Shay is making lunch by the time I get out of bed. Her elegant hands stir a pan of vegetables. Our kitchen is filled with space. The airy feel is a refreshing contrast to my room where clothes scatter the floor and magazine clippings cling to the gray walls. No, in here it's clean. Our countertop is freshly wiped down. Shay has strategically placed little decorations around. She has a knack for putting things where they look right.
"Hey babe. I made you some hash browns this morning. They're in the fridge." She says. I sigh.
Shay never felt like my older sister. She is more of a mother to me than Mom was. I know that she loves me. There was never any doubt about it. Not even when I showed up at her apartment that rainy night begging for a place to stay. I saw the responsibility settle over her like a raincloud. She was a young adult living her dreams in New York City only to have them suddenly dashed by her younger sister. Embarrassment rolls over me in waves as I sit down at the counter.
"I'm not hungry. I'll eat later." I mutter hoping that she'll drop it. Of course she doesn't.
"C'mon. You need to eat. Do you know what Mom would do if she found out you were slowly shriveling away?" She teases. The joke is slightly hurtful. My ribs have begun to protrude, poking at my skin. I've been steadily losing weight for a while. Some nights I pray Shay doesn't notice, her comment assures me that she does.
"I know." I lower my head. "I'm sorry." My tee shirt clings to my body as I fold my arms across my stomach. My eyes stay downcast. There's nothing else for me to say. If I told her I would do better I would be lying. I can't lie to Shay.
Concern practically radiates across the room. She bites her lower lips and breathes, "Hey, I know you're trying." Her tone bring a surge of guilt to my chest. I want so desperately to break down in her arms and cry. I don't. Instead I stand up out of the chair and take a deep breath.
"Thanks." I blandly reply. "I'm going to get dressed."
Before she can say another word I walk out of the room.
We share a bedroom. Her apartment is tiny. We aren't pining for money though, in fact, Shay is pretty well off. Her job is secure. She works as a writer for The New York Times. It's her dream job. When we were kids she always talked about escaping to the big apple to make a name for herself. We live in SoHo. Even the smallest living space is fought over. Some days when I'm walking home from school I see homeless people checking their gold watches for the time. SoHo is an absolute dream.
Eyeliner is painted onto the base of my lashes. I have to concentrate carefully to get the wings even. The mirror in front of me jitters as I shake my leg. It's a bad habit. I like to be moving. When being still is required my left leg seems to detest staying put.
Foundation is applied heavily beneath my eyes. Still, I look perpetually tired. For a minute I stare at my reflection. I feel nothing. I don't detest myself, I don't struggle with Narcissus' curse. I just look in the mirror and see another face. It's unlike any of the hundreds of faces I see every day in passing. It doesn't register that this person I stare at is the holster for my thoughts.
"Shilo!" I hate the way Shay says my name. She puts a strange emphasis on the o. It sounds western and old-fashioned.
"Hmm?"
She steps into the bedroom. Steadily, she waltzes over and checks herself out in the mirror. "I'm heading to work. I'll be at TJ's tonight. If you need anything I'm only on subway stop away." She fixes her earring absentmindedly and fluffs her hair. "Keep me updated and scream if you get kidnapped. That homeless guy down the street seemed pretty friendly. I'm sure he'd help you."
I grin weakly as she pecks my cheek. "Love you, babe. Be safe. No boys on the bed."
Within a few seconds she is gone. Shay is so put together. I've never seen her stray from her focus. I wish I had the determination she was born with. She graduated high school early and built a life for herself. I am barely going to my classes. I'm living on a leaf that stems from her life.
Today I am sick. That's what I tell myself. The sleeplessness is tearing me apart. I need something to wake me up. As I listen to the strange thumping in the room above me I realize that this place is cluttering up my head. I need to, as Rudy used to say, "de-clutter." Going to school is a stupid idea. The final bell rings in a few hours. Fingers dancing across the dresser, I lift my backpack. No, school is not possible today. I'll try again tomorrow.
//Authors Note//
Wow, so sorry it took me a million years to update! I've been vacationing in Washington. The next chapter should be up soon(:
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Museums
Teen Fiction"we are all museums of fear" -charles bukowski Shilo has always faded. Like a small detail in a large painting, she considers herself insignificant in the universe. Noah is full of confidence. He's always been on exhibit for the world to see. When...
