Y/n
The drive back home didn't take long despite the fact my brother and Ilived out in the boonies. Trailer parks most definitely used to be the normfor us, so pulling my father's busted Chevelle up to gates that required akey code entry was different, to say the least.
I tapped in the code I had written on the back of my hand, still trying tonot be freaked out by that. Wrought-iron gates opened to me like I wasroyalty, and I simply shook my head, taking the paved path up to thegarage. When the sun was up, a wide overlook of the city could be seenfrom my brother's and my new house. We were stationed up on a hill andliterally lived out in the middle of nowhere. I hadn't complained becausewhat was there to complain about?
We lived like royalty.
The house on the hill sparkled, all glass walls and modern likesomething out of a design catalog. The home was all hard angles andpolished uppitiness, definitely not my style or Bru's. In this case, we hadn'thad a choice. This was our digs.
This was home.
I kept trying to associate that term with myself, home and this town, butI kept having a hell of a time. I'd lived in several "homes" over the years,never having stayed at any of them longer than it took the time to unpack.My brother and I were always on the move, so there hadn't been a point.
My hand worked the steering wheel as I advanced toward the garage. Itwas motion-activated to my ride, so I hadn't even had to touch anythingbefore pulling in.
That was another mind fuck I had to push out of my mind, and I gotmyself and my groceries out of the car. The new digs definitely had all themodern amenities, but what it hadn't had was actual food that two teenagerscould eat without gagging. The fridge had been stocked with nothing butcardboard and health food when we'd arrived, and I supposed I'd have tohave a talk with our guardian about it.
Then again, I obviously took care of things tonight, and I found mybrother right where I left him.
"You get the milk?" he asked from his place on the couch, a flat screenabout the size of the wall sat in front of him. My brother, Bruno, wasplaying a game system that hadn't even been released yet, video gamesincluded, and I'd been given an entire room for my art stuff. Really, it wascompletely over the top, but again, I hadn't complained. It would be bothungrateful and rude to the person who'd provided it.
I tossed my seventeen-year-old brother the half gallon I got him,cookies too, and he caught both with an ease like he actually played sports.He'd always been built to do such things. He'd just never had theopportunity. My father stressed relying on books and school to get us by.
He had stressed.
Like a savage, Bru ripped off the lid of the milk, then proceeded todown the half gallon right in front of me. We looked absolutely nothingalike. My brother couldn't hold a tan for anything, and I was naturallygolden. Besides our heights being similar (crazy since I was a chick), Icouldn't pass for this kid's sister any more than he could pass for mybrother. My hair was even darker than his chestnut brown.
And I had manners.
"Use a fucking cup," I growled, heading to the kitchen. I dropped thebags of groceries off, then managed to find a drinking glass amongst themany pearl white cabinets. Those cabinets had been filled as well, crystaldishes Bru would make sure to take out with his butterfingers. I returnedwith the glass, but by then, he'd already drunk the thing down to half. Isneered. "You're a pig."
"And you took forever." He had a milk mustache when he brought thecarton away. He wiped his upper lip clean. "Weren't you just going downthe street?""Just down the street"
