Chapter Three155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡirvyXp4c2q
Minali
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When I get home, the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor is nauseating.
Harper and Pri are playing Candyland. I step in and pull my shoes off quietly so as not to be noticed by Mom, who is finally home but is holding a wine glass and sitting in front of her laptop.
A chill runs through me. I will be on edge all night worried about the girls.
I head to my room when I get inside I close the door behind me as quietly as possible.
I stuff my pink softball bag into my closet before throwing myself on the floor still quite like a mouse.
I gulp and groan.
When I reach for my phone, it lights up, nevertheless, he hasn't texted. Instead, there is a notification from 5:23 his sister posted on her story.
I click it, it's a photo of her dancing in the rain, her blue eyes gleaming. Navianna's black hair is drenched yet extremely beautiful even in the rain. She wears an off-the-shoulder lavender dress that has butterflies around the very flowy not quite ballgown skirt. Lana Del Ray's song 'Cola' plays over her photo.
I stand up, go to the room's corner where my charger is located, plug in my phone, and turn on the music. My room is filled with the sound of 'Achilles Come Down' by Gang of Youths.
Then there's a knock on the door.
The footsteps tell me it's not my mother it’s Sita.
"Who is it?" I ask anyway.
“Sita.”
"Come in, little one," I say as I approach the door.
My youngest sister steps into the room. She's eleven years old, and she likes to look like an adult. She has beautiful eyes—large and green like emeralds—and a pretty face with soft cheeks. Her hair is lighter than mine, and she wears it in two braids decorated with tiny gold beads.
“Can I help you pick out your dress, Minali?” Her eyes light up when she asks.
“Yeah of course, Sita,” I grab her hand it's soft and warm we walk over to my closet and pull out the three dresses I brought to possibly wear tonight.
Sita’s hands are small, but they are soft and warm. She wears a gold-yellow shirt, making her eyes radiate. A few hairs sticking out of the intricate braids.
“Ooohhh,” she says as she looks at the long white ballgown, that has black lace embroidery around the neck, chest, and sleeves. “I like that one.”
I smile, grateful for her help. "It could fit you," I reply as I remove it from the hanger and hand it to her.
Sita appears to be on the verge of tears, so I quickly add, "Really, Sita, you can wear it if you want, just don't let Mother see you in it, who knows what might go wrong."
Sita hesitates ever so slightly, then grabs it from me.
She nods and walks over to a mirror in my room's corner. She doesn't say anything but touches the fabric carefully. She runs her fingers over her hair before adjusting her necklace. Her eyes light up with excitement as she returns my gaze and then murmurs, "Thank you, Minali," with a relaxed smile on her face.
"I won't," she assures me.
Sita hugs me tightly. Then she pulls away, revealing that she has tears in her eyes. "I love you so much, Minali," She whispers.
"Damnit," I mumble under my breath, tears building in my own eyes.
We exchange hugs before she runs out of my room with her attire, leaving a cloud of her lavender scent in her wake.
My entire life, Izna has been my only parent, but she never raised me. The father of my sisters was only in our life for five years—enough for my biological mom to become pregnant three times—and he was never a parent to me. When he was here, he handled me better than Mother did.
If she's not drunk, she'll likely be shouting at me about something; if she's drunk, she's going to nevertheless be screaming at me, but she'll also be using her hands. Izna never stops looking for a reason to chastise us, especially me, her oldest, but I would rather suffer than let younger sisters.
In her view, I'm the crybaby.
The words she say's to me hurt me much more than the bruises and scrapes I experienced from being hit, pushed, or falling down after.
Every time she attempts to comfort me by snuggling up to me as tears roll down our cheeks, it only makes the hurt worse.
But I have to be here for Pri, Harper, and Sita even though the words make me want to run away, never look back, or worse.
Izna keeps quiet and drinks till she loses control of her rage. And swings. Sita doesn't ever cry a lot, and she never fights, only takes the blows. When my sisters cry out, I am not able to run away or hide.
I've never encountered a man with my eyes. Dark, sinister, an unknown. The color of my eyes is not from Izna.
Everyone believes my family is ideal. But I see things that no one other does. When my sisters cry, I am powerless.
I study the parents and their little daughters very carefully. What did I do to get this life? How could she be like this to her own kids? We are the offspring of our parents, despite the fact that I say they are only the sole explanation for why we exist.
I was born with a lie-telling gene from my father's side of the family.
Everyone I care about will probably leave me, I'm terrified. I may resemble her and share the same last name, but she is not my mother.
She simply won't get help despite my best efforts to persuade her.
She always manages to make everything worse. Her words slice the most delicate places in my heart and struck me like knives.
However, in spite of my greatest efforts, everyone eventually starts to break down under the weight of their issues...even if they don't want to.
One of the two remaining dresses is a deep red like blood, with a lace bodice and thin straps on the shoulders that I remember putting on at the store. It's tight all the way down and has a slit. It emphasizes my curves nicely.
The other is an asymmetric corset baby blue embroidered little dress.
I'm fairly sure I wouldn't like to wear any of them, not even Sita's ballgown. So I go with the tight blood-red dress because I think red is Nash's favorite color.
He never tells me anything so what do I know?
Maybe He hates red. He hates the color. He hates everything red.
When I put it on, the material is so tight that it feels like it should cut off my circulation. Although it is a bit painful and awkward, I zip the backup and wrap a silver belt around my waist.
The dress is tight around my waist and hips, tapering to my thighs. The material is silky and soft, so smooth it feels like water as it moves over my body.
I search through my closet for the shoes. Once I find them I slip them on; they're black with a simple kitten heel; they're not even that tall, but if Mom saw me in them, she'd freak out.
But she has outbursts about everything. The drinking just doesn't help.
I quickly apply my makeup (all natural save for a red lip) and grab my mask.
I'm likely to be dead or at least beaten when I come home tonight because there's no way Mom won't find out I've left. it will be worse if she finds out where I went and who I went with.
I'm not sure what her problem is, but I've never been permitted to any of the school dances before, but there is no way I'm not going to my senior prom.
I look at the time: 6:57. Nash should have arrived by now.
I manage to exit my window securely and descend to the earth after a small jump.
His car is not where it should be, and it should have been there for the previous 17 minutes. Yeah, I'm not ready on time either, but he should be here!
I could endanger my boyfriend sometimes when he does these things, but I still love him. It's not a good idea to kill him. I’m too pretty for jail. But if I do, his ex will be next.
Finally, his black Ford Mustang, purchased by his grandmother, arrives.
I dash to the car, and when he gets out, he kisses me on the cheek, takes my hand in his, and guides me to the passenger side, where he opens the door for me.
I can tell there's something unusual about him today. But I'm not sure what it is.
"Where is Navianna, Nash?" I ask, looking towards the back seat.
"She got herself a date." His response is short, but it does not surprise me.
"All right, Who? Why didn't you tell me? I mean, you didn't have to, but you know what nevermind," I stop speaking because his expression is nerve-racking.
"I don't know who you, Minali, and I don't care, but why does Navianna always get so much fucking attention?" He turns away from the road and to me. "You're dating me, not her, so what's the big deal? Bitch.”
He grumbles the word bitch quietly, but I hear it. I'm not sure if I'm the bitch or if it's his sister, but it makes me uneasy. "I'm sorry, Love, I just assumed she was the reason you were late or something."
"I was late, okay, stop nitpicking, Minali."
When we arrive at the museum, most of the parking spaces are taken, and it takes us 10 minutes to find a spot.
When we park, he gets out first and then again holds the door open for me. He's a true gentleman. His tie is a sour red color. Yes, I chose correctly, I think in my head. He presents me with a hand-made red and black corsage.
"I appreciate and love it, baby."
He responds with a nod.
The graduating class has already filled the entrance. Nash led me to the front, where Elliot and Alenka were waiting.
"Hey, Minnie," Alenka says as she gives me her feisty laser eyes.
She knows how much I despise it when she calls me that.
I'm glad to be in the front of the line, but being near this woman does not appeal to me.
"Hey, Nashey," her venomous flirtatious voice affirms.
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