Vitality [h.s]

03

'Straight off the plane to a new hotel.'

Isabel Hope

The past few hours have all been a blur, at least I think it's been hours, it might be days for all I know. Jet lag should be studied. Is it studied? It probably is, of course it is. I'm just being stupid. I mean how would anyone even know what the word jet lag is? How do people even make up words anyway? I should've done more research, or any research that is. Okay I need to stop, I'm loosing my mind.

But really how could I even research any of this? It was only a few weeks ago when my father broke the news we were moving, when really in my head I just assumed it was a big joke. I didn't think it would actually happen.

Mistake on my part for ever thinking my father would joke around.

And here I was. Wearing grey sweatpants, practically touching the floor, paired with a white hoodie and a beanie. I'm surprised I'm not wearing a snowsuit at this point, I already look like I'm on my way to Antarctica instead of fucking England. My eyes feel like they could fall right out of their sockets because of how heavy they are.

Between staying up late to pack my whole life up in a few boxes, and carrying it all to multiple places every other hour, I was done. I couldn't wait to be back in a bed. This might make me seem like an absolute brat, but let's be honest, I was not made for labor. It's quite sad about how weak I actually am. They have gyms here, right?

I seriously don't know how my mind is even working right now. It's some sort of curse. I'd do anything to just close my eyes and fall asleep anywhere I want, but my mind just does not let me. It's always on, thinking about something, and I'd do anything to just shut it off. I wish I could install some sort of light switch but just for my brain.

I look down to the concrete floor, staring at my shoes. My beautiful knocked up adidas high tops. I was never big on shoe brands or anything like that so I just didn't even think to replace them. They used to be a nice light pink but the color was so faded that you couldn't tell it was ever anything but an off white, that is unless you stared at them for awhile in good lighting.

When we had gotten to the airport, I ended up getting to leave all my boxes of stuff to load onto another plane. Eventually, it would deport it off to a few moving trucks that would have everything arrive at our new home. So luckily, all I had to carry now was a backpack. It had some of the bare necessities; headphones, charger, a few toiletries, a book, and a spare change of clothes. I also thought that I may as well pack some snacks too, so a few hershey bars and some other unhealthy candies I shouldn't be eating at this hour, were in the front pocket. Technically, I could live off of this backpack.

The plane landed about 10 minutes ago, now we were just waiting for some sort of cab. There was really nothing to do now, the internet was all out and I already finished reading my book on the plane. On top of that, it was so weird being with my family this long. Yes, we eat dinner together, occasionally, but I'm always leaving for work or trying to get out of the house as much as I can. I'm just scared of them criticizing me. I'm tired of being yelled at for doing nothing wrong. Well, I like to think I do nothing wrong to keep myself sane, but they're pretty convincing most times.

I looked to my right, taken aback by my brother. I couldn't even try to hide the face that he looked like a complete stranger to me. He had a dark green sweatshirt on and I could see strands of his hair peaking out of the hood covering his head. His once brown hair appeared much darker, same with his eyes. He never looked directly at me, but I've seen them. They just look empty. As a sister, as a human just knowing him, of course I feel guilty. I just wish I could fix everything, maybe he'd talk to me again.

He had black, what seemed like leather, pants on and a pair of some type of fancy shoe, much cleaner than mine. Him and my father always cared about that kind of stuff, not because it's something they necessarily enjoyed, but because of how it made other people feel. They always walked around with expensive clothing, shoes, watches, the whole lot, as if it made them have some sort of higher value. And it did. Hence why we don't get along as much as an ideal family would.

I just never understood superiority. Why is it that you have to show off absolutely everything? I'll never understand.

There have been a few times that my father had me all dressed up to go to fancy banquets and every time, I felt like shit. While at the top of my head, the majority of my memories were happy, I still remember feeling like I didn't deserve any of it. It made me feel incredibly entitled. I hated it. I wanted to work for my own money.

When I was young, I remember not having any sort of choice. My mother would force me into dresses and make me wear expensive jewelry, as if I was a walking display for my parents to show off. But eventually, at every party, you'd find me in the bathroom. Dress slightly unzipped, notebook in hand, and mind focused. I liked my creative reality more than the one I lived in.

Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to be born into some type of money, and I'm glad I have a roof over my head. I just don't want to turn into the snobs I know my parents as. Plus, ever since I mentioned how I felt about it, they'd just shut me out and make me seem like the crazy one. I feel dumb about it but sometimes I wonder if they ever even wanted me, or just wanted a daughter at all. I mean Kade really was their whole world now that I think about everything. He was so successful, and I know I'm nothing in comparison to him, I'll never be anywhere near to where he was.

I could hear the loud rain pattering on the streets, and the sound of cars driving through the puddles in the distance. We were stood under the parking garage, my father with his phone to his ear. His black suit and dress shoes matched with his neatly groomed beard. He was a bit further away, gradually getting further because he can't seem to stay in one place while on the phone. Despite his distance, I could tell by the way his forehead scrunched up, he was not happy. He makes that face when he looses money, looses a client, or just looks at me. Over the last few years, it's become so normal that it doesn't even worry me anymore.

Loud screeching tires pull into the parking garage, wet tire marks appeared very prominent since the concrete in here was all dry, compared to the street outside.

"About time," My father strides, fixing the cuff of his sleeve of his black suit, before leaning into the side door window that was slowly rolling down, "Baileywick."

"My apologies, Sir." The visibly older man, possibly in his sixties. responds while slightly leaning towards my father. "The weather wasn't cooperating as well as we planned."

I could barely make out what they were saying, due to my distance. I know better than to eavesdrop anyway, it's not my business. Whatever my father does, doesn't involve me.

They spoke to each other for no longer than a minute before were motioned to get in the car. Another man dressed in black opened the door as I watched my mother make her way to the car, elegantly leaning into her seat. She was dressed nice as well, a black trench coat covering her to which only a long beige skirt was revealed. Her blonde hair was braided into a neat bun and she wore black heels, matching the coat.