Ditching Greek | editing

13| The Room

"This place is very..eh, homey," Erica Van Meer said bitterly. She swept her eyes over the living room portion of our apartment, making a sour look on her face. The same face I wanted to punch.

About half an hour ago, my family arrived, barging into the apartment without much grace. My father was looking around the house, peering into rooms; he had a tendency to second guess my choices ever since he married Erica. He was probably checking around so he could later on ask me why I had "made a bad investment" in moving into this particular place.

He always did this when Erica was in hearing range, even when the four of us went on college tours, seeking a campus that would suit me, he went along to pick at reasons to why he thought I was utterly wrong for even considering going to these schools in the first place. And of course, Erica would only point out more reasons. They tagged teamed on my so-called bad decisions and I hated it.

I didn't have time for that today though, so I threw myself on our couch and flipped on the TV set, tuning everyone out. Every now and then, Erica Van Bitch would try to make conversation. I was sadly alone and forced to endure this snobby woman because my sister, Sarah, was in the kitchen with Monica and Hazel, laughing about God knows what.

If I didn't feel cut out before, I certainly did now. I had been rudely abandoned with my step mom. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.

"How have you been?" Erica asked out of the blue. "You don't call home much."

"Cause you're home," I whispered.

"Huh?" She turned around with a smile, "I didn't catch that."

Thankfully, she didn't hear me. Instead of repeating it louder, I said, "I've been really busy lately."

"From doing what?" She motioned to me sitting on the couch, "You're not doing much. All you've done since we've gotten here is kick your feet on the coffee table, and turn on the TV. You haven't done any work."

I moved my hands behind the back of my head and relaxed even more into the seat, "I don't have time for this."

"You don't have time for this?" She echoed after me and craned her neck forward, glaring at me with big green eye. "I really don't like this attitude you're developing. It's a bad influence on your little sister."

I coughed a laugh, "Sarah is sixteen. If anything she's a bad influence on me."

Erica stood there silently. If dad could see her now, I knew what he'd say to me. He'd take her side and beg for me to work it out with wife number four. So I would try--not for the dad I had today, but the dad I had when my mom was around. She made him a better man.

"I'm not doing much now," I said, "but all last week I was at my internship, day in and day out."

"Ooh," she nodded. "Well it's good that you're keeping yourself busy then. I like to hear that your on feet more. We don't want you getting too much fat on that belly of yours," she smiled.

I hated it when she smiled after such verbal jabs like that. It made me want to slap it off of her.

Erica attempted at sitting on our lumpy couch gracefully, but eventually ended up sinking in between the cushions like me.

"Oh, heavens," she huffed and forced herself up right. "Nabela, dear, you ought to get a new couch. This one has seen better days."

I stuck out my hand, "If you're planning on paying for it, I'd be happy to get a newer one."

She gave me a deadpan expression. "That wouldn't teach you much of a lesson about earning what's yours."

She proceeded to say, "You need to learn that you have to work for what you want."