Miracles

Chapter 31

~Avisha's View~

He wants me to kiss him. Luis wants me to kiss him!!
I'm- wait. He said I'm more like a sister to him so he's just kidding. He's just kidding. 

"You fool, I can't kiss you. You're my brother." I sheepishly chuckle. His face drops but he quickly covers it with a laugh of his own.

"Yeah sis. I was just kidding." Luis hits me playfully.

I really wish I wasn't more like a sister to him.

"Can we leave now?" I ask.

"I'm hungry," He announces ignoring my question. "I'm sure you're hungry too. Let's get breakfast."

"I'm not hungry." I say as Luis drags me out of the room with him.

"That's what you always say Skinnybones but you end up eating more food than I do." He shakes his head.

"Whatever Chopsticks."

Luis calls me Skinnybones because I'm skinny, which is due to the very little amount of food I eat and the number of drugs I've taken. I call him Chopsticks just for fun.

Luis is masculine and slim in a good way unlike me. He's got blonde hair, brown eyes and a beautifully sculptured body. We are polar opposites but we click just fine. 

"What do you want for breakfast?" Luis asks pulling out pans from the cabinets. 

"Are you cooking?" I ask giving him a pointed look. 

"Don't give me that look." 

"What look?" I fake cough trying to block the laughter that wants to escape. 

"The look that says, 'like seriously, Luis is tryna cook?" He air quotes in a high pitched voice. 

"Okay, one, I don't sound like that and two, you're the worst cook alive. Everyone knows that." I cross my hands over my chest with a smirk etched on my face daring him to argue. 

"I'm not the worst cook alive." He defends himself. 

"Yeah right." I scoff. 

"I'll prove it." He says with determination. 

"Don't disgrace yourself bro. Don't." I shake my head at him. 

"I won't. Just sit back and relax." He plops me on a stool. 

"Whatever you say boyyo." 

I watch Luis as he mixes ingredients with a scowl on his face. Hehee! He can't do this. We both know he can't cook to save his own life. He's bad at it. Totally bad. Cooking is one of the things I love to do. I've loved food and everything about it for as long as I can remember. It's just sad that I don't eat as much as I cook. Most at times, I just don't feel like eating. Other times, it's because of my mom. That woman is always on my neck. 

I started drinking and smoking because of her. When I was younger, around seven years old, I had no one to play with. I was lonely. She'd leave the house early in the morning and come back late at night in a drunken state. I was always awake and on the lookout because I was scared the monsters under the bed and in the closet would come out and take me away. 

My sister was no good. She was at first, but like most teens, she wanted to be accepted by her friends and so she started ignoring me and calling me names. I was sad. I'm still sad. 

I never had a dad. No one talks about him and I never bother asking because what difference would it make? I'm sure he'd also ignore me like everyone else if he was around. 

I was always alone. I'm still alone. Forever and always alone. 

I put fear aside and made friends with the monsters lurking under my bed and inside my closet. They are good friends. They never judge me and they don't call me names either. 

They were and have always been with me since the night mom pushed me. 

I remember that night so well. It feels like it happened only yesterday. 

I was awake as always when mom came home. For the first time she wasn't drunk. I felt happy because I knew she wouldn't do anything stupid in her sober state. I run to her and held her hand trying to pull her with me, "Mom you have to come play with me." She didn't budge. She just stared at me with hatred. Pure hatred. "Mom," I called out. Her eyes never left mine but she didn't answer. "Mom, come play with me." I said in a worried tone tugging her hands. She shoved me away from her with so much fury in her eyes. I hit the wall and gasped for air. I was taken aback by her actions. Tears welled up in my eyes. "Mom," I croaked. She just smiled evilly. Probably content with herself. She laughed at me and walked away. I dared my tears to stop flowing. The tears never stopped flowing. I have never stopped crying. I cry every day. 

I braced myself for more loneliness and pain. I had become my mother's punching bag. I started seeing her in the house more often. 

I'd hide in a corner and watch her drink her problems away. She never saw me since I'm too skinny and probably the last person on her mind. Mom never smoked around me because of my asthma but I still saw her do it. I started learning from her. I learnt her ways. By the time I'd turned fifteen, I had gained more understanding as to why she drunk and smoked. I found inner happiness on the first day I did, even though I was dying to catch my breath. 

It's become a habit. I can't live without drugs and I make sure no one knows, except the monsters who have become more demanding. They always push me into drinking more and it feels good every time. It's like they just understand me. They know me more than I do myself. 

I met the guy who just burnt our breakfast when I was ten. He's been a very good friend ever since and I don't want to worry him with my numerous problems. I also don't want him to leave me. I know he'll never want to associate with an addict like me so I won't tell him anything because I don't wanna lose my best friend. 

"How's it going Chopsticks?" I tease. "Are you ready to accept the fact that you're a bad cook?" 

"Never!" He says stubbornly. I roll my eyes. 

"Vamos, Luis." I whine. 

"Ugh! Okay." He finally gives in. 

"You now believe cooking isn't your thing?" 

"I'll show you I'm as good as you. Just wait." He grins. 

"I'll be waiting." 

"It's a challenge." 

"This just got better."