The Pinkyswear

Chapter 5

"Adopted?"

I told her my situation. She didn't even flinch an inch. Liz just laid there, staring up at the roof, while flickering with her necklace, like it was the most normal thing she had heard all day. It was like she didn't notice me at all. Still, she asked questions.

         Sometimes, she was strange like that, but that was what I adored about her; the way she could listen without totally bursting out on you. Liz had a careful, but playful mind.

"Yup, they basically bought me." Liz looked at me with a poker face, as she laid on my couch, while I was sitting in my chair, trying to have a serious conversation.

I was patiently trying not to laugh since I somehow always managed to laugh in serious situations with my best friend. It was something about me and her being in the same room, trying to survive the same nightmare without killing each other. We would laugh, but somehow none of us had begun to laugh yet. She didn't even spear me a smirk. I guess she was really thinking this through.

You see; even when she wouldn't really show that she was concerned or sad, I knew she cared. And laughing would be one of our ways to show it. And drunk calls.

 
          The usual "I love you, bitch," -calls.

"At least your parents choose you," she added to my sentence, glancing over at me. I noticed the tiny smile on her lips, but other than that, she was blank. And there goes the laughter and the tiny inside-jokes. I was starting to think Liz had died or something. 

          Maybe she had become a zombie. Well, she was definitely back now.

"Don't meme me," I blurted out, laying down on the floor, looking up at the roof. I was so close to ending up dying on this floor in laughter.

          "I'm a twenty-four-year-old woman and my parents – my adoptive parents – didn't tell me I was adopted until now. I knew about sex when I was ten! How fucked up isn't that?" I sighed.

It was true. This whole situation was fucked up. Especially how I couldn't keep myself from calling them my adoptive parents. Calling them that was like saying they somehow had lost the rights to be called my parents when they told me. It was the opposite because they were the ones who had raised me.

"The worst thing about it is probably that I keep on stopping myself from calling them my parents like I would at some point call her it."

        You should be ashamed.

I had promised them I wouldn't be mad, sad or use it against them anyhow; I had pinky-sworn them, and I truly believed in never breaking a promise. Despite that, here I was; complaining and making them seem like the bad guys. The ones that deserved the worst, and I some kind of hero.

In my selfish mind consisting of my desperation of having something out of my own blood, they were the villains, but truly I was. My adoptive parents - I must stop calling them that - my parents had given me everything. A place to live, love, friends, and a future, still I was disappointed. They had given me the parents any child deserved, and even after all that, I felt betrayed by them.

          God, you are so selfish.

"Stop whining, Elona. A bunch of people are adopted in the world, and that's no bad thing," Liz shrieked, turning against me. "You should be honoured. Maybe even amazed. I wouldn't know," she said. "My parents never loved me."