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I return to the dresser and rummage through the top drawer to find something decent. I need to get some new clothes. Some of this shit is so outdated. I pick up a T-shirt and notice the design on it. The T-shirt is dark-heather with lacy, long-sleeves and holes at the end for my thumbs. A skull with roses intertwined inside of it adorns the front.
This was my mum’s T-shirt. I can’t believe I still have it after all these years. Part of me wanted to get rid of it. The other part didn’t. I didn’t want to lose the last memory I had of my mum. I bring it to my face so I can smell it. To get a whiff of her. I miss her. I wish she was still here with me. I sigh and throw the T-shirt on.
I grab the handles of the second drawer and pull it open. This one opened easier for some reason. Fucking hell. I rummage through the countless leggings and jeans I have. I finally settle on a pair of red ripped skinny jeans.
These are my favourite pair of jeans. I don’t wear them often anymore because they are falling apart. I sigh as I hoist them on, struggling to get them past my ankles. I end up jumping up and down to help me get into them. Now, to button them up.
After I am dressed, I head to my shoe closet and look at the only four pairs of shoes I own. Who needs that many pairs of shoes anyway? We can only ever wear one pair at a time. I look at my all-time favourite shoes: my black-and-white Converse. These have been through hell and back. They are falling apart at the sole, holes are down the sides, and the laces no longer stay tied. I sigh as I grab them and put them on.
I walk over to the mirror that hangs on the back of my door and take one final look at my attempt to look somewhat decent. I wish I didn’t feel the way I do about myself.
What are you going to do? They are just thoughts, but sometimes they are too strong for me to fight off, and I end up crumbling and breaking down because of them. I shake my head. No, I need to be positive and have a clear mindset if I have to go and deal with these fucking assholes.
With that, I grab the handbag hanging on my bedpost and walk out my bedroom door. As I’m walking down the hallway towards the top of the stairs, I hear hushed voices coming from down below. I stop just before the top and lean over the ledge to see who it could be. Michael and Christopher.
“She has the right to know Michael!” Christopher shouts in a hushed whisper, and I hold my breath.
“She doesn’t need to know fuck all. It isn’t important to us, nor is it important to her.” Michael whispers back, shoving Christopher’s arm.
What isn’t important? What are they keeping from me? Christopher is the only one who ever talks to me in this family, conversing with me and asking me how I am doing. He even sneaks me the better food when my foster parents force me to eat crap I don’t like or send me to my room. But he is keeping something from me this time. I shake my head and listen again closer.
“It is regarding her parents! I think that is pretty fucking important, Michael.” Christopher blurts out but is quickly hushed by Michael.
My parents? What do they know about my parents? Do they know what happened to them? Why didn’t they tell me? Why didn’t Christopher tell me? I shake my head in disbelief. What else are they keeping from me?
I take another step forwards to see if I can get a closer listen, but the floorboard under my right foot creaks. Shit! Christopher and Michael go silent and turn their heads to the top of the stairs.
“We know you’re up there, Calliope,” Michael yells to me. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the fight that is about to happen.
“Were you listening to our conversation, Callie?” Christopher asks gently.
I have always liked that nickname. He is the only one who calls me that anymore. My father used to call me that, so it makes my heart ache a bit every time Christopher uses it.
“N–no, no, I wasn’t. I just came out from my bedroom,” I say quickly, trying to de-escalate the situation.
“You were listening to our conversation. Don’t lie, Calliope!” Michael jabs his finger into my chest.
Michael is the eldest of my foster brothers, and he has always thought he was in charge. I hate him.
“No, I wasn’t, Michael. Fuck you!” I shove his chest. “Always picking on me and trying to start shit. You’re such an asshole!” I snap back, with tears in my eyes. I am so sick of this shit. It is the same crap every day of my life. When is it going to end?
He bows his chest towards me. “Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you are talking to, Orphan?” He smirks, pleased with himself. He knows I hate being called that.
Christopher gasps, looking at Michael with an expression that says, You fucking prick.
“No one. I’m talking to no one,” I whisper, defeat washing over me. I am an orphan. I know it. Everyone here knows it. But I don’t believe that it’s my fault.
“Good, that’s what I thought,” Michael says, proud of himself.
Christopher just looks at me as if unsure of what to say next. Does he not care anymore? Am I not worth the fight that will happen if he stands up to his brother?
“Callie, I’m sorry.” He takes a step closer to me. “Michael is a prick, and he shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” He says apologetically.
Michael punches Christopher on the arm in disbelief.
“Don’t fucking say how I should have spoken to the ingrate. She doesn’t care.” Michael laughs.
I do fucking care, asshole. You’re the fucking ingrate. Spoilt little shit.
