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“Three,” Uriel raises his fork and grimaces.
“I'm not taking clowns into account. Now, back to our sheep. One of them has their phone glued to their damn hand, while the other probably hasn’t used it in days. Manasseh, for fuck’s sake, leave that damn phone and eat, or I swear I'll rip off your other hand and beat you with it.
Uriel bursts into laughter, and Dad joins in, while Masse tosses his phone onto the table and starts chomping on the salad that Anabella, who had filled his plate with it alongside the meat, had prepared.
The idiot has anger issues. He still thinks he's six years old, slamming doors and flashing Dad some obscene gestures, threatening to run away and spewing hate at everyone, screaming at the door until he passed out.
Even the poor door had enough of his tantrums, and I couldn't care less. I already know how much of an imbecile he can be, and that he has impulse control problems. That's why Anabella threw him into the fighting ring, to break the bones of those scrawny bugs who weigh ten kilos less than him and then pay for their hospital bills.
Let's give a standing ovation for Anabella's moments of genius, whose decisions are more pointless than when Freddy Mercury decided to snort lines.
During our childhood, her parenting was a cycle of stupidity that persisted over the years. Luckily, by around sixteen, Manasseh learned how to solve his own problems, gently excluding dear mom – ironically speaking – from his freshman life. It would've been embarrassing if the rest of the gang found out he was still mommy's boy, so Anabella learned to fill her time with other useless things, like dragging us to church every Sunday, where we had to play the role of the perfect family. Not like any of that advice sticks to her, or that holy blessing cleanses her black soul, but she probably has no other place to flaunt her new Louis Vuitton scarves, so she chooses St. Giles Church Alley to parade around in the latest collections from the most expensive brands.
Sometimes, I wonder what I’m even doing in this madhouse. I can't relate to them; I refuse to be part of this perfect family charade, so I remain withdrawn, burying my nose in books whenever time allows.
“Dear, I know you're not patient, but that’s how kids his age are.”
I don't see the connection. Just because he's an idiot and phone-dependent doesn't mean it’s cause of his age.
Dinner is surprisingly tolerable, thanks to the delicious food and Lawyer Holland's presence, which lightens the mood. But of course, Dad has to ruin the whole vibe by scolding Manasseh for wanting to drink when he's already taking painkillers for his shoulder.
The next day, I can't get the scene from two nights ago out of my mind, and no matter how hard I try to shake the thought, my suspicions intensify when I see Rebecca with Masse, walking together during break.
What the fuck do these two have to share?
I watch them as they talk about something I can't hear from the window of the first floor of the school, where I've been for over five minutes, listening to music and observing random things about the students bustling back and forth.
I feel the blood rushing to my head when she starts laughing at something he said.
Manasseh makes Rebecca laugh?
Since when?!
I didn't want to confront them, but I can't just sit here and watch.
Slamming the window shut, I rush down the stairs, my ankle throbbing with each step.
“What's up?” I blurt out and surprise them from behind, and they turn around in sync, equally surprised.
“Hey, Sami!” Rebecca smiles at me, but it doesn't warm me up at all.
I want her to smile ONLY AT ME.
“What are you two doing?” I ask before thinking.
That sounded stupid. I feel like the third wheel and somehow like I'm interrogating them out of the blue. I'm probably looking dumb right now, but I don't care. I need to find out what's happening between the two of them, or else I won't have any peace.
“No much, how are you?” Rebecca takes a step closer, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her skirt, in that adorable way that's unique to her.
She's cute when she acts innocent. I can't be mad at her.
Her rosy cheeks light up like two sun-kissed peonies, and her eyes sparkle, giving me the impression that she's once again lost in another world, as she always is whenever we discuss anything, everything.
Sometimes I wonder where her mind wanders off to.
I can't help but question what she's thinking when she looks so absent-mindedly at me.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, annoyed that her airy response dashed any chance of finding out what they were up to here.
