A Stupid Girl's Book Of Dreams

Suspicions

After what feels like only minutes, I see the time from the corner of my eye and the pinks and oranges of the sunset beginning to show. Shit, it's been hours, I curse to myself, I'm dead. Luckily, on the one hand, I wasn't scheduled to work today, but my father will be furious. I remember earlier this week, the threat of being sold to the worst man I'd ever met in all my life with any slip-up. My father pays too much attention to me as it is, so he's noticed I'm not there, nor have I done my chores. I sprint home, thanking God I was given fast legs.

I open the door slowly, checking to see if he's around. This isn't right, it's too good to be true, I think to myself upon realizing he's probably asleep. How lucky is-

"Jeez! Watch where you're going, bitch! God, could you be any more stupid?"

I had to watch her for a decent minute to recognize the girl. The voice didn't sound familiar at all. It can't be, no way. Her once brown hair was now highlighted a cheap platinum blonde, her cinnamon roots peeking out. She wore a red lipstick I'd never have imagined to be her style, and thick, long mascara. Cheap mascara or cheap extensions, I couldn't quite tell. I hadn't seen the girl in years, and never thought she would come back out of the blue looking like a completely new person. She wore white toothpick heels I'm surprised didn't kill her when she bumped into me, a peachy orange cropped tube top, shorter than some bras in my closet, and were those– booty shorts? The style was new for her, but if it made her happy, who am I to judge?

God, she just looked so... different. I hardly recognized her to be my little sister and couldn't even believe she was here in front of my very eyes after all these years. Two years, but still. I was curious as to where she'd been and what happened to her, a million questions burning at the tip of my tongue. Most of all, I yearned to reach out and hug her, and embrace my sister for the first time in forever.

She was always my father's favorite. They did everything together, and an idiot could tell he truly loved her. Me, not so much, but it's justified. I understand why he doesn't like me. I look like his wife that I killed. A walking memory. If he didn't want to see her face looking at him, the bruises and blood made it look less like a mockery of my mother walking around and acting a fool in the body of the one girl he hated most in the world. And Marina was just the girl that looked like him. The perfect daughter. The dynamic duo. It was always Dad and Mari as long as I could remember, even before Mom's passing. She had his brown hair, and we both had his hazel eyes. She shared most of his face too, whilst my mother and I shared this awkward auburnish-colored hair, and a lot of my face is just like hers. I have to look in the eyes of the girl I killed every day of my life.

"Hello??? Are you stupid?" She asks, waving a hand in front of my face.

"Mari? Is that- Where have you been?" I exclaim, reaching out to hug her. Instead, she scoffs, pushing my hand away. "Ew, get your fucking disgusting ass hands off of me you fucking slut! And has anyone told you how hideous you've gotten? Jeez, if I looked like you, I'd kill myself! Man, Dad was right about you. You're so thin, what are you trying to do? Make everyone jealous? Nobody likes you! Get that through your head!"

It felt worse than any time my father had punched me in the stomach. After all these years, she hates me more than he does, if that's possible. Man, ouch.

"Mari... Is everything alright?" I ask her, the words burning my throat. Her words hurt me, I missed her for so long and was just happy to see her, and instead, I was treated with the same cruelty I get from everybody else. Makes me think, if every person on the planet treats me in this same cruel way, there must have been something I'd done to deserve it.

As much as I wanted to be frustrated with her for the things she said, part of my brain blocked out any sort of hate towards her. I still loved her, after all. Mari was still my little sister, no matter what. I didn't doubt she still loved me too, maybe she was just afraid to show it. My father tends to have that effect on people.