Life Through a Lense

Chapter Twenty-Two

"What the fuck Ivy?" I yelled. 

Upon deciding to fill in the awkward tension with Tristan threatening to make the plane explode, I decided to do one of my very rare checks on my Facebook only to discover that Ivy had uploaded more picture than just the ones for the ad. There were pictures of our mom during her last few days in the hospital on there. Pictures of the funeral. Pictures of her empty room the day she died. How could she upload those too? It was one thing to break into my Facebook account for the photo contest, but this? This was just blatantly crossing the line. 

"What?" She asked, taking out her earbuds. 

"Why the hell did you post these?" I demanded. 

"It was an accident," she shrugged.

"You know how to hack into my Facebook, you don't accidentally post all of these pictures," I accused. "And if you did, you would have realized and took them down." 

Sighing heavily, she answered. "They're good pictures." 

"They're private," I snapped. 

"It's my story too," she defended. 

"Then share it on your own Facebook in your own words. You don't take my pictures." 

"Mom deserved better than to just stay locked up in your camera collecting dust," she muttered. 

"Mom was a private person," I reminded her. "She wouldn't want pictures of her like plastered all over social media for what? Cheap likes and shares?" 

"Mom's dead," she said. "It doesn't matter what she would want." 

I inhaled sharply. "I can't believe you would do this to me after everything I've done=

"I knew it!" She exclaimed. "You resent me for having to give up your life and move back to take care of me." 

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, my god. For the last time that's not even remotely what I meant." 

"It certainly sounded like what you meant," she persisted. 

Clenching my jaw, I snapped up and stormed toward the back of the plane where the bedroom was. Either I left or I would slap my sister. And since slapping minors was conventionally frowned upon, I decided that getting her out of sight was the better option. On the way back, Tristan grabbed my arm. 

"Dana--

"No, not now," I snapped, snatching my arm back. 

Storming your way out of a room is not as effective when you have trouble opening the door. When I couldn't figure out the latch, Tristan gently pushed me out the way, easily lifting the latch the right way and turning the knob. Refusing to make eye contact out of humiliation, I pushed past him and slammed the door behind me. 

***

A lot of people go by the phrase 'never go to sleep angry', but I'm quite the opposite. For me, I can't start getting over something until I get a good couple hours of sleep in. Anger makes me so exhausted that as soon as my head hits the pillow I pass out, but I'm also a pretty light sleeper. 

"What are you doing?" I murmured groggily when I heard the door open.

Tristan froze like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but he had a blanket in his hand. 

"It can get cold in here," he said. 

The twin-size bed had the bottom sheet but no covers for some reason. Even though I hadn't noticed how cold it was before, I suddenly got the chills when he mentioned it. I sat up and took the blanket from him.