Chapter one
It was dark in the room, curtains drawn and closed, nothing but a single blazed light seeping through the thin space between the navy blue cloth concealing the light of day from the windows. A body stirred among the sheets and pillows on the bed, groaning awake, with hazy awareness. A head peeped out from within the sheets, taking a glance at his surroundings. His head crashed back down onto the soft pillow, murmuring words too quiet for any person to hear. It was moments later till he could hear sounds of the house awaking, shouts and yells, the boy groaned again, willing himself out of bed. His bare feet touch the cold wooden blanks beneath him, shuddering at the touch. Shuffling the boy made his way to his wardrobe, open with shirts, tops, trousers and jeans dangling down from the wardrobes doors. It creaked as he prided it further open, looking through his hanged jumpers and shirts, the sound of the hangers painfully being pushed across the metal beam, screeched. The boy grimaces at the sound, his shoulders hunching together. Soon the boy dressed himself in plain dull like colours, placing mismatched socks to his feet. He took a sigh as he stood in front of his door, readying himself for the world outside. His hands gripped tight onto the handle, pushing down as the door drifted open. He could hear the screams of his sister at the end of the short hall, and yells of his brother.
"Open the fucking door!" His sister screamed in a voice that left the boys ears to ring.
"Then give me my keys." His brother spoke back, quieter than his sister, but no more maddening than hers. His hair a dark blonde was left on his head much like what an end of mop would look like, swaying viciously around his face, which grew more stark with each moment.
"I said, I don't have it," she gritted. "Just let me out you prick!"
"Not until you-"
"FOR FUCK SAKE MICHEAL I DON'T HAVE YOUR BLOODY KEYS!"
"Just give me my keys," he said through his teeth.
His sister only began to scream out of frustration, the boy watched his older siblings, thinking perhaps it was not a good time to use the upstairs bathroom, and instead decided to go downstairs.
His mother was a tall blonde woman, with hair that shined golden in the sunlight, falling to frame her face in loose, heavy waves. Her neck was swan-like in length and her arms dangled as if they were rope, she was skinny, almost stick-like if caught in the right angle. Her back leaned against the kitchen counter, as her brown amber eyes gazed down at a phone in her hand, as her thumb strolled down on the screen, as her other held a mug with hot steaming liquid, that would burn at a touch.
"Morning," the boy said sitting down at the kitchen table, helping himself to a piece of toast,
"Morning," she muttered faintly, her voice barely visible.
"Charlie," she said, "Charlie," she repeated, "Charlie!" She finally yelled.
"Yeah?" The boy's father shouted, "what is it?"
"I just read that coconut yogurt is apparently bad for you."
"What!" He yelled,
"I said that coconut yogurt is bad for you."
"What!"
She huffs out a breath and groaned, "never mind!" She shouted.
"Oh, alright then!" He yelled back.
The boy's mother took an exaggerated sigh, muttering, "oh but you hear that though," frowning as she carried on to read through her article.
His younger sister soon arrived as she jumped the last step on the stairs, she was second shortest among her family, the boy being the first, but held the long hollow face, that seemed to pale with every passing day, just as the rest of her family, her eyes were glimmering in the morning rays of sun, with specs of gold within its deep chestnut, but unlike her elder siblings or mother, she shared her fathers curling dark locks of brown, that more than once had a person mistaken it to be that of the shades of midnight. She dealt well with her frizzy long locks, tying it into a long braid that traveled along to the small of her back. The girl leaned over her brother reaching for a piece of bread, her black blazer nearly dipping into the open tub of butter.
"Careful!" The boy said within chews, angrily pushing his sister's arm away.
"Jesus, i just wanted some toast,"
"Yeah and ruin your uniform." He replied.
"Amy please don't ruin your uniform, your blazer is hard enough to clean on its own," their mother grumbled, her eyes still trained down to her screen.
"Good then maybe I'd get a new one." Amy said under her breath.
"If you ruin that blazer, you're wearing one of your brother's old ones." Their father spoke from behind. The boy turned to look at his father, thinking how much he mirrored Amy, his dark locks were freshly cut, coming off to be more tamed and less wild, his eyes though were different from the boys siblings, being that of a gathering storm, grey mixed with pale milky blues, but most took no notice of his cold dagger eyes, as his brows bush like in shape concealed them at the best of times. Their father held a tired face as he picked out a cigarette from a pack which laid on the table, next to the jar of raspberry jam, placing it between his teeth, and quickly lighting the thing.
"I am not wearing Michael's or Chris's blazers, besides the school has changed the uniforms since they went there." She whined,
"Still have to wear it" he said, moving to the kitchen window, lifting up the metal latch, and with a single finger pushing the window open, his body leant close as he breathed out his first puff of smoke.
"My blazer could fit you," Chris suggested looking over his sister, "I was pretty small back then."
"It's been two years, you're still small." She spat.
"I am average height for my age, it's you lot that are a weird height, with your tall legs and-"
"Fucking hell cry me a river." Amy said, taking a bite of her toast, her head falling back on her chair.
"Can someone make me a coffee?" Micheal asked as he headed down the stairs.
"Make it yourself." Amy grumbled,
"Chris," he pleaded,
Chris sighed, "Only because I've got nothing better to do and I want some myself," he spoke, getting up from his seat, heading over to the kettle.
"Did you let grace out of the bathroom?" Their father asked Micheal, his voice rasping in a breath.
"Nah, she just started to ignore me and take a shower."
Chris's father moaned as if he was in pain, "I'm gonna end up being late." He said in a high pitched voice.
"You wouldn't if you just used the shower downstairs," their mother spoke.
"But the pressure is too weak and it never stays hot, suddenly changing to cold then hot, cold then hot, it's madness."
Amy looked over at the clock hanging on the wall above the calendar, "shouldn't you be leaving soon Micheal, for work?"
Micheal grunted, "I hate being an estate agent, everything day is just getting darker than last."
"It pays well enough, and you'd be stupid to quit, not after all that bloody training." His mother spoke.
"Besides it's that or working at the cafe with mum and dad." Chris said, pouring boiled water into two mugs.
"Oh god, I'd rather die than work at that shit hole. No offense."
"None taken," both parents murmured at once.
"Besides uncle George is mental, he really shouldn't be running a business."
"Yeah, but my shitty parents left it in his name, so there's nothing to do about that." His mother muttered.
"Well," Amy swallowed down the last piece of her toast, "I'm gonna head off." She raised up from her seat, grabbing her bag that was placed by the far wall, "see you later," she said opening the front, the wind soon catching her as it sent her braid and her pleated skirt, fashioned to her knees, hiding their whiteness within the black tights, flying, twirling about her legs and back. She sighed, quickly placing her black flats on her feet, before stepping foot outside and closing the door with a slam.
Their mother took a moment to look away from her phone screen, to gaze down at the sink, pilling with unwashed dishes, cutlery and glass cups.
"So who's going to do the dishes?" She questioned, turning her gaze over to her husband and sons.
"Oh, well as a person who works, to keep this roof over our heads i think it's unfair to ask me to do such a mundane and domestic chore."
"What-" her husband breathed out a puff of smoke, "-the kid said." He spoke in a dull voice,
"I have my exams coming up so…" Chris lingered,
"Yeah at the end of the year." Micheal jabbed.
"It is never too early to start revision."
"The schools only started up again last week," Chris's brother countered.
"And the workload is already pilling up." Chris groaned, snapping his head back as his fingers traced through his light summer brown hair.
"You don't need to pass your A levels, you've got a job at the cafe." Their mother said.
Chris began to laugh maniacally, "it's funny that you think that's actually an option."
"It's that or working at the blooming green grocers." His father mumbled, tapping his cigarette to rid of the growing ember. "Next thing you know you're vegan and drinking soy milk."
"Why not grace? she hasn't got anything to do. she's here all day." Chris brought up, stirring in the instant coffee into the two mugs.
"Oh, right, i forget that she's still here." Their mother speaks.
"I pray to god she leaves soon," Micheal complains.
"She's not that bad." Chris tried to defend. "I mean sure she's a bit of a-"
"Bitch," his mother offered,
"I was going to say arsehole. But yeah. But she can be-" Chris struggled a bit, "nice."
"You know i think she is the only one out of us who actually likes uncle George." Micheal commented, as Chris brought him his coffee over, and placed his own on the table, moving away to the fridge picking out a near empty milk bottle.
"He's not that hard to get along with, he's high half the time." Chris spoke.
"Why the hell are you out of all people defending her?" Micheal bursts, "she's horrible to you."
"She's not-"
"I remember when you were a baby, she tried to drop you from the window, said she wanted to see if you could fly, a load of bullshit but i had given her the benefit of the doubt." His father said, turning away from the window.
"My god she really could be a psychopath." Micheal muttered.
"No," his mother spoke, "we had her tested. She's just a cunt."
They grew silent, as they tuned into the sound of the upstairs shower running, quietly sipping coffees, and eating toast.
Eventually Chris finished with what little he had of his breakfast, moving quickly out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, where his sister Grace finally thought it time to come out of the bathroom. Her eyes whilst piercing into Chris's, were that of a stormy rain cloud, readying for the thunder to come, they looked almost deadly to Chris, and an ache of fear grew, but disappear as quickly as it had came, her dark walnut hair, dripped onto wood beneath her feet, let loose around her ears, Chris was not yet use to short length, she had cut her hair to her chin, along with an uneven fringe, that dropped in front of her dark thin brows. She was near the tallest of the family, just a few inches shorter than her father and Micheal, and just about fitted through the tall frames of the bathroom door. She had a towel wrapped around her meatless body, looking as if it was nothing but bone, reaching down to her lower thighs, she was damp in places, and her face spotted with flushed skin on her face, she frowned looking down at her younger brother.
"Morning," she grumbled.
"Morning." He said back, they looked at each for an awkward moment, then grace spun on her heels, away from Chris, walking back into her room.
Chris shrugged, moving back to his own bedroom, striding straight towards his drawn curtains, pulling them apart. He looked out his window watching the view. Chris had always thought he lucky to have his room, as his window was faced across to the ocean beneath the cliff side, he remember fondly of his childhood, when he and his family would make there way through the back of the house and down to the side of cliff to the small beach below in the spring and summer seasons, but the years had made the cliff unstable and unsafe as pieces eroded away with each year. Still he had the sight of the sea. It was choppy that morning, the winds picking up with every moment. Chris rested his elbows on the windowsill, feeling the chilled air through the glass. Minutes passed and soon Chris saw it was time to leave, grabbing his heavy rucksack already filled with files and notebooks, no doubt to leave his back to ache and sore. He moved out of his room, nearly tripping down the steps as he climbed down stairs.
His head turn as his foot stepped off the last step, to the living room, his brother Micheal, looking frantically about, tearing seat cushions off chairs, opening every draw and cabinet he could find, looking into every pot, jar and vase about, he began to make grunting sounds, as he searched, his teeth grinding together.
Chris tied on his shoes, looking at his brother, and took a very heavy sigh "What?" Chris breathed harshly.
"I can't find my bloody keys," he speaks angrily.
"That probably because i have them," Chris mentioned casually,
"Why the fuck do you have my keys?" He turned, his eyes aflame, as his voice growled, grumbling in his throat.
"I needed to do something last night,"
"And you just thought it'd be a good idea to steal them?"
"Yeah, pretty much." He nodded.
Micheal grunted, placing one his hands out, "well?" He spoke annoyed, "my keys,"
Chris looked blankly at his brother, then turned around to the white wooden counter by the door, picking up a set of keys. "Here," he said, throwing the bundle of clanging metal to his brother. "Did you really not see it there?"
Micheal didn't answer, he strode fast, past Chris, bumping into his shoulder, and heading out the door. Chris heard as Micheal slammed his car door shut, quickly driving out the drive away and onto the road.
Chris didn't bother to inform his parents he was leaving, as he rarely did, and simply left. It was a long walk down the hill, and if Chris was athletically inclined, he would jog down, but the sun's glare was hard, and he could already feel the sweat building up under his jumper. quite a few other people were walking along the pavement, most students walking to school, many wearing the uniform that Chris had worn two years prior. As he acceded down, he heard a voice call out to him.
"hey," a cheerful voice spoke as Chris's body came to a tumble as someone placed their arm around his shoulders pulling him to their body.
"Please stop," Chris grumbled.
The voice laughed lightly, "you look like shit Chris."
"Feel it," he muttered.
"Good, it'll make the molly hit harder."
"That's not how it works,"
"Whatever you say," the boy spoke sarcastically.
Chris frowned, "Where's James?"
"The old folks home."
Chris sighed, "is he meeting us at the pier?"
"I don't know, I ain't his babysitter."
Chris groaned, "fuck, i just really need to get high right now."
The boy smiled, "same."
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