MPH

Brush your damn hair

I'm so fucking stupid. Honestly, I'm a fucking idiot. Thoughts that went through my mind:
-fresh lip cut=ow
-ooh! Lemons! Yum!
-ah fuck

I'm officially a class A idiot. I sigh as my lip stings still. I brush my long white and blue hair. Normally I would leave it messy, but dear mother wants to impress. I'm sixteen, damnit! I can decide when or when not to brush my god damn hair. I pulled my hair back and stared in the mirror. My pale face was dotted softly with freckles. My dark eyes accompanied with nice dark bags, fantastic.

I groan as I pull my hair into a tight bun. I straighten my shirt. Even though I hate dressing up, mom needs to impress her boss. She needs a stable job so I can dye my hair more colors. Selfish? Yeah, maybe. Unreasonable? Nope.

My blood red lips against my pale skin make me look mischievous, or high. Either one, not true. A little a both. Just because I inhaled a lot of sharpie when I was writing on my walls.

I look around my room at the white walls graffitied with black sharpie. I write quotes and random shit on them, hell yeah. I jump when I hear a knock on the front door. Here we go. Try and act normal or you will regret it. No more piercings or new clothes. So suck it up, and not the sharpie. I slip on my black boots and slowly make my way down the rickety stairs and into the dining room where I was supposed to be, mother planned it all.

My big brother walked in with the fancy coats of our guests. One was a nice over coat, the other white and grey fur. Who would do that to an innocent wolf. Yes I could tell. I shudder noticeably as I hear the snotty voices of my mom's bosses. They arrive in the dining room and I smile at them. At least try to. It probably was more of a grimace than anything. Moving to Britain sucked. My mom got a job offer she couldn't deny and now, I'm stuck alone with my brother all goddamn summer. Fuck.

The wife looks at me appraisingly. Then smiles her "I'm better than thou," smile. Fuck her. Her clearly dyed hair was curled around her face with visible powder on it. Gross.

"So," the snotty lady says, "this is your daughter? Wow, we could use another model at the agency... Too bad her... Hair..." I smile at her. I guess I'm pretty, but my attitude usually shines too bright for people to notice. I swallow hard so I don't make a smart ass comment about her hair, that would be bad. My older brother comes back and the snotty lady smiles at him. It was hard, but I resisted the urge to cough "cougar" into my arm.

My brother is the opposite of me. He has tan skin and darker blond hair. His eyes are bright with kindness. I worry about him sometimes. He's too kind for this world, he's going to get hurt, I just know it.

"Well, should we eat, Mrs. and Mr. Shorts?" My brother asks nicely. I feel a twinge of guilt. I don't exactly know why, though.

"Well, of course!" Mrs says enthusiastically. I smile and sit at the end of the table, next to Andrew, my brother. He's eighteen. He'll be moving out soon, and I'll be alone, in London, with no friends. Fun.

"So, your names?" Mrs asks, looking at Andrew. "Full names," she adds. Great. I get to be embarrassed, too tonight.

"Andrew Daniel Hiles," my brother says politely. Mr and Mrs look over to me expectedly.

"Miles Persephone Hiles," I said blushing, fuck me. Mrs and Mr let out snotty laughs.

"MPH?" Mr says. "As in Miles Per Hour?" His balding head and ugly face shaking with laughter. I notice the fancy suit he's wearing. I would wear that. I glare, but mask it easily as my mother glares at me, telling me "calm the fuck down." Fuck you.