/STIFF/

1

"Leila, take out the rubbish honey." My mum says from across the dining table.

"You want me to take Ed out?" I ask, patting, my brothers head. He rolls his grey eyes and swats my hand away.

I get up, leaving my plate full of salad on the table. I'm eating healthy, or I'm attempting to anyways, more like failing - if my healthy eating lasts more than a week. I was thinking of becoming a vegetarian but i couldn't, I'd probably faint of meat deprivation or something. so I tried to involve myself in dieting. I've never seen junk food want me so bad.

My brother and mum are eating some nice ass food. the food isn't made of ass. it's a great adjective. On the other hand, I'm just a sad rabbit eating leaves, boiled egg and tomatoes - trying not to look at their full  plates.

None of us usually eat together ;  my parents are usually always working till late and my brother is a lazy shit so half the time he doesn't leave his room, apart for when he is called to eat, which is rare because we never eat together, or when he is going to school. He has his reasons though. I mean would you want to leave your room if it had a bathroom, mini fridge, gaming area and a bed????

My older sister is 24 and  doesn't live with us because she has a man and they moved to Canada, somewhere. Apparently, I also have some other sister who popped out my mum 26 years ago and I've never met her but apparently she lives in Scotland with her adopted family. I think my mum went to visit her once but they didn't really feel any sort of reunion or anything, and she told my mum she didn't hate her and there was nothing to feel guilty about, because she had a nice life and a loving family anyways, so after a week long visit my mum came back home, back to normal. 

Today we're all here (my mum,Eduardo and I )  apart from my dad who is working in his own restaurant which is coincidentally fully booked tonight. My mum works for something at the hospital which has to do with saving lives. Today she's managed to stay home and eat with me , since it's my birthday. Which to be honest, I don't even care about. I've only turned 16, and its not something to be happy of - I'm a year closer to my death, and also, my schoolwork's going to start getting harder.

I grab the fat black rubbish bag from my mum and leave the kitchen, walking down the hall and out the front door to the garbage bins outside. I drop the bag into the brown wheely bin labelled 'food waste' whilst turning my head away and holding my breath, so I don't smell the disgustingness of old food. 

I turn around to go back inside but stop, look at my house and sigh, irritated. Taped across all the windows  downstairs are huge, unmissable, pink banners which say 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEILA !' In large neon font.

My family are irritants.

Is it really that necessary to put up signs showing everyone that it's my birthday? I don't think so. It's a waste of colour and plastic. And pink is so stereotypical. I like black, even though it's all the colours mixed together with no light. 

I frown, and enter the house, unsatisfied with the banners and already wanting to tear them apart because i don't actually turn sixteen until a few hours, and it's bad luck to wish someone happy birthday too early - I'm not superstitious, but that's my excuse.

I go back inside only to be cornered by my mum and brother,  and an equally stupid looking cake which is also frickin pink, and has 'happy birthday' piped onto it in neon yellow. The huge square block of cake looks as if it serves fifty and should be at a five year olds birthday party.

My brother sprays me with silly string, and then pulls a party popper which pops out too much tissue paper like a unicorn with explosive diarrhea. And then it just falls onto the floor in a blob, not even exploding out properly.

The frown returns to my face and I try to push past my mum and brother, polite as possible, so I can get to my room. Away from them, and the stupid cake I really don't look forward to eating.

Instead, my mum takes this the wrong way and embraces me into a hug, after passing the cake to my brother to hold, who is too dumb and doesn't take it from her. He drops it on the floor and the noise it makes resembles the sound your shit makes when it falls in the toilet. He just stands there like a brick.

So my cake is now a pink blob on the floor, in the middle of our porch. And my brother is using the five second rule licking off the icing from the cake, whilst I'm struggling to break from my mom's grip. Finally she lets go, and I stumble back, my left foot landing on the ground with a squish. I curse in frustration - which happens a lot- and shove past my mum, not very politely -  up the stairs - my left shoe leaving a trail of pink on each step I take.

Behind me I hear my mum telling me not to use inappropriate language. 

                                                                                              ***

I open my bedroom door and immediately take of my black loafers, dumping them into my bin. I'm gonna buy some new ones - yes - because I'm a spoiled shit and my parents have money and also because they're disgusting now, thanks to my brother. Maybe I'll make Ed by them for me.

Then I sit back on my bed, tie back my hair with a black scrunchie and set the timer on my alarm clock.

I slide open the big white door to my closet and step inside. It's the size of a small bedroom and has way too many clothes hung up. Many of my clothes are similar in style, and mainly dark colors. they're all hung up on black velvet hangers, and a few shelves have neatly folded clothes too. On one wall are four white shelves filled with too many shoes and a few designer bags I've received as gifts over the years. Leaning against it is a tall thin vanity mirror, with infinity lights bordering it.

Then there is my glass cabinet of makeup which I never open, since I don't wear any other facial    products apart from lip balm, mascara and moisturiser. But I let my mum waste money on lipsticks and random stuff in containers anyway, as it makes her feel as though she cares for me. I try to pretend she does. Sometimes she just doesn't have the time, therefore I'm not really a hugs person or very caring. She just chucks at  me just about enough money so that I can take care for myself.

I grab a pair of neatly folded tartan pajamas and take them with me, back into my room.

Then I go to my bathroom and have a short shower, washing my hair and trying not to look at my scars. I fail at that. It ruins my mood even more. I feel like shit.

When I step out, I put on my white robe and peer at the mirror too close, even though I have my glasses back on- which are extremely thick, as I'm practically blind without them.

My eyes are red and puffy, and my freckles are still the same as ever, looking as if someone poured brown dots all over my face and did it unevenly. Or like someone splattered light brown shit on my face. So that half my nose is freckled and they creep up to my forehead.

Around my face is my long reddish coloured hair, currently stuck to my cheeks, soaking wet. I do like the colour of my eyes though. It's a sexy shade of green with brown specks, and they are more noticeable as my frickin thick frames make my eyes seem abnormally large, like a snapchat filter.

I don't have snapchat though, because I don't have friends. It's mainly  because I'm such a blunt piece of shit and I don't have time to bitch with people. The only social media I have is wattpad as its educational, and my mum on speed dial - which doesn't really count. I have subway surfers too, which I really need to uninstall now.

I go to my room, put on my pj's and crawl under my duvet, trying to ignore the sounds of my mum and brother arguing from downstairs.

My fat lazy piece of shit cat - who I still love to bits- flops onto my bed, and sits on my hand. I feel her fat rolls and they keep me warm so i let her stay. My cat is called Phoebe.

I switch off my bedside lamps and stare at my dark ceiling, at the same time my fingers being crushed by a furry blob.

Obviously, at some point I fall asleep.

Eh