In the Woods Somewhere

Chapter 7

I stayed with my family for three weeks, no more. It was nice to see them, don't get me wrong, but we disagreed on too many things. They were highly conservative people who enjoyed money far more than things that money could buy. Since it was so easy for them to attain their money, they assumed it was just as easy for everyone else.

I had long ago stopped trying to prove them wrong, trying to prove how privileged we were as filthy rich white people with an impeccable reputation. My parents liked to believe that they earned their money, instead of it just being up to pure luck.

A little more about my parents. Their names were Daniel and Jeanette Willoughby. They each came from superfluous families of their own, their backgrounds well matched in every way. My mother was from new money, her father owned his own line of banks across the US. My father was old money, dating back to the Industrial Revolution when rich capitalists took advantage of factory workers for their own personal gain.

Both of them wore their family history on their shirtsleeves, as if it were something to be proud of. They met and married in a flurry of hot lust, their relationship lacked depth which was why it deteriorated so early.

My father was a ginger-haired man, towering over his golfing buddies at 6'3. He enjoyed drinking a tad too much, and burning the bridges his family built generation ago.

My mother was a beautiful pseudo-blonde woman with a revolving door of lovers, and a penchant for romance novels.

The two of them made for a disastrous couple, and yet, they were still married after a year, which was when my mother got pregnant with me. They planned to name me Caramia, which meant My Love in Italian. Little did they know, I was twins. They named me Love, and my sister, Mine.

I suppose that made Mia their little miracle baby. The surprise child. She was more their's than I was their love.

The two of us were fraternal twins, which explained our varying appearances. I was almost 5'8, skinny as a bean pole, and pasty as a lump unbaked dough, while Mia was what my mother called "petite" with gentle curves and rosy skin.

My hair was a furious orange, while Mia had lovely auburn locks that slowly faded to a rich red-brown as she grew older.

These were superficial things I was jealous of when I was younger. But now, I looked in the mirror and felt pleased. I looked at my sister without envy, because neither of us could help who we were. Mia may be the better version of me, but that didn't make me any less who I was.

I did gain weight in college, which gave me some illusion of curves on my body. I looked healthier, less pale. I wasn't sure if I was growing into myself, or if I simply started to love myself despite my flaws.

Unfortunately, that did not mean my family loved me the same way.

The minute I walked through the door that first day, my mother frowned at me, "What is going on here?" she then gestured to the entirety of me.

My dad looked at me, and laughed, "You look like a homeless person, Care-Bear."

I looked down at my clothes. It was just sweatpants and a t-shirt, but then again, they were used to me dressing in modest designer skirts, with crisp button up shirts. My hair hadn't been brushed since this morning either, so I probably did look like a homeless person.

"Give her a break, she's been driving all day," Mia said.

My parents ignored her, and started hounding me with questions.

"Have you been biting your nails again, they're barely nubs!"

I had, and they were.

"Those shoes look like they've seen better days, Care-Bear, you should probably get another pair of sneakers while your here. Do you still like pink?"