Miserably Delightful

chapter 7

The next morning, Knox drove me home and not a single word was exchanged between us the entire time. I couldn't tell exactly why I was shutting myself off to one of the most important people in the world to me, but it didn't matter. I had more important things to concern myself with, one of them being the fact that the moment I walked inside the house I would have to face the Momster.

"Sang," Knox sighed, leaning his head against the window. "Please get out of the car."

Ever since Knox had pulled into the garage twenty minutes earlier, he had been trying to plead with me to get out of the car, but I was frozen in fear. My mother was inside, Zain could still be inside, and I didn't have my phone on me, which meant I hadn't been able to check if any of the boys had texted me about what had happened at the party. I pulled up the hood of the sweatshirt I had borrowed from Knox and sent him a scowl.

Knox scowled right back at me, and I mentally cursed the fact that we were both so stubborn. This stare off could go on for hours, possibly long enough that we would miss the dinner party all together. The idea didn't sound so bad, and I began to seriously entertain it. That was until the Momster herself, Lauren Sorenson, walked out into the garage.

Immediately, I was climbing out of the car, straightening into perfect posture to greet Lauren, just in case she was in one of her mood's again. When she was in one of her mood's, it didn't matter what I did, she would still punish me anyways.

"Knox, Sang," she said in greeting, looking between the two of us. There was something almost like an accusation in her eyes, but she didn't voice it. "We have things to do today. You both better get inside and get ready, if you don't there will be consequences."

I clenched my jaw to keep from saying anything. When she said there would be consequences, she meant there would be consequences for me. She would never dare punish one of her prized baby boys. Knox and Zain were the sun; Marie, Micah, and I were their shadow. I wanted badly to punch something, preferably Lauren or Zain, but instead just nodded then shuffled past her inside the house.

It had been awhile since she had punished me, so I already knew that I was in for it today. As I treaded up the stairs, I exchanged a look with Knox, both of us mentally preparing ourselves for the long day ahead of us.

***

"Have I ever mentioned that I hate dinner parties," Marie spat out, glaring at anyone who dared to get too close to us. Marie, Micah, and I were standing as far away from everyone else as we could, leaning against a wall and observing the other guests. There was no time to give ourselves a buzz before we had to leave, resulting in us being painfully sober.

"Have I ever mentioned I hate our mother," I grumbled, crossing my arms and glaring across the room at Lauren fucking Sorenson. For a monster, she cleaned up well, pretending to laugh at her elite friend's jokes. I wonder how many xanax's she had to take to make this false image possible.

"Is this a new game we're playing or something?" Micah asked, clearly amused by me and Marie's sour moods. "Because if so, then I hate crab cakes."

Marie and I both sent him annoyed looks, but he just chuckled, obviously finding himself funny. My eyes sought the other unwelcome member of my family that was attending the party: Zain fucking Sorenson, Lauren fucking Sorenson's prized son. It turned out, that since Zain was home when Lauren arrived home that morning, she had forced him to come along so she could show him off. The only pleasure I took out of seeing him at the party was that there was no way he could fight with me in public, and he was obviously miserable.

Knox had ran off with some blonde nearly thirty minutes after we had arrived, and I was already planning all the ways I was going to harm when I saw him again. From the looks on their faces, Marie and Micah were feeling just as murderous as I was towards our two older siblings. As much as I loved them, they certainly made me want to hit them in the head with a waffle iron quite often.