High School Treachery | ✓

35 | Twice

3 5
Twice

"Damn. You could cut the tension up in this bitch with a butter knife."

Noah's voice is the only sound in the room, other than the low murmurs coming from the TV everyone's eyes are on, but that no one's actually listening too.

I can feel Noah looking particularly at me, as if I'm to blame for why things are so tense. I may have made shit weird between me and my mom, but our little brother's silence is not my fault.

The person to blame is sitting right next to him, acting as if we'd all be alright if we'd just pretend to be a family.

Family. What does that word even mean anymore? It certainly isn't just determined by blood. I've learned too many times over that blood doesn't mean shit—not when your relatives don't care.

And yet, even with this new view, I can't help but feel almost content while sitting here. Sure, me and Mom aren't speaking, but that'd been a long time coming. Knox usually stays to himself anyway, so his silent presence isn't all that different. Noah's making dumb comments—nothing new. And Dad isn't here. If he'd bother to spend any actual time with us, then that'd cause a difference. But like always, he's gone, and the four of us are left sitting here.

This is what my family is, what we've always been, and what we'll always be.

I need some sort of consistency, especially with the way my mind is rattling. I've had a headache the past week trying to gather my thoughts and feelings. I've tried my hardest to sort them out, but they're too much of a big jumbled mess to deal with.

"Hand me the remote," Mom calls out.

My eyes flash to the device, noting that it's closer to me than anyone else. I sigh quietly, and refrain from rolling my eyes as I mentally prepare myself to move out of the comfortable position I'd been in.

"The remote, Lyndon," she says in a demanding tone.

I was getting it, you stupid bitch. The response is at the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back, knowing nothing good will come from saying it. I got enough shit going on, I don't need anymore drama.

Continuing to untangle myself from the blanket I'd been wrapped in, I reach for the remote and blindly toss it her way.

"Really?" she asks, scoffing after. "I said hand it, Lyndon."

My eyes remain firmly set on the TV, even though I couldn't give less of a shit about the weird fantasy show Noah put on. It's better to focus on this confusing ass plotline than pay my mother any attention.

"Don't you dare ignore me, niñita," she says. I roll my eyes once more. It's not exactly an insult, but being called a little girl is still offensive—especially with the way she spits it out. "You're being disrespectful, as per usual."

I bite into my bottom lip. Don't say shit, don't say shit, don't say shit.

"I guess I shouldn't feel offended, since I'm not the only one you're ignoring," she calls out, turning away from me now. I furrow my brows, wondering what the fuck she's talking about, but refusing to give in and speak to her. From the corner of my eye, I see her shift toward Knox and sigh. "It isn't enough to ignore your brother?"