{brandon moorely}{d10}{wip}

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Her words rang in my head, chanting louder and louder as every second passed. Tears started to well up. I could almost hear her mocking laugh, telling me how much of a baby I am. But the sound is absent in my ears, only the loud sounds of my breathing as I struggled not to cry. I looked into our cracked mirror, layers of dust and who knows what muting my figure. Gray, lifeless eyes stared back at me, delicate and broken. Most people dismiss it as fatigue or malnourishment. Most people don't know the pain darkening my heart everyday, building up on my small shoulders. Why do you have to make it hurt so much? Why do you have to make me suffer?

"You're a little idiotic retard, Brandon. No one likes you. No one ever will. You'll just be the little girl with no friends. That's all you'll ever be. Lonely and worthless." Those were my sister's words. I didn't get mad. I never got mad at my sister, because it will get me nowhere. It will just tell her she's won. And so the only dignity I can manage is a strong, confident stare. Hopefully, she won't see the sorrow flooding my irises. Like she ever would. She can't read her friends as well as I can, let alone can she read me. Or maybe she just doesn't care. Most likely the latter. That doesn't necessarily make me feel any better. Matter of fact, it makes me feel worse. I feel small streams flow down my face, so soft and quiet. Just like always, so no one can hear me. I wait for Brianna to barge back in again, telling me how much of a crybaby I was. I curl up on my uncomfortable bed, just waiting. Waiting for Bri to finally decide I wasn't worth it anymore. But I have a slight feeling that glorious moment will never come.

I shivered as hot tears rolled down my pale skin and onto the mattress. I hope I don't seem like I overreact. I act like this because I never had anyone to make me feel better. I was all alone. Just like she said. Emptiness tingle through my veins, feeling so alone it temporarily blocked out the pain of my sister. I wish I had had comfort. Someone to tell Brit to go away and shut up. I never had enough courage to. But at night I think of quick remarks and counters I should have used. How my life would be if my mind came up with a retort in a second like hers. But never got the talent. And for that, she calls me slow, dense, and simple minded. But something else happens at night. I dream of the day that she will say she loves me. I dream of the day where she gives me a smile instead of a loathing glare. The vision is warm, too warm to actually exist. Too surreal. My sister will never give a damn about me. Never in a million years. They're just dreams, I tell myself sadly, just dreams.

My somewhat bushy eyebrows furled upwards as I let out a small sigh. Brianna was obviously my parents favorite. That's how she gets away with everything she does to me. She even says I was given a boyish name because of my appearance. Because apparently brown hair isn't as feminine as blonde, short lashes don't make me pretty, and a thin and narrow face is apparently quite horrid. Some twins. It isn't exactly my fault that I'm not as appealing as Bri. She's better fed than me, even though my parents insist they're the same servings. But she always gets the scraps, too. I never do. You can see it in my hollower cheeks, more chapped lips, and the fatigue in my gray eyes. So much different than my fuller, prettier, blue eyed sister. How envious I am of her. But at least my slight frame is quicker than her larger and taller build. So I can run away from her. Run away from the pain. Just run and hide.