Half Hearted ━ JJ MAYBANK

TWELVE, "HALF OF MY HEART"

She can do this. 

She's Lani Liu; she has an image to keep up after all. 

With a huff, she grabs a white tennis skirt and a light blue pullover and throws them on – though comfy and cute, it's just enough to cover up the healing bruise on her wrist and the scabbed-over marks on her thigh. That's when muscle memory kicks in – this is what she would do every morning before school. And within seemingly minutes, the bleached front sections of her hair are braided and tied off with little blue hair ties, eyeliner and glitter are swept across her eyelids, and blush is dusted along her cheeks. 

How perfectly Cher Horowitz of her. 

But really...This is her happiness. Clothes. Makeup. Matching different pieces together. Creating confidence. Presenting individuality. Breaking the bounds of idealism. 

That's what she wants to do, at least. For now, it's just her — her own clothes, her own makeup, and her own hair. She's her own model. Someday, she wants to do it for others. Create confidence. Present individuality. Be the ideal. 

She can feel the tug of her old self as old Lani begs for her to stay on the line – to do what she's told and mind her damn business. She's not supposed to study fashion, the activity that tugs at her heart desperately; she's supposed to study law. Just like her family has for generations.

But that's not the new Lani. She doesn't want to do what she's told, she doesn't want to be a lawyer, and she doesn't want to stand by and keep her mouth shut like she did before. 

She knows too much now. 

Taking a deep breath, she emerges from her room and quietly descends the stairs. Hoping her mother is at the office as usual, and maybe her brother, too, she proceeds with little caution. 

Luck seldom seems to be on her side these days, though. As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, her brother's eyes lock onto hers. Her dad sips his coffee behind the local newspaper, oblivious to her presence as she moves towards the kitchen. 

"Good morning, Lulu," Landon says. 

"Don't call me that," she says, deciding to take a seat beside her dad at the counter. She might as well put on a good front while she's here, right? She'll manage as long as her mother isn't present. It doesn't seem like she is; otherwise, she would've seen her in her office at the base of the stairs, but the door was wide open and the room was empty aside from strewn paperwork along the desk.

Her dad raises a single brow while watching her get comfortable on the stool – the way she tugs her sleeves down over her hands and crosses her legs beneath her. In truth, she's far from comfortable. 

"Missed you at dinner last night," her brother says then, and it's like he's baiting her – like he knows where she went after lunch, how she jumped out of her second-story window, scraped her legs in the bushes below, and hitched a ride on the back of a Pogue's motorcycle in a reckless attempt to break someone out of jail. Old Lani snickers in the back of her head at the absurdity of it alone.

"I didn't feel good," she lies. She's unsure if anyone checked on her at all yesterday when she didn't emerge from her room after lunch. Did anyone even try to tell her dinner was ready? Did anyone care about her at all?

"Well, do you feel better now?" he inquires. 

"Landon, leave your sister alone," her dad interjects with a sigh, folding the newspaper and placing it on the counter. He's always been a man of few words. 

He and Lani used to get along quite well. He was her best friend once upon a time. They'd watch SyFy movies together and go for ice cream and go shopping and — it's just not like that anymore. There's something that's different, but she doesn't know what changed.