Ugly : clifford a.u

Spencer

“Ohhh Spency!”

Wincing at the shrill shriek, I burrowed deeper into the corner of the couch where I was huddled the comforter from my bed wrapped around me so that only my eyes were visible, peering out at the surrounding living room in annoyance.

“I made you soup!” Luke informed me entering the room, carrying a bowl of black bean soap, sloshing it out onto the white carpet.

“I’m not hungry.” I grumbled, my throat burning, my head pounding and my eyes and nose leaking of their own accord.

“Spence I went and bought soup.” He muttered dejectedly, “And crackers, and orange juice.”

Wishing I had a normal brother who didn’t give a shit about me, I frowned.

“If she doesn’t want it, I’ll take it.” Calum piped up from the other end of the couch.

“Do you ever go home?” I demanded.

A questioned I regretted asking as a furious look crossed over Luke’s face. I knew why Calum spent every waking moment at our house, and spent the night whenever he got the chance. His family is weird. Not abusive weird, or super strict weird, in fact they’re quite the opposite.

His Mom is a converted Buddhist who runs a yoga studio every night from six to ten and teaches inner city kids how to paint abstractly during the day. She’d had cancer once, of the breast variety which had resulted in the removal of her breasts. However she didn’t take it as a negative. Instead she decorated her house in various canvas sized shirtless portraits of herself.

She attributed her recovery to the weird organic food her doctor had suggested and she hadn’t had a burger since. Instead she’d converted the whole house into a vegan zen zone, serving tofu scramble instead of eggs with repulsive buckwheat pancakes, and various forms of couscous.

His Dad, isn’t much better. A full time birth photographer, he takes pictures of woman’s woo-has as they push babies out, for a living. He has a ponytail, doesn’t believe in deodorant, and frequently wears skirts since he doesn’t believe in the stereotyping of genders.

I didn’t blame Calum for not wanting to hang out with his smelly, hippy parents and their weird food, strange naked portraits, and open views on things.

You see, it’s one thing to tell your kid, ‘hey, if you’re gay, it’s okay.’ Or, ‘I’m not a personal fan of the idea of shaving your head bald and tattooing your throat but it’s your life, so I’ll love you anyway.’ However Calum’s parents downright encouraged weird behavior. They’d been begging him to try weed, have sex, and pierce his eyebrow for a year and a half.

“You can have my soup.” I said lamely, to try and make up for my blunder.

“You sure?” he questioned, already taking the bowl from Luke, sloshing the hot contests onto the white couch.

“Knock yourself out.” I muttered, watching as he crushed the crackers over the soup.

“How’d you even get sick anyway?” he asked, “You never leave the house.”

“Are you kidding.” Luke laughed, “It’s probably from going to see Michael all the time.”

“I don’t see him all the time.” I snapped.

“If you’re not at his house, you’re calling him.” Luke laughed.

“He’s good company.” I spat, “And you’re one to talk. Everyone in town thinks you and Calum are star crossed lovers you hang out so much.”

“He’s my best friend.” Luke scoffed, “Of course I’m going to hang out with him.”

Rolling my eyes, I adjusted my blanket around my shoulders.