Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Being the youngest and apparent of 'heir' the Cross family sucked.
It truly did.
Being diagnosed with severe anxiety disorder and OCD hadn't made my sad existence easier - nor did my unnatural looks.
At least to Father.
I didn't inherit the 'Cross' looks, which consisted of dark hair, and peacock blue eyes.
Much to his disappointment, I came out of the womb looking exactly like my mother. I couldn't have been happier about the fact that I looked like my best friend.
Mother was my only friend in this world. She and I experienced the same thing - we lived in the same house, and we both had to deal with the nightmare called Alexzander Cross.
"Almost done, my love." Mother's soft posh voice entered my ears as she placed the last of the sterile bandages over my hand. Slowly nodding, I looked down at my small, place hand, knowing what was hidden underneath the mass of white bandages.
Lately, my anxiety attacks have gotten worse. Knowing that Father was due to be home soon - and registration day would be today, I had scratched and clawed at the tops of my hand until it bled profusely.
It was a tic of mine, clawing the tops of my hands with my fingernails, usually I had never noticed I was doing it until Mother gently pried my bloody nails away from my marred skin.
Mother gently grasped my chin in her manicured hands and turned my head to face her. "What bothers you, Avalon?" hearing her voice, I was brought back to the present. Unwilling to allow my thoughts to pass my lips, I shrugged silently.
Her silver-grey eyes, nearly a replica of mine, brightly shone with understanding. "All will go well, my love." She smiled, bright white teeth glinting in the light shining from the large window of our home. "Have faith, alright?"
"Alright." I echoed - accent nearly like hers, "what will you do today, Mother?"
She usually didn't have much planned when I went to school other than cooking, clean the stupidly large home, and perform other 'house-wife' duties. Father didn't allow her to work, even though he knew she had gotten a degree in medicine while growing up in London.
Mother gave an eye roll, "I'm to dine with Mrs. Morgan and other ladies in the neighborhood. They're expecting to come inside to goggle at the house."
Mother and I had similar views on our large house in the wealthiest neighborhood in Charleston. It was simply too atrocious to clean. I prefer simpler living.
Father, on the other hand, loved to flaunt his riches.
Top of the line clothing, cars, houses, and a trophy wife and daughter to flaunt as he pleased.
