Chances That You're Burning Through

Original | Chapter Twelve

"What does genetics have to do with anything?"

"Mom went through the same stuff," she explains, examining her lime green nails.

"So?"

"It's in your genes."

"Huh? Did you hit your head or something?"

"No-," she stops, her eyes widening slightly. "I-I mean," she stammers, opening the bathroom door. "Mom!"

She runs. I hastily flush the toilet, rinse my mouth out, and pop a stick of chewing gum past my lips before sprinting after her.

"Mom!"

I find everybody in the kitchen wearing expressions of confusion and even worry.

"Rebecca, shut up!" I demand, approaching her as she shakes her head.

"Anabelle-," I wrap my arms around her neck from behind, clamping one hand against her mouth, the other held at the base of her neck.

"Brianna, go play in your room, okay?" Demi-her tone fakely sweet-directs.

The little girl nods, cleaning her mess of doodle-filled computer paper, bright colored markers, and glitter glue pens from the table, before scurrying towards the stairs.

"Daddy," she calls out over her shoulder from the base of the staircase.

"Si, princesa?"

There's a tiny pause as Bri, I'm assuming, tries to decipher the Spanish.

"Can we play princesa later?"

She sounds more like a white rich girl trying to speak a foreign language than Demi does, but, then again, Bri is only seven; Demi's just a lost cause.

"Ask your mom."

"But I want you to play," she persists in a whiny tone.

"Anabelle will play with you later," he shoots me a pleading expression, causing me to mentally chuckle.

"Your dad's right, Bri," I reluctantly agree. "I'll play princess with you."

"Okay," she happily chirps.

"Anabelle, let go of her," Demi commands once Bri has retreated to her room, and I hesitantly comply. "Now, can one of you please explain to me what the hell is going on? You two are acting like you're going to kill each other."

"So, in other words, we're acting like normal sisters, right?" I arch an eyebrow, and she glares at me.

"Explain."

Rebecca and I glance at each other. I tear my eyes away from hers, directing my gaze to the floor.

"Rebecca found me, um," I bite down on my lower lip. "I can't do this," Shaking my head, I turn for the stairs, but a hand grips my wrists and halts me.

I trail my eyes past the hand that holds me to find Rebecca's face. Her eyes are sad.

"She found me throwing up," I blurt out. "There. Happy?" I yank my arm away from her but make no further effort to try to escape.

"Blood," Bec adds. "I found you throwing up blood."

"Anabelle," Demi interjects, motioning for me to follow her, which I meekly do.

She leads us to the couch in the living room, me sitting across from her.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Which part?" I whisper, ashamed.

"All of it."

I nervously lick my lips.