Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Two

"Ara, the fish is burning!" Isla yells at the top of her lungs from the living room.

"Tell Jake to turn off the grill!" I regard the deliveryman in a mustard polo shirt and matching cap in such a style. "Um... Sorry, you were saying?" My eyes are narrowed at the packages he's holding: two boxes, one on top of the other, and a Dior shopping bag.

"Arabella Lincoln?" he inquires in a professional tone of voice, his bored gray eyes staring at me as though he has been here a million times before, and dead is the excitement.

"Yes, that's me." I watch him balancing his stance to hand me the parcels.

"These are for you," he tells me, and I receive them with confusion registered on my face. I'm struggling to hold them steady when he adds, "You just need to sign here and we're done." He smiles, handing me a pen with a clipboard in his hand.

I put my signature and off he goes.

Shutting the door with my foot, I gaze down at the stuff I'm carrying and a frown settles persistently on my face. I have no idea what they are, and much less who's sent them, especially when the smell of smoke and burn from the kitchen distorts my attention.

"Shit!" I drop everything on the single sofa we have in our tiny living room and breeze toward the kitchen. "I told you to call Jake!" I scold my utterly attentive little sister whose eyes are focused on the TV while seated upright in front of it.

"He's not here, Ara, and you banned me from touching your oven again," Isla says coolly.

Seriously? The last time I found her in the kitchen the whole place was covered with flour and chocolate powder, and that was just an hour ago.

I unplug the grill, for it's worthless. It's impossible to control the heat anymore; it works as it pleases lately. Sighing, I watch the ugly-looking fish, saying goodbye to our dinner tonight.

"Well... I guess no fish and chips for you, young lady," I tell Isla.

"You can get us pizza. I don't mind." She grins at me, her pigtails swinging as she follows the beat of the SpongeBob SquarePants song on the TV.

I should've seen that coming.

"Have you done your homework?" I'm already calling Maestro Pizza as I look at my little sister.

"Yup." She grins.

"You sure?"

"Yup."

"Double yup? Liar! Go get your homework, young lady," I urge her and she giggles lightly.

Ten years old with a slender body that surely seems to be made for ballet, Isla is a pretty curly-haired blonde that I adore very much.

Both she and Jake are my only reason to go on in this harsh world. I don't know who I would be without them—they're everything to me.

Speaking of the devil, Jake approaches with a deep frown on his face.

"You burned it again?" he articulates, his monotonous voice a clear image of his canvas face.

Jake is a spitting image of our late Dad: cool looks, brown hair, hardly talks, and rarely laughs unless he's genuinely happy. He's always on his own planet, headphones his major company if he's away from computers. He's smarter than any of us and I'm super proud of him for that.

"Yes, and you are going to stay home tonight because I have to go to work," I reply while shoving my phone into the pocket of my cotton shorts so that I can clean the mess in the kitchen.

"You're going to work? At this time? Didn't you just come from work?" Jake asks, and I know it's weird even though I tend to pull all-night jobs once in a while.