Thick and Thin (New Version)

Chapter One: Brooke

TW: homophobia, mentions of drug abuse

Run. There's an inferno in my lungs and my legs went numb a mile ago, but I don't stop running. The cool November air batters my face, turning my cheeks and nose crimson. It's dark all but for the flickering light at the end of the street and soft glow of a lamp in the occasional window that I pass. I glance down at my watch and decide I should turn around if I want to make it to school on time. Or, maybe I should just keep running. I could go on forever. I could escape this place and leave everyone and everything behind me. I could keep running right off the edge of the earth and plunge into the darkness of the ether and whatever waits beyond - heaven, hell, nothingness - it doesn't matter so long as it's not Silver Springs.

I've been running nearly every morning for three years trying to get out, to outrun the pain and anger and hatred. I've never made it past this damn broken street light though. It's as if there's some kind of invisible barrier between this godforsaken town and the rest of the world, and somehow it always pulls me back in and I can't keep from drowning in it. I don't know if I turn around out of habit or the fear of the unknown, or maybe because deep down I know there's nothing and no one waiting for me out there. But either way, I turn around.

I keep my pace all the way back home, winding my way block after block of the same beige stucco houses with the same immaculate suburban families living the same American dreams. As their dark front doors pass by in a blur, I wonder what really lies on the other side. If they were to peel back their curtains, would I see the same nightmares that dwell beyond my own four walls? Maybe. Maybe their perfectly trimmed hedges and warm welcome mats are just a facade designed to fool us all, maybe even to fool the very people who live within. Or, what's even scarier? Maybe they are all really perfect after all and I'm the deluded one.

Sweaty and out of breath, I jog up the steps to my house and go inside, kicking my running shoes off in the entryway and stepping into the dark living room. The first floor is open concept, and I can see through the dining room to my older sister Erica fussing over the stove. I try to quietly sneak past and up the steps, but she's heard me.

"I'm making breakfast."

"I'm not hungry. I need to get ready for school." I keep walking up the steps as I'm talking but only make it halfway before hearing the inevitable sigh and clanging of dishes on the countertop. I let out a huff myself and swing around to face her. "What?" It's too early for this, I think.

"You could at least act like you appreciate us." From the dim glow of the light above the stove, I can just make out Erica standing in the kitchen with one hand on her hip. She has the same ashy brown hair as me, but that's where our similarities end. Erica looks like our mom, and acts like her too. While she's nine years older than me, I have a good four inches over her. She's short and curvy whereas I'm a little taller and slender. Her lightly freckled skin is naturally darker than mine, while I'm pale as a ghost despite being born and partially raised (if you can call it that) in what is affectionately known as the sunny state. Her dark brown eyes contrast my piercing blue ones. Most people can't believe we're sisters, and I'm one of them.

I sigh. Why do we always have to do this? "All I said was I'm not hungry. And I'm not dealing with this right now. I have to get ready. Mrs. Garber said I'll get detention if I'm late again." I've always been a great student but my attendance has been lacking for the last few weeks, given everything I have to deal with at home. Like right now.

I don't think she's going to say anything else so I turn to go, but only make it up two more steps before she starts again. I stop without turning back around, feeling the heat of her gaze at my back. "Mom didn't have to take you back after Jimmy died, you know! You walk around here acting like you're so much better than us, like some spoiled brat! California changed you. Brooke. Those people changed you."