The Merciless (h.s.)

Chapter One

Arabella

My eyes dart around my bedroom, taking in every single detail one last time before I will eventually have to force myself to look away, leave, and believe with everything in me that I have left my room as close to perfection as I could before leaving it.

Besides the unfinished carry on bag on the corner of my bed, I did, in fact, clean my room immaculately. My bed is perfectly made: my creme colored sheets tucked underneath all four corners of my mattress, as well as my matching duvet perfectly centered above them. My oak wood floors have been swept and polished to perfection, and my small white rug vacuumed, leaving no remnants of my existence behind. My white vanity is clean and rid of any sort of objects, especially my makeup. The mirror attached to it has not a smudge in sight. Anastasia has an awful habit of coming in my room when I am not home and messing around with my things. Her favorite thing to do is sit at my vanity and mess with the few makeup products that I do own. While Anastasia refuses to speak, she does know how to make quite the statement with her messes.

I push the thought of any informalities of my room aside and carefully stride towards the edge of my bed, my hands gripping my small brown leather backpack. The flight I am taking is less than two hours long, so I do not need too much in my carry on bag. All I have inside are some chargers, wireless headphones, my wallet, my orange pill bottle, and my laptop with some movies already downloaded. All of my luggage is already shoved inside of the car, which my dad made sure was done last night. Even though I am moving to a completely different state all on my own, I only packed two suitcases full of clothes. I figured if I absolutely needed more clothes, I could buy some or bring some back from Thanksgiving. As for decorations and dorm furniture, my dad and I decided he would give me the funds and I could buy everything there, since transporting furniture for a dorm room would be way too complicated and probably even more expensive.

I throw one of the straps over my left shoulder and exit my room, shutting the door on my way out. My room should be spotless when I arrive home for Thanksgiving. If it isn't, I know either Anastasia or Ali has slithered their way in here in my absence.

Before heading downstairs, I turn into the bathroom and glance at my appearance in the mirror. My hair is down, black waves cascading past my shoulders and split ends grazing the small of my back. Besides the slight bags under my eyes and a stress induced imperfection on the corner of my forehead, my skin is smooth and generally clear. My cheeks are a bit pink because of the crisp air from outside seeping into the house. Michigan weather is completely and utterly unpredictable. Even though it is only the end of August, it is already lightly snowing outside.

The loose grey sweatpants around my legs are warm and soft. They cuff right beneath my ankles, just on top of my white tennis shoes. The long sleeve white shirt on my torso is not necessarily helping with any sort of warmth. But, my thick black North Face jacket zipped up over the thin layer does the job quite nicely. My feet patter down each step until I finally reach the bottom of the staircase. I turn into the kitchen to see both my brother and sister across the kitchen and into the dining room, sitting at the table eating their breakfast. My dad is fixing up his morning cup of coffee behind the kitchen counter, his eyes glued onto the news story on his phone.

I glide past my dad and into the dining room, sitting in the chair next to Ali. He has three chunks of pancake left on his plate, along with a full mouth. Anastasia is sat on the other side of Ali. She is on her last bite of pancake, and she shoves the big piece inside her small mouth. For a seven year old, Anastasia has a very big appetite. As for Ali, he doesn't, despite just turning thirteen and being the more athletically inclined sibling. He's the best kid on his soccer team. I always take him to his practices , I am the first one to arrive at his games, and his loudest supporter whenever he scores. I hope my dad keeps up with that while I'm gone. He's so talented.