Blanket of Stars (Chaelisa ver.)

Chapter 3: Realisation

I feel like everyone does when something has been taken from them without permission: angry and defensive. This particular something has four walls; four walls that keep me and my family safe. I need them.

"What are you doing in here?" spills from my lips, uncharacteristically without thought and smothered in hostility.

The new girl whose name I still don't know has her back to me, she's sitting on my floor in my bedroom opening one of her boxes. She doesn't answer me. I think perhaps she's one of those people who permanently have their IPod playing and you have to tap their shoulder to gain their attention.

I don't understand how a mistake like this can be made. What kind of person moves into a fully furnished house, complete with breakfast dishes still in the sink waiting to be washed? Perhaps they're blind.

"Excuse me," I say, a little louder than last time.

Her movements indicate unawareness so I place four hard, loud raps to the open door, causing her to look up sharply. My hand comes up in the air. "Hi. You're in my room," I say, a little pathetically.

She's aware of how stupid those words were because she turns back around and continues on with unpacking her boxes. I want to tell her to stop unpacking because she isn't staying; that this is my house. The sentence dies on my lips. If my mother was here she would know what to say. She can be very persuasive when she wants to be.

I can prove I live here. If you walk to the blurry dresser, take one step to the left and kneel down, you'll see my name and the date we last decorated. It's hidden by a blurry lamp but if you know where to look, you'll see it.

In the corner of the kitchen she would also see my, admittedly, faded and blurry height chart. She would see this house belongs to me.

I decide to move from my spot in the doorway and walk into my room, heading straight toward her. I stand behind her, taking note of her sun kissed shoulders. She might want to cover those soon. It gets cold in New Zealand, far colder than Thailand ever could.

Her bed frame looks as though it was the first to be set up. She still needs sheets.

I clear my throat in an attempt not to startle her. On too many occasions I've had people talk without alerting me to the fact they were in the same room before-hand. The new girl looks around my room and lets a displeased sigh escape from her lips. I try not to take it personally but it's not something I can help.

"God," she murmurs with her hand running through her perfectly kept bangs and down long brown tresses.

I walk closer to her. "Hey," I whisper near to her ear.

She wipes at it like it's itchy and I think that maybe she needs to clean them out. I'm certain my features reflect my confusion. After all, it's not every day you come home to find you have unwelcome lodgers. Ignorant unwelcome lodgers. Perhaps it's my small town nature, but I fight back the urge to yell at her. As my father has always said, violence never solves anything.

My legs carry me to her unmade bed and I rest my weight on the edge of her mattress as I watch her slide some boxes to the corner of the room, piling some on top of each other to create more space.

She doesn't look happy and I watch intently as her eyes close and a shaky breath escapes her lips.

Something about how defeated she looks makes me want to comfort her. "Look, if you really want to stay, there's a nice house for sale about ten minutes from here. I could take you there," I offer, leaving the statement hanging open.

Her eyes open and scan over my cream coloured carpet that I've spilled countless dinners on after assuring my mother I'd be careful, right up to the bed and right over my body. She does a double take, frowning at my collarbone. I don't know what my collarbone has ever done to her.

Maybe it's too pale for her liking, it's a rare occasion for my skin to appear sun kissed.

Even the boxes look expensive. Too expensive for this mediocre bedroom in this mediocre house in this mediocre neighbourhood.

"Mom!" she shouts, her tone and expression conveying her bewildered state.

I stand up, fully prepared to talk to her mother and graciously accept apologies for invading my house and personal living space.

"Mom!" she yells again, turning her head toward the door and then back at me.

Her mother appears in her doorway looking irritated. I'm sure it's just a side effect of being tired. I imagine moving house to be stressful. "What is it, Lisa?"

"Um, where are the towels? I want to take a shower."

Her mother is quiet; she must be thinking. "I think they're in the living room. If you find them bring me one, too."

"Sure," Lisa tells her distractedly, unknowingly looking into my eyes for the second time today.

"Anything else?"

"No."

I barely notice her mother leaving the room and I don't dwell on the fact she didn't so much as glance at me because she's looking at me.

And, just like that, the moment is over. She's left the room in search of her towels.

My mom should be home from work soon. I know she'll sort out this mess. I don't dwell on the fact it's been a long time since she actually came home from work. I think I must be dreaming. I have to be.

"Mom!" I hear Lisa shout from downstairs. "I can't find the...oh never mind, I got 'em!"

Her mother's sigh reaches my ears and I have to smile at the exchange. I used to be terrible at finding anything. I could look in the same cupboard three times and come out with nothing, yet all it took was one attempt from my mother and bam, hot chocolate two minutes later.

Footsteps approach and Lisa walks right past the open bedroom door and into the bathroom before closing the door after her.

I take this as my cue to leave. I can't do this alone, anyway. I'll just wait outside until someone comes home. People are far more likely to listen when you're a little older. On the wall in the foyer there's our blurry family portrait: it's four years old and I have a look of pure innocence on my face. Perhaps that's the reason why nobody will listen to me.

I close the front door quietly and make my way to the edge of the driveway. I like to sit on the small wall surrounding the grass sometimes.

My eyes are drawn to the sky, each star seeming to shine brighter than the last. I don't remember the last time I saw our family car in the driveway, and I think it's been far too long since I've seen my mother.

It's only now as I gaze up to the sky, to those bright stars, that I'm starting to realise my place among them.