Getting coffee-shamed by the others because I bought one from a coffee shop rather than boiled it over the campfire.
It's the 21st century!
For fuck sake...
"Does that look clean to you? Do it again." Mom drops the wet plate into my lap. My soapy hands make it hard to catch but I manage.
I grit my teeth, try not to say anything. But it slips out anyway. "It's not food. It's part of the design. See?" I hold it up to show her the >
< I'm sure she's broken skin and I'm bleeding.
"Do it again," she repeats in a low and dangerous voice. Not one to be argued with.
She's such a bitch when she's hungry. Worse than the rest of us.
And even after all this time I usually obey. It's just easier than facing >
< window up above. Like he wants to kill me.
I wish he'd try. It'd make my afternoon more interesting.
But he doesn't move. Not an inch.
So I'm back to watching @CrackedTribute. The hollow girl. I wonder who they want to fill her back up.
If you were to ask someone how old my mom is, they'd have a hard time answering. Her face changes with such subtlety you can never be sure if she's twenty or forty. Depends on the day, I guess. On how hungry she is.
It's the same with me, though not to such extremes. >
< bothering to put it out first. And leaves a lot sooner than he normally would.
He usually shows me his best moves. He wants to fuck me. Only because I keep ignoring his advances.
And the other brother... What's his name? Ash, something. He just stares. From a bedroom >