♤PACTS♤

Chapter 23 - Anniversary of an Emo

 Marci Wellington's POV

Ever wondered how possible it was to be a narrator of your own life when you weren't supposed to be spot on with what was supposed to be going on?

Yea, me neither.

Many people are most likely questioning my sanity, my older brother included, but it's not as if I was always like this.

I might have been a little girl, but I was far from clueless when I began seeing the cracks in my parent's marriage. It's selfish of me to say that I wish they had stuck together because of me, but I'm pretty sure that the thought of me being the only child pisses my mom off.

Guess I wasn't enough, eh?

I huffed at that thought and proceeded to go about my morning hygiene routine and begin my weekend in the penthouse.

I walked back into the kitchen to see Jack in it; he was focused on reading a document on a computer.

If you think about it, I hardly relate to Jack. This isn't a case of us not being friends or tolerating each other's presence because we live under the same roof.

It's more of us hardly alone in the same room.

"Hey, Jack?" I get his attention as I walk further into the kitchen and head toward the fridge.

He hummed in response while I began looking for my brunch.

I make a mental note to tell the maid that she should calm down with the amount of Brussels sprouts she buys.

If it's good for you, it wouldn't taste so awful, although that's how I feel when it comes to bright coloured clothes.

"Ever wonder how your life would be if you were a talented snake charmer?" I ask as I settle for a bowl of cereal.

His head shot up from the computer screen, "Would it be weird if I said yes?"

I settle the bowl across the table from him and start eating, "Depends on what you call weird."

He tilts his head to the side, "You good, Marcella?"

I stop eating and look up from the bowl with narrowed eyes. I point my spoon at Jack, "Call me that again, and you'll walk into Caleb's next concert with just your Spiderman knickers."

He throws his head back in laughter, "First off," he raises one finger, "Those knickers are for Jacob, and secondly," he raises his second finger, "I'm making sure you're okay. No need to blow your sarcasm off the roof."

"I don't blow my sarcasm off the roof," I defend myself and place my hand on my chest.

He gives me a look as if to say, 'really?'

With an eye roll, I continue to eat my cereal while he continues typing. After a while, he looks up from the computer and stares at me.

"Didn't your momma teach you not to stare at someone while they eat?" I say.

"You'd have to be under the same roof with your momma for her to teach you manners."

I know when a jab is being directed at me but with the way Jack's looking at me. I'm not sure his intention was to insult me.

I'll let you all in on a little secret. I've always been closer to my Dad while growing up. They both had demanding jobs and even more demanding goals to acquire; he put in more effort to come to my dance recitals and school programs.

My mom is also known as Dinah -I never was told what her maiden name was- the owner of Dinah's Delabsy, the woman who had a tongue so wicked, her mug shot could be in the oxford dictionary beside the definition of sassy.