Kharise is not a lover. The very thought of it is repulsive to her.
Mostly because she has had her heart broken in such a manner that seems irreparable.
Living in a world where her father shows her the littlest love known to mankind and her best fr...
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"Incoming!!!" I jump back just in time for a large box to tumble to the ground in front of me, after it's trip down the stairs.
I place my hand on my chest, trying to slow my spiked heart rate. "Why the fuck would you do that?!" I yell at my idiot brother as he strolls casually down the stairs after almost bashing my face in with a box.
"Swear jar!" My little cousin, Marcella, who just happened to be passing by at this very moment calls out. I reach into my pocket and stuff a dollar bill in the jar in her hand.
Then I look back at Xander. "To save time." He shrugs, taking a seat on a step halfway down the stairs.
Yeah. Save time by sending me to the hospital.
I look down at the box in front of me once more, before crouching to lift the lapels, revealing the inevitable. And the hopelessly hilarious. "Oh you are so dead."
"Yeah right. Because you're gonna kill me." He responds barely looking up from his phone now in his hands.
"No, but mom is." I fold my arms, a joyous smirk on my face.
"What are you-" And then he sees it. Most of the contents of the box have been shattered to pieces, some snapped in half and others suffering from cracks of various degrees. His jaw is definitely right to fall open. It's a disaster.
It being two days to Christmas, mom asked that we bring out her special box of ornaments to further decorate the giant tree at the corner of the living room. But now-
"Excuse me. Have any of you seen my phone charger? I swear it was- Fuck!" I barely have time to warn Xavier, before he runs down the steps and trips over the box, causing it to skid across the room and smash into a wall, further destroying its contents.
We all freeze in place, probably hoping that this moment would just rewind itself until... "What's going on out there?" Oh no.
Our flour-covered, apron-wearing mother emerges from the kitchen and for a moment I close my eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of baking chocolate cookies that wafts from the kitchen, praying she doesn't see the box.
Just for a moment.
"Who did this?" I look back to find my mom knelt before the box. She picks up the head of a ceramic Christmas angel and holds it to her chest, closing her eyes in what I assume is pain.
At this point, even if I wasn't the one who threw the box, I feel like a fucking demon. I wonder how Xander is taking this. Judging from the clenched jaw and pocketed phone, I'd say, not so well.
"Lo siento mucho, abuela." Her eyes remain closed as she whispers, returning it to the box. But she doesn't move from her position.
"They were ten, you know. " She looks in our direction but not at our faces. And trust me, that entails a lot worse than if she looked at our faces.
