purple just wasn't for you. the jade diaries.

I had deduced from a young age that some people shouldn't be parents.

Well, most of the parents in this District for that matter. Yet here we are. Here I am. My parents absolutely should not be parents and yet they still are. My Mom likes to remind me that we - Jasper and I, that is - are a result of her terrible problem. (The world alcoholic is banned in this house because... I don't even know why, probably because Mom's not woman enough to say it out loud.) It was supposed to be a lecture on the dangers of underage drinking but it didn't quite land the way she wanted it to.

Then Dad got mad about the words we use in front of them (them, not our kids, not the twins, not even Jade and Jasper - them, other, separate to Mom and Dad) because it's some therapy bullshit thing he has to do to take accountability for his emotions, or actions, or... fuck I can't even remember. Mom muttered about needing a drink and Dad flipped and she said it's a joke, fuck! So they got into an argument and Jasper and I didn't even have time to express how we felt because in rolled the thunderstorm, quick, take cover.

The thing is I quite like thunderstorms. Thunder and lightning. Standing on the roof, soaked through, raising my arms up high and threatening mother nature with a good time. Go on, I think, smiling. Do it.

The lightning never does, but I can taste it in the air. It reminds me of childhood.

Mom thinks I'm a lunatic and tells me to get the hell down from there Jade Addison and eventually I do. Thing about being raised in a hurricane is you don't get scared of a little storm cloud. It just rolls in, rolls out, then it's peaceful again. Just like our house. Just like them.

Jasper and I like the attic, 'coz I drilled holes in all the right places on the ceiling - hidden by lighting fixtures that amplify sound travelling upwards - so we can eavesdrop on everything they say. I've heard it all: good, bad, ugly, downright nauseous. I'm twelve, not two. I know what goes on when they slam the bedroom door shut.

Trainers scream at me and I don't even flinch. Kids say I have a monotone voice, like I'm bored all the time. Adults say I'm wise for my age or an old soul and what they really mean is traumatised, probably, being raised by the two most nut-job kids to come out of those old money legacy houses from decades ago. But this is District One, and adults are too polite to say what they really mean.

I'm not. The eye of the storm ain't so pretty when you're surrounded by chaos.

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