Growing up with brothers is hard.
Growing up with brothers in the 1800s is hard.
Growing up with brothers who keep leeving you is hard.
Growing up with Damon and Stefan Salvatore as your brothers is the hardest thing ever.
I'm just unfortunate e...
I look to father as he brings the buter knife to his glass. "A toast. I am so honored to have a lovely wife, two handsom sons, and a beautiful daughter at my side." He says. We all smile, and he puts the glass down. He then lights his cigar, and I see that all to familiar frown take place.
"I went to get a cigar from my drawer earlier, and I noticed some money missing." He says, then looks each of us kids in the eye. I look to mother, but she ignores my accusing glare. "We didn't take it." Stefan says.
I look between my brothers, and speak up. "I'm sorry. I wanted to buy myself a new hair brush." I say. He holds out his hand, so I take a deep breath and place mine in his. "Are you supposed to steal from your father?" He asks. "No, Sir." I respond quietly.
He pulls the cigar from his mouth, and brings it to my hand. I squeeze my eyes as I feel the flesh burn, then he pulls away. "That will teach you not to steal." He says, then goes straight to eating.
I roll over, and lay with my eyes open. I absentmindedly start to run my fingers over the circular scar on my hand, and sigh.
I throw the blankets off of me, then get up. I walk to my closet, and pull out a black crop top and some jeans.
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I look in the mirror, and for a second, the scared little girl is back. The girl who just wanted to live in a house with her brothers, a husband, and her kids. Then I smirk, and I see the new me back. "Gracelyn Genevieve Salvatore is gone!" I say. I turn around, and walk out.
