Somebody Else ✔

Home is where you fight.

TW- eating disorder. Pls don't read this if you are triggered by mentions of eating disorders. You'll be okay. You'll get through it.

Give the Butterfly Foundation a call, their number is — 1800 33 4673

**

Izzy.

Edited.

Part One.

It was a bad day to begin with.

Dad had taken a few days out of his long service leave to stay at home with mum, and he stomped around the house muttering to himself how it was going to take half a year to make it back. Mum was on a wait list for the Devon Clinic, our private health care not enough to invent spare beds.

Everything was fucked, school deadlines looming, so Sam threw a party. Except Sam's dad was having a bad night or something, so at the last minute, Vinnie stepped up to hold it.

I had walked out of my room to tell mum and dad I was going out, and found them laughing. Sure, they'd been laughing only cause they were daring each other to file for divorce first, but still. It was nice to see Mum and Dad laughing together. Mum was sitting in the arm chair in the corner of the lounge room and Dad was kneeling in front of her, his hands resting on her thighs. Mum leaned forward and rested her forehead against his, giggling.

Mum and Dad's relationship wasn't bad. No, no it wasn't bad. Not all the time.

Dad was wearing a compression bandage over his elbow, his hand absentmindedly kneading his shoulder. He wouldn't have to work so hard, if it weren't for Yorkie. Mums older sisters had sent all their kids to York, and it was a family tradition — no matter if those sisters were not the wives of refinery workers.

"I'm going out soon." I told them, my attention on the 5 o'clock news.

"That's a funny way of asking permission." Dad tucked Mums hair behind her ears and smiled at her.

"Can I please go out soon?"

"Who, what, where, when?" Dad stood up, holding Mum's hand.

"With Corey and Sam, just to this little party, in like twenty minutes."

"Will there be boys at this little party?"

"Not many. I'll also probably be sleeping over, though, as well."

"Will you now?"

"Oh my god, I mean, can I please sleep over?"

"That's what fourteen years at a Catholic private school gets you, no manners." Dad joked, jabbing me in the ribs.

I went to run back to my room, but mum's soft hands grabbed mine. She said, "I've got to show you something." Mum passed me her phone, open to a text conversation between her and my Nanny. I tried to refuse it, but Mum thrust it into my hand.

Mum to you, 4:32; Well Izzy is a woman now. Eddie is only a kid.

You to Mum, 4:33; So, Izzy's a seventeen year old woman and Eddie is a twenty-two year old kid?