𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐇 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 [slow updates]

𝟏

CINDY

Cold. My hands are always cold. So much so that when I was twelve, I googled it. In two seconds, I had somehow convinced myself that I had Raynaud's syndrome and acrocyanosis. Truthfully, I didn't know what the hell either of those things meant.

Now, though? I've grown to learn that I'm just always fucking cold.

I never leave the house without gloves in my bag. Never leave without a jacket—not even in the summer. God, and don't get me started on how I keep extra pairs of socks on me just in case one pair ends up not being enough.

Right now, it's the middle of spring in LA, which means that it's averaging about seventy degrees fahrenheit or so on a daily. Everyone is wearing short something. Shorts, short sleeves, short tops. And me? I'm wearing gloves, a jacket, and two pairs of socks.

A shiver runs down my spine when I get inside my parents' house. Bow, my parents' dog, starts screaming bloody murder at me before I come into view. Then he runs at me and I yelp, diving onto the couch and pulling my legs up before he can pounce on me.

He loves me and I hate him because any time I even look at him, I get the worse come-on of allergies.

"Cole!" I shriek out and I hear my brother's presumably bare feet creak against the stairs.

"You're here alr—oh, my Lord. Bow! Down!" This elicits only more barking until another round of creaking stairs makes it to my ears.

"Bow!" Dad yells.

Bow the Bitch finally stops barking and wags his tail and ass in mine and Cole's face as he prances toward our father.

I push myself off of the couch and shrug off my jacket.

"Jesus, Cindy. Are you seriously wearing gloves?" This comes from Dahlian, yet another one of my brothers.

Dahlian is older than me. He's the result of the affair that split up his mom and our dad. His dad is only my step dad, but I've known him since I learned how to say the word dad. So as far as I'm concerned, these idiots are blood.

Cole says, "You say that like this is new."

"I'm cold, okay? What do you want me to do?" I kick off my shoes and pull off one pair of my socks off, throwing the bundle at Lian's face. "Would you rather I was hot all the time? Maybe watching me walk around with my tits out would be more your style, Dahlian."

"Hey! Language, Cindy." Dad warns, making me roll my eyes.

"Why are you so pissed?" Dahlian opens his mouth to keep talking but I stalk right up to him and jab my finger into his chest.

"If you make a period joke, I will actually kill you."

My brother puts his arms up in mock surrender, poking me in the forehead before spinning on his heels and humming as he made his way toward the kitchen. I move to flip him off, but get my hand slapped down by Dad.

"That could be considered child abuse." I frown.

"For hitting your hand?"

I shrug. "Just some makeup and fake blood and I can claim that you tried cutting my fingers off with a bread slicer."

"You're not a child, Cindy."

"I could be."

It's only the way we joke around, but he pretends to be annoyed and follows Dahlian into the kitchen. I don't go after him when The Dog Who Shall Not Be Named's paws clack against the hardwood floors in suite of my father's heavy steps.