Chapter Text
Your sister has always been the thorn on your side, the splinter on your finger, the glass shard on your foot. With her height and her weight and her brains, she was so much more you could be.
Three years older than you, she had always been mom’s favorite and you were just an accident. You’re surprised your middle name isn’t Broken-Condom.
She’d been whisked away by a fancy college as soon as she turned sixteen. Everyone commented on her good looks and her manners and how very nice she was. Even her “little” drinking problem was treated as a minor indiscretion, glorified even, like a mole on a celebrity’s face.
Meanwhile, you’re just the short, somewhat pudgy, back talking to teachers and ill-tempered younger sister.
You hate her face and her hair which make you look oh-so-similar, you hate her ridiculous soft scarves that smell like her perfume and you hate her airy laugh and bubbly personality.
But above all, you hate that you are irrevocably in love with her.
At the moment you are somewhat hovering outside of her bedroom.
You can smell cheap liquor and there’s loud videogame noises and shouting. It would probably be for the best to just go back to bed but you made your decision. You just didn’t expect her to be drunk today.
How foolish.
You are dragging yourself back to your room when the door to hers opens and you turn around, your eyes going wide and your jaw slacking. You must look very amusing, wearing a frilly pink robe and looking exactly like a deer in headlights.
She looks over you, her pink eyes glazed over and half lidded.
“Rosey, why are you out of bed, dear?”
You are simultaneously filled with rage and passion as you take in her words. You could never tell if she was being serious or passive-aggressive with her pet names and concern. It is 3 am, you’ve been caught sneaking around and she’s drunk so you’re leaning more towards the later.
“I went for a glass of water. Dear sister.”
“Well, you should, like, go back to bed and stuff, you have school tomorrow.”
“I will.”
She walks past you, towards the kitchen, and you are left standing in the hall. You storm into your room and the only reason you didn’t slam the door is because your mother is asleep and there would be hell if you awoke her.
You throw the robe on your computer chair, leaving you in your underwear, and lay down on your bed, staring at the ceiling.
The ceiling stares back in the form of pictures of cartoon cats.
You lay there soaking in misery and embarrassment for you just tried to seduce your sister and failed horribly.
Nevertheless, you begin to hatch a new plan.
Your name is Rose Lalonde, you are 13 years old and you are in love with your own sister.
-
You are stirred from your sleep when the first rays of sunlight are entering your room. You vaguely hear screaming and things being throw around and the oddly familiar crash of fancy porcelain hitting the wall. You turn around, more asleep than awake. Between the thick blankets and your flannel pajamas it’s far too hot but you’re too tired to care.
The yelling stops abruptly. You feel yourself fading back to the realm of your dreams when the door opens, closes and someone sits beside you.
You feel fingers through your hair and hear what is perhaps a sob and it’s as if you are safer than ever before.
When you awake, you can’t remember it.
You slid out of bed as elegantly as an elephant dancing ballet and glare at yourself in the mirror. Self-loathing fit you like a glove, not that you’d ever admit it. You begrudgingly take off your pajamas and change into a sweater and a skirt. You slather on your usual pound of makeup and observe yourself in the mirror again. It’s passable.
You rip your messenger bag off the hook in the wall and leave your room. You have school soon and it’s best to get something in your stomach before you have to listen to your boorish and despondent public school teachers try to drone knowledge into your class of philistines, anarchists and hos. As you walk towards the staircase, the door to your sister’s room opens and out she comes, another dumb scarf wrapped around her neck and obviously hung over.
“I hate your stupid scarves with a fiery passion comparable only to the destruction of Pompeii.”
“Nice to see you too!” she chirps and grins like a madman on acid. Alright, to be fair, she is grinning in a perfectly normal way but it still unnerves you.
Mostly because it causes your stomach to churn violently and your heart to flutter.
Despite her usual cheeriness, there is a bitter undertone to her voice. Her eyes are red and her makeup more smudged than usual and you notice a bandage around her thumb.
You don’t ask.
Her grin fades to a quiet smile and she waves at you as she walks down the stairs, far less enthusiastic than usual.
You stand in the hallway, attempting to calm yourself long enough to stop feeling like a school girl in love.
Your name is Rose Lalonde, you are 17 years old and you are still in love with your own sister, one Roxy Lalonde.
It’s more than a little annoying.