Teenage Dilemmas [UNDERGOING MAJOR EDITING]

Chapter One || The Blonde Twins

Bridgit

My name is Bridgit. I am fifteen years old and everyone gseems to hate me.

I mean, I don't mind it, honestly and with my almost always wrinkled tshirts, blue streaks in my ash blonde hair and combat boots whose soles were paper thin, I wouldn't blame anyone.

I seem to me invisible and I like it like that. I don't get bullied, have never except for when i was in primary school. His name was Jack Scott and no I never liked him. Jack Scott was the type of person that would talk back and wipe boogers on your homework. He wasn't really boyfriend material.

After my Mum died I moved out of school and travelled with my Dad. We went to the places kids my age vaguely know about, Florence, Paris, Berlin and Barcelona were only a few that I'd visited.

I guess my dad was cool, even dressing in v-neck sweaters and vibrant polo shirts, we were always picked out as 'the tourists'. Even after every art gallery with uptight and constantly irritated gallery guides we went to, we'd get ice-cream and sit on a bench on the side of the road. Dad, Max and I would talk about anything just never about mum. That was that was four and a half years ago, unfortunatley I can't let go of the past but my father and brother say differently. I persuaded my dad to let me get blue tips and he let me, thinking maybe it was a greif thing. It seems my dad has moved on, he has a girlfriend now, Victoria.

He always told me that no one would replace mum. He lied. He also always told me that I was going to be happy. He lied. On top of that, he said that in the end, everything was going to be okay. He lied.

And of course, Victoria had a daughter. Autumn, was her name. She seemed to be that person that was your stereotypical dumb girl who was the Class President and had everyone curled around like prize on her little finger but I can bet you that she is so much more. When Dad showed me the photo on his phone, her hair stood out of the most, glossy and the colour of caramel which framed her heart face and eyebrows like a supermodel's. She seemed pretty much perfectly photogenic except for the fact her nose was a little too long for her face and even when in a state of pure rage, I promised myself not to tell her that. I'm nice like that.

My dad dropped the bomb two years after meeting Victoria that we were moving in with her.

Do you know the feeling when you go on a fair ride with a name not unlike 'The Big Drop' and your guts dislodge from their place and hurtle themselves into your throat? Comine that with the stinging in your throat when you're about to cry and the shake in your hands when it is -10 outside and now you know what is feels like to move in with a stranger. I remember that exact moment a moment in which I screamed.

"WHAT!" I remember screaming at Dad, smug with his lemon yellow polo, his tanned skin absorbing the Venitian sunlight "YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"

I also remember my Dad simply saying: "We'll I just did."

It was utterly infuriating.

So that is the reason why I'm carrying a tattered brown suitcase full of all my belongings walking along the footpath to 381 Summit Street in the cold while I could be lying down in the sun in Ibiza.

I guess you can't have everything.

Dad is already at the house and Max is walking beside me holding his blue suitcase by the extendable handle filled with the few belongings that he owns. A creepy feeling of the feeling as if someone is watching me so I turn back and see a red brick building, not unlike the ones that align the street. I see the curtains in the top window shut quickly, the yellow light flicking on even if it was the middle of the day. I feel my eyebrows knit together and my mouth opens to say something but I close it biting my lip.