I Know it's Hurting You, But it's Killing Me

Okay guys, so this is actually the third time I’ve posted this story. But this time I’ve changed everything and approached it differently. 

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I stepped off the school bus and back into the harsh winter weather. It had been snowing during school hours, and it now blanketed the floor with about six inches.

Wrapping my scarf around my neck, I began the half mile trek from the bus stop to my house.

My two younger sisters hurried ahead of me as I sauntered casually behind. I never did like going home.

 I kept telling myself that I only had two more years before I could move away from my family, and start my own life. I never really did get on with any of them.

My parents were only about fifteen when I was born and it surprised the whole family when they actually stayed together, had more kids and got married. Because they had three daughters by the time they were eighteen, they never really did have a life.

They had to take on a lot of responsibility at such a young age – and they seemed to punish us for it.

Well, not necessarily my two sisters, but me. Definitely.

My sisters were both pretty close, although they did argue with each other occasionally whereas with me, it was one big constant argument.

It depressed my parents a lot, and if my mum wasn’t in one of her moods she would try and stick up for me.

My parents didn’t really love each other either. Multiple times I had overheard one of them talking to someone else about how my sisters and I were the only reason why they were still together.

I knew it was merely a matter of time.

“Charlotte?” my youngest sister, Jenna shouted back aggressively as the snowfall began to grow heavier. “Are you going to hurry up? The slower you go, the colder we get.”

“Just go on ahead of me,” I mumbled in response, not really in the mood to take their abuse.

“You have the house key. We have to wait for you” she groaned.

In reply, I rummaged around in my blazer pocket until I located my key. I didn’t really want to give it to her, but I threw it forward anyway.

 It landed about a foot away from her, and sunk deep into the snow. Pouting moodily, she moaned as she put her hand deep into the snow to grab the key.

I had to stifle a laugh as she did so.

I continued to walk past them, and crossed over to the other side of the road, returning once more to my thoughts.

To anyone who ever saw us as a family together, I would appear different in a heart-beat. In a family of Blonds, I had brown hair. Their eyes were all blue, but not mine.

I had hazel eyes. When I was younger, people would always ask about me, but my parents always said that it was probably just an allele from generations ago, same with my hair colour.

 Probably the most definitive feature was that I had dimples.

Just after my mum got pregnant again – my dad wanted us to take a DNA test. We never did get one done though, and I still wasn’t sure if he fully believed I was his.

Of course, I was never meant to know any of this. I overheard a lot of my parents’ conversations without them even realising.

Being lost in my thoughts for so long, I soon realised that we were nearly home. I walked into the estate and turned the final corner. As I did, I saw that my sisters were already at the house, but they were yet to go inside.

They were standing by the door, inspecting the unfamiliar car that had pulled up alongside my dad’s car. I hadn’t seen it before, and it definitely wasn’t a family member’s car.

As they saw me coming, they entered the house, closing the door behind them. My first guess was that they had probably locked it.

Deciding not to quicken my pace in the slightest, I continued to meander down the street at a leisurely pace.

 As I walked past the front window, and looked forward into the house, I saw that there was another man sitting on the couch. I didn’t recognise him.

Subconsciously, I sped up and walked forward towards the door. I tried not to push down on the handle too hard, in case it was locked and I looked stupid. Thankfully, it wasn’t.