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Ugh. What is wrong with me?
Piper is home by the time I get back. She’s sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, surrounded by craft shit.
Her eyes light up when she sees me and my heart sinks.
I really, really don’t want to spend my evening doing this, but the way her lips curl into a smile as she starts to get ideas stops me from arguing.
“Have you eaten?” I ask, dropping both my school and gym bag to the floor.
“Nope, not yet. I was waiting for you.”
Dragging my phone from my jacket pocket, I unlock it and read the message from Calli once again trying to convince me that I want to go to the Knight’s Ridge Christmas party tomorrow night.
Closing it down without answering, I open my food app.
“Thai?”
“Sounds good to me,” Piper agrees.
“What happened to your pre-wedding diet?”
She winces a little before confessing, “My dress is a little big. I think I might have gone a bit mad on the rabbit food.”
“Told you,” I say, remembering the number of times both Dad and I chastised her over her crash diet over the past few weeks.
“I know, I know. I’m a bad role model.”
“Dude, have you met my actual mother?” I sass, rolling through the app to find my favourite dishes. “Oh wait, no. No, you haven’t.” My tone is full of the bitterness and resentment I feel every time I so much as think about my mother.
Useless bitch.
She spent my entire life forcing me to live in hell, also known as the Lovell Estate. She refused to give my dad custody of me despite the fact that he could clearly provide me with a much better life than she could.
We lived in a shitty high-rise flat block with drug dealers and hookers on every corner, and stabbings on almost a daily basis. She jumped from bullshit job to bullshit job, making no effort to ever better herself while she preferred to fill her body with more poison than food.
Piper’s concerned stare burns into me, but I don’t look up. I refuse to see the pity that I know will be lingering in her eyes.
She understands. To a point.
Her childhood wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Her parents were murdered in cold blood while they slept by none other than my pops.
I shake my head.
Fucking hell, I’m surrounded by some fucked-up kids.
Piper, Stella, Seb, Toby. All their childhoods make mine look like a day at the fucking funfair in comparison.
“You want your usual?”
“You know it.”
I select our favourite dishes and then pull open the fridge, grabbing us a couple of cans of Coke before sliding on to the seat beside her.
“So what are we doing, then?” I ask, staring down at the cards which are covered in what I know are my dad’s sketches.
I run my fingertip over his artwork. He’s so fucking talented, it makes my eyes hurt and my stomach knot with jealousy.
For as long as I can remember, he’s been my idol, my hero, and I’ve always wanted to be just like him.
