I had always loved my brother.
My father worked. A lot. He was moving up the corporate world, piece by piece, which required weeks in different states and months without coming home. As much as i tried to love my father, i cant love someone i didn't know.
My mother fed off my fathers success. First class flights, expensive dresses and dinner parties that cost more than most people earn in a month. She had an idea in her head, of the family she wanted, of the daughter she wanted. Dresses, diets, photo shoots and acting jobs. It didn't matter that i hated it, didn't matter that is stole my childhood. I was going to wear the pretty dress and smile for the camera.
My dad wasn't there to stick up for me. But Scott? He was there. Merely a year older, he snuck me chocolate and burgers whilst mum made my lettuce dinner, let me cry to him in the middle of the night when mum deemed the number on the scale too high. He was there when my first real boyfriend cheated on me, when I failed a math test for the first time.
My father wasn't around. Scott was. Scott and his eyes, the pale, grey, piercing eyes. They would stare at you, and it felt as through they could see to your very core.
I never kept secrets from Scott - there was no point. His eyes could see straight through me.
I could feel them now, burning holes in my back as I graciously climbed the stairs to the witness stand, my dress clenched between my fingers.
Hen my eyes met his and the corner of his mouth twisted upwards as I pressed my nail into the wood in front of me hard enough to leave crescent moon dents.
He hadn't looked at me; he had looked straight through me. He knew what I was going to do.
He knew that I was about to grant him his freedom.
How did it get so fucked up?
