~Day Twenty Post~

 

(Note: May have a little bit of mature themes. This is a realistic fiction story.)

 

“La la la la la!” I sing gleefully. “La la la!”

“Shut up,” my older sister muttered. She’s only sixteen and she already thinks she’s the boss of me just because she’s two years older than me. “Just shut up already. You’re making my ears bleed.”

“Well, maybe you’re jealous,” I taunt her. “You probably don’t have amazing singing skills like I do!”

She rolls her eyes and heads off to the makeup and other stupid, futile beauty stuff section in the store. She usually buys long-sleeved shirts and concealer. I wonder why she gets so much. While doing that, she broke our pact to stick together during Mother’s lectures on grocery shopping trips. I will have to endure the bleeding of my own ears when Mother goes on and on about fruits and vegetables.

I zone out when she does. Instead, I plug in my headphones and put my songs on shuffle. Smiling, I jam to the catchy lyrics by dancing– alright, more like jumping– and singing– okay, more like screaming my lungs out— very loudly with my fantastic vocal abilities.

The first song that plays is Believe by Shawn Mendes. It isn’t my favorite song by him but I only kept it because the lyrics were inspirational. I don’t even watch Descendants…

After that song ends, Ac Mong–meaning “Nightmare”– by 365daBand started to play. This is my favorite Vietnamese song! I can never get tired of this song. I replayed it a few more times until I forgot to press replay and the next song came up.

If This Was A Movie by Taylor Swift. How did I know that a Taylor Swift song would come up? I’ve heard this song several times before and now I’m tired of it. I wonder why I haven’t deleted from my playlist yet.

After jamming to a few more songs, it was time to go home. Finally! Between my irksome, self-centered sister and lecturing mom, I always get bored out of my mind on shopping trips.

When we got home, I helped with the groceries while my sister took her things and went to her room. After I finished helping put away the groceries, I decided to do something my sister would never let me do. I headed to her room and pressed my ear against her bedroom door.

“Shut up, Steel!” She laughed. Steel– or Stanley is his real name– is obviously her boyfriend. I don’t know what she sees in him since he is two years older than her and he drinks. Mother doesn’t approve of him. Well, she wouldn’t if she knew. My sister knows that I know but she’s been paying me to zip it. What? I need the money to save up for college because our nuclear family has only enough money to pay for my sister’s college tuition, which I think is completely unfair.

“Sorry, Steel,” she quietly apologized. “I shouldn’t have told you to shut up.”

“That’s right, you *bleep*! If you *bleep* think that I give a *bleep* about your *bleep* troubles, then you are a *bleep* *bleep*! Can’t you just *bleep* leave me to my alcohol peacefully? Such a *bleep* of a *bleep*!” Stanley’s voice was loud enough for me to hear. The phone clicked.

Hiccup.

Hiccup.

Sniff. 

Silence.

I started to worry. I turned the knob but it was locked as usual. I slammed into the door but I didn’t even make a dent. I ran to my room to get a bobby pin. When I got back to the hall, Mother was standing there with a worried expression.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Oh, I-” I started, desperately trying to come up with a convincing lie. “I’m playing a game with my sister! It’s a spy game.”

“Oh, alright,” she replied. “Have fun.” Mom left to the kitchen.

How is she oblivious to all of this? I thought. I try to jiggle the bobby pin in the lock and turn it. After a couple tries, the door opened!

I burst in and closed the door behind me. I gasped at the sight. Her eyes are red and her face was obscured by her tears. She was sitting on the floor, in a pond of crimson liquid. My sister’s arms were covered with red, so much red. In her hand, was a knife dripping in her blood. She had been cutting.

“Oh my gosh…” Shocked, I could not find the right words to say. I walked over to her on the ground and reached for the knife.

“S-stop, d-d-don’t t-t-touch th-th-that,” she whispered through hiccuping. “I-I d-d-don’t w-want y-you t-t-to b-become in-in-infected.”

“Infected with what?” I ask quietly.

“St-St-ee,” she sobbed. “H-he r-rap–” With the rivers of tears on her face, she kept choking on her words. But, I understand them perfectly.

“I-I’m sorry.” I console.

“D-d-don’t t-tel-el M-m-moth-ther-er.”

“I promise,” I say, but sure that I will eventually break this promise. I go to her bathroom and look for bandages. Choking on incoming waterfalls, I see bandages everywhere. Crimson ones in the overflowing trash can. Clean ones on the sink, on the shelf. Brand-new bandages from the recent grocery shopping trip still in its bag.

And blades everywhere. Behind the mirror. Dull ones covered with dried blood in the trash can. Clean ones hidden in the cabinet. How long has this been going on? I thought. I grab several large bandages and gloves for my hands. I solemnly walk back to her. I put on the gloves. Silently wrapping her arms with bandages, emotions begin to pour out of me. Soon, my face is as wet as my broken sister’s.

Hugging each other, we don’t know what to do but weep.

 

~By Lisa Ha~