Our broken parts

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄//SYDNEY

'SORRY, YOUR SON ALMOST DIED LOL.'

No that's too casual. Deleting the message I'm not sure what exactly I'm going to email my sister. He's supposed to be home by now but he didn't want to go home. When I tried to take him he was so adamant that I had to be protected so he wanted to sleep over. It was sweet at first, but now I have to explain to his mom why he slept over. If I lie he'll most likely accidentally tell her then I'll end up in a grave of my own. If I tell the truth I still die so either way I lose in this scenario.

Running my fingers through my hair, it's still wet. I tried drying it but it wasn't cooperating so I tossed it into two Dutch braids so less of my shirt would end up drenched. I wasn't even dirty in the first place, I took a shower not even four hours ago but I just needed an excuse to go home. Even thinking about those embarrassing thirty minutes is shameful. Including the aftermath with my stupid bra, that man was unforgivably attractive but he had to show me how to clip my own bra. Of course he knew how to do it, one look at him explains it all. He looks like someone who's familiar with...unclipping bras? God what is wrong with me.

Squeezing my hair with a hand towel I decide it would be better if I just call my sister. Sending an email isn't going to cut it and at least this way I can sit in the floor and try and squeeze the water out of my hair as I explain to her what's going on.

It's not even exceptionally long, it rests right under my collarbones yet it still soaks up enough water to nourish a family of five. It's why I usually wear shower caps when I take a bath but today I just of just sat on the tile floor. I just wanted to get wet because I don't really know how to feel right now. Except for stress. That's not an unfamiliar emotion for me, if anything it's my default.

Nothing happened to me so I don't feel sorrow, if anything I feel guilty. I worried him. I worried Joseph. He's asleep on my bed because he thinks I'm going to get assaulted in my own home. What type of guardian makes a kid feel that way. As if they should have to protect you. Shit. Everything in my life is complete utter shit and I can't even wrap my head around it because there's just so much going on.

Sighing when my laptop goes straight to voicemail, I didn't expect otherwise. She's a busy woman who graduated top of all her course classes. What did she study you may ask? Medicine? Law? Both. The bitch graduated with a medical law degree. She's a medical lawyer. Now she works with people back to back in her own goddamn firm. It's pretty small at the moment with only a couple people there but the money she checks in is no fucking joke.

If our parents were still alive it's all I would hear. They'd remind me how embarrassing it was to have me as a child when they could've just had her. Maybe throw in an insult or two about how I was a mistake. Not that they've ever said it but I could feel it. The age gap between me and my siblings already made it clearer than day. I'm not supposed to be here. It's why they chucked me in a boarding school in the states for five years.

Flinching when I hear a knock on the door I rub the back of my neck. Well isn't this fantastic. Now I'm going to have to explain what happened to her face. Whenever I'm late she gives me three hours, if I don't respond in three hours then she gives me two more. That's when she switches from messages to phone calls. After that I should expect a STAR team to knock down my door, trying and find her son.

I'm not exactly sure how many messages she's sent me or how many times she's called since I don't own a phone at the moment. I don't own half my legal values because my ass left Joseph's bag on the floor of the alleyway. All I can do is cross my fingers and hope no one happens to come across it and decide to commit fraud with my ID. It's why I've resorted to sending emails which isn't a problem for my sister since she uses her email more than her actual number.