conversations with you in one day?" I asked, glancing at the clock on the stove. 4:40. Amber was coming back to get me at 5 so we could head to the boardwalk. I was just here to grab clothes and a toothbrush, and get the hell out. But of course, someone always had to make my life unnecessarily difficult. "No thanks." I said with a shrug, going into my bedroom. I grabbed my backpack and shoved in clothes for the next week and a few other essentials.
Get in get out. That was the mission, and I'll be damned if I stray from it even a little. Because straying from it would mean staying here any longer than necessary, something I plan to avoid at all costs until Christmas comes and goes at the end of the week.
"Flick, come in here, I need to talk to you." Emil said sterner than before. I rolled my eyes, though he couldn't see me.
"Don't tell me what to do." I said boredly.
I heard him sigh rather loudly in the other room. "Felicity, can you not be difficult for 10 minutes? I don't think I'm asking too much here," He was evidently frustrated with my consistent lack of cooperation but I only found his anger to be all the more amusing.
"Fuck off, Emil." I said, walking into the bathroom. I cringed in disgust when I saw the accumulating pile of dirty clothes the invaders-As they're now exclusively known as-had left in my bathroom, in my apartment. I can't wait until they leave. Honestly, if I wasn't as nice as I am, I would kick them out now, but if Mom found out I did that she'd yell at me, and accuse me of being the cause of her sons never visiting, as if they did that before I kicked them out. No matter what, it was my fault anyway. Might as well not give her ammunition if I can help it.
"10 minutes," He repeated. As if the numbed would change my mind. "That's all I want."
Rolling my eyes again, I weighed my options. 4:50. If nothing else it could kill the next 10 minutes and give me something to rant about on the 30 minute drive to Venice beach. On the other hand, it would probably piss me off and make me hate him even more than I already do, and would probably ruin the rest of my night. But did I really care if I hated him more than I already did? Not in the slightest.
"I'll give you 7 minutes. That's it." I said leaning against the wall opposite from where he was on the couch, squinting at a piece of paper. I vaguely remember him needing glasses when we were younger. He was always complaining about words being too small to read.
"There's no need for you to be so rude."
"There's no need for you to still be here."
He pursed his lips but didn't say anything more, probably knowing he wouldn't win an argument with me. No one ever did. Perks of being an asshole, as Jackson once said when he was arguing with me about something stupid. "Do you want to come to San Diego with me?"
