The Race

Who I am

{Shout out to one of my best friends, my sister, and my fellow-imaginer, Courtney! Her name on here is dwma_meister and she is an incredible author :) she is also the one who first introduced me to the band mentioned in this chapter; Twisted Sister}

Naomi's POV

The taxi ride over to the house is as awkward as it is silent. I gaze out my tinted window and my sister copies my action with her own shady window.

I pull out my headphones and silently tuck the ear buds into my ears, blaring my heavy metal rock music. I almost laugh aloud when a song by Twisted Sister comes on. They are surprisingly good for a group of lunatic men dressed like they are a mix of a bad perm and a makeup explosion. I start thrumming my fingers on my knee caps and bobbing my head in time to the beat of 'I wanna rock'.

Before the song is even over the vibration of the taxi engine idles to a stop. I pull out an ear bud to hear my sister telling me we are here. I open my door and get out, actually seeing the house for the first time.

It's not overly large, but it is fairly tall. A gorgeous, huge window at the very top is large enough to spread over a whole wall of a fairly big bedroom. Lattice with blooming orange flowers crawl up the front of the house, and a stone path leads up to a large, nicely stained wooden door. It seems like a beautiful home, well taken care of and appreciated. I slam the door behind me, not taking my eyes off of the house. Like my father, I've always had a thing for architecture. My black heart starts to melt when I see such lovely houses; so attractively decorated and built. I am already starting to love this house, and I hate myself for it.

I let Mo lead my inside, feeling a twinge of jealousy at the sight of her shapely, tanned legs and the way her white dress seemed to gracefully hang off of her and at the same time hug her attractively. I have never been able to find clothes that fit me so complimentarily. And I wouldn't be caught dead in a dress so short, I am extremely self conscious about the pale white scars covering my thighs; a result of when I started to cut myself at age 11. I tug the sleeve of my leather jacket down a little further, disguising the scar I am most ashamed of. The deep one that spreads right across the inside of my wrist. This scar is a result of my failed attempt at suicide when I was 13. I am terribly ashamed of it, but not because I did it. Because I couldn't do it enough to end my miserable life.

These thoughts are drowned in a pool of others when my sister opens the door to reveal a pretty, open boot room, leading to a brightly lit hallway; lit by warm sunlight filtering through many windows in what looks like a living room at the end of the hall.

The floor is a neatly cleaned grey tile, and the walls are a welcoming cream color. There are rows and rows of shoes along one of the walls, and over 95% of them are expensive sneakers. So she's still living with Cami, I think to myself.

I kick off my sneakers, leaving them lying in the middle of the floor. Mo eyes them hesitantly, not wanting to say anything but also not wanting to make a mess. I bend down and stack them on an empty bottom shoe rack, using a great amount of self control not to roll my eyes. When I straighten Mo has a half-awkward smile on, but she looks pleased. "You can hang your coat up there if you like." She gestures to a row of hooks, hanging lulu lemon hoodies. I shake my was without hesitation. I don't want her to see my scar. She shrugs her shoulders and leads me down the hallway, which is a cheerful light lime green color. The floor is a dark wood, almost black, and I feel my heart melting more and more with each step.

I drop my bag on the floor and stare in amazement. The hallway leads us to a beautiful room; in one corner a small spiral staircase made of glass twirls up into a concealed upper floor. It is stylishly decorated with very modern-looking white couches and a large flat screen TV. The walls in here are a complimentary lime green as well, and it makes the room feel lively and exciting. There are six narrow, floor to ceiling windows lighting the room, and one of the stylish, comfortable looking white couches is positioned in front of it, a fuzzy zebra print black and white rug covering the dark wooden floor in front of it.

I spin in a slow circle, taking it all in. In another corner a wall looks at though it could have possibly been knocked out, and it reveals a gorgeous stainless steel-filled kitchen.

Mo clears her throat, jolting me out of my architecture day dreaming.

"So, uh, this is the living room. It's not a huge house, but we have done a bunch of renovations and it uh... Suits is pretty well." She says, fiddling with the hem of her flowing white dress.

"It's beautiful." I murmur. Morgan flushes pink, looking down at her feet. There is a beat of awkward silence before Mo walks toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder; "Do you want anything to eat? Or drink?" She asks, and I hear a fridge door clinking open.

"Um, what do you have to drink?" I ask, looking around the room in awe again.

"Fresh OJ, Ice Tea, Dr. Pepper... Water..." She trails off.

"I'll have some Ice Tea," I say. Then I awkwardly add, "please."

She comes back into the room with a Dr. Pepper in one hand and a glass of amber liquid in her other, that she hands to me. "Feel free to help yourself to anything here whenever you want. Here, I'll show you your room." She says, heading for the staircase.

"Um, I don't want to wake anyone up when I leave in the morning. I can just sleep on the couch." I tell her hesitantly.

A flash of guilt plays across her face for a quick second, before she clears it away.

"Your room's just up this way." She says, as though I had never spoken. She climbs up the glass staircase, disappearing into the floor above. I frown, pick my bag up again and follow her up the stairs.

Mo's POV

"You WHAT?" She shrieks.

"I just got you back and I am not letting you go again." I tell her firmly from my perch on the edge of the white bed in the room I just led her to.

"You don't have me back, Morgan! We ran into each other by accident, I'm not staying here I told you that!" She cries. I follow her quick pacing with tear filled eyes.

"Naomi we're sisters. This is our home in THIS town." I say with as much emphasis as I can. "You haven't seen mom, or me in ten years and I KNOW that you aren't heartless enough to push us anyway a second time."

"What the fuck, Morgan? You cancelled my goddamn flight! How screwed over are you? You retarded bitch." She growls.

That's it. I stand and catch her arm. She tries to rip it away from me but I am stronger because I work out at least four times a week. I pull her closer to me, so that we are looking dead straight into each others eyes. We are the exact same height, so neither of us have that advantage. We have the same stubborn jawline, and we both jut our chins out the way our mother always did when she knew she was right.

"I get that your angry, and I get that you are some goth bitch now." I whisper calmly. "But you do not walk in here - purposefully or not - and speak to me that way. Your flight is cancelled, get over it. You can't book another one for 3 weeks, that sucks for you. But keep in mind that you staying here can be cancelled as easily as your flight." I tell her, pointing out my window and indicating the curb. "I want you to stay, Mimi." I continue, softer now. "And this was the only way I could convince you to."

"Convincing isn't the same thing as forcing." Naomi mutters. I feel one of my welling tears roll out of the corner of my eye.

"I've got to take desperate measures." I say, suddenly breathless thanks to my constricted throat.

"You're not a shitty Marianas Trench song, Morgan." My sister growls at me, turning her back on me and opening her bag, pulling clothes out and hanging them in the empty bedroom closet.

"You have a t-shirt that says that too?" I say, finding my courage again after seeing her unpacking her things. "Anyways," I say as I walk out the bedroom door. "After ten years, you have no idea who the hell I am."