Crooked

hell to the no. [chapter one]

It was times like these when I needed to get away.

The constant nagging of my mother's voice; the clear disappointment in my father's eyes; even the snarky comments from my brother's girlfriend were too much for me to handle. Usually I could hold my own and stand my ground, but out of all days, this one was one I couldn't deal with.

It started in the early morning in July, where the sun's rays were beating down on my skin. This was unusual, as in Melbourne there was no such thing as sun in the winter time. Only clouds. And rain. And a whole lot of lightning.

With a heavy groan I awoke to find the curtains wide open, and my parents glaring at me. What a lovely way to wake up in the morning.

"What?" I grumbled. Looking to my side I saw that it was seven am. Whose parents wake them up at seven in the morning? Oh right, mine.

"Cassidy." I winced at the sound of my father's sharp tone in his voice.

Sitting up in my bed, I rubbed my eyes and took in the scene around me. Parents staring at me and standing on the foot of my bed, check. My brother smiling at me sheepishly while his too clingy, too crooked-teethed girlfriend held his hand tightly, check. She was shooting daggers at me. We hated each other with a strong passion, but I was cruelly forced by my brother to be nice to her.

Or at least, be civil.

I remember the first time I met her: my brother and I were waiting behind her in line to watch the new Batman. We loved Batman. True fans 'til the end, he told me. She was with her younger sister, a seven year old brat who never failed to spit on me whenever she got the chance. And when she spat, she generally had either carrot or milk or some other putrid food that stained easily in her mouth. I hated her too.

Anyways, we were waiting in line when suddenly the brat turned around and looked up at me, screaming as loud as she could when she saw the face I made at her. It was my special brat-face, the one I reserved for assholes. Clearly, this brat was an exception.

When she turned around to see what the commotion was about, my brother - how can I put this without puking - locked eyes on her and from then on, they were inseparable.

Sorry, excuse me while I puke up last night's dinner.

The thing I hated the most about my brother's girlfriend was her teeth. Growing up in a family of dentists for parents, I had learned that straight teeth were crucial to a happy and healthy life. Having crooked teeth - according to my father - equated to being unhappy and having no future. Personally, I didn't like crooked teeth because seeing it reminded me of my brother's girlfriend, and I hated her.

When my brother first introduced his girlfriend to our family, I disliked her from day one because of her teeth. But for some strange reason, my parents adored her. It was on this day when I also realised the much stronger feelings my parents harboured towards my brother. The fact that they preferred my brother over me, because he was a genius and was studying to be a lawyer as opposed to me, who wanted to paint for a living. I didn't want to go to university; the idea of school didn't appeal to me that much. I wanted to travel around the world and paint beautiful pictures and just be me.

My parents accepted his girlfriend - despite of her teeth - because they accepted my brother. Me? Not so much. I tried to pretend that what had I found out didn't hurt, and I tried to forget that they even said it all - but no matter how hard I tried, my mind liked to bring it up just as I was trying to sleep in the dead of night.

"You lied to us," my mother spoke with no emotion in her voice. I wondered for a moment how she did that, and whether I could speak like that too. It would come in handy whenever I was speaking to bitches I didn't like.

"About what?" I asked, trying to speak with no emotion like Mother had.

"I called your principal today and asked about your final scores on your exams; the exams which you failed to tell me about," she started, her voice attempting to sound rational but humorously failing (to me, anyways), "and she told me you failed. In all of them."

She couldn't speak anymore. I felt the corners of my mouth turn into a smile. Did she know how hard it was to fail in multiple choice, let alone extended responses? Because let me tell you; it was hard.

"Not all of them," I told her, "I passed Art." I wasn't lying this time. Art was my favourite subject, and I had passed this shit with honours and everything. Not to brag but I was the best in my year.

"Art isn't a real subject and you know it," Father cut in. "That subject is a waste of your time and won't get you anywhere in life."

Oh, hell to the no. He did not just say that.

Before I could open my mouth to retort with a smart-arse reply that would have shocked the nation, or at least my parents, the devil that held my brother's hand spoke up. "That's not true, actually."

My eyebrows rose so high I wasn't even sure whether the devil was being horribly sarcastic or, well, genuine. It turned out I didn't have to worry, as she rushed on with, "There have been many people who make it as an artist, like dancers who work on the poles, or those bums you see on the side of the road with their so-called art." She was smirking, and there was nothing more that I wanted to do than to wipe her horrible smirk off her stupid face.

So I reacted in the only way I knew how; by lunging straight towards the devil itself.

--------

My first One Direction fic. I'm pretty excited for this, so excited that I've already written half of the next chapter, which does feature some 1D goodness, don't you worry. Comment/votes ensure a speedy update, I have five chapters written so far.