Chances That You're Burning Through

Original | Chapter Four

It was my first day at my second elementary school. I was still confused about what had happened to the only family I had ever known. My social worker tried to explain to me that they had passed away in a car accident and were in a better place now, but my six year old self just couldn't comprehend what she was saying. Anyways, when the large yellow bus rolled to a stop in front of my house, I was a little bit intimidated. I stumbled up the stairs, and the bus driver smiled at me. It was the first non-sympathetic smile I had received from anybody since my parents died. She had grey hair and thin rimmed glasses, and she smelt of perfume and peppermint.

"Are you new?" She asked me.

I nodded.

"Well, take a seat."

Rows upon rows of grey seats greeted me. All were empty. I was the first stop. I claimed a seat right behind the bus driver. I felt safe there, something I didn't feel with my first new family.

"Anabelle. wake up!" I hear Bri yell, yanking me from my flashbacks that haunt my dreams.

"What time is it?" I mumble, a yawn escaping my lips. 

She shrugs and charges out of the room. I throw back the duvet and follow after her, not caring that my hair is probably a wreck. I manage to catch her at the bottom of the steps. Rebecca is holding her index finger to her lips, signaling for us to be quiet. She then signals for us to follow her. She leads us to the living room where Demi and Wilmer are sleeping on the couch. It's cute how his arms are wrapped protectively around her.

Rebecca then leads us to the kitchen.

"Why don't we make them breakfast?" She asks.

"That's a good idea. I know a couple of recipes."

"You know how to cook?" 

"Yeah, it's no big deal," I shrug.

I don't tell her that fending for myself and starving were my only two options growing up before my eating disorder ruled my life.

"Does anybody have any allergies?" I wonder.

"Not that I know of," Rebecca responds with a shake of her head.

"Do ya'll want to help me?"

Both younger girls nod their heads eagerly. I don't know why, but I suddenly feel as if both Rebecca and Brianna are my own younger sisters. I feel as if I should protect them and love them as if we were actually related. Although I know we aren't, I'll treat them as if we are.

"Alright, I need grape tomatoes, red wine vinegar, extra virgin olive oil, salt, pepper, eggs, parsley, and greens."

Both girls scatter in search of the ingredients. Moments later, I have all of the materials and ingredients that I need. 

Thirty minutes later, we have two omelettes and two fruit smoothies on a tray making way to a still sleeping Wilmer and Demi.

"How are we supposed to wake them?" I whisper.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Bri screams.

To no surprise, both bolt upright as if somebody hollered fire.

"Good morning," Rebecca chirps once they seem to have awoken.

"What's going on?" Demi groggily questions, eyeing us three suspiciously.

"Anabelle fixed breakfast," Bri replies.

I roll my eyes.

"You two helped," I argue.

"All we did was gather ingredients," Rebecca protests.