Chapter 1
Amelia
Ilook at the canvas in front of me. It’s my face, but distorted, fractured in a way my paintings rarely are. The brush moves over the surface, and I lean my head to one side, wondering where this version of me came from. She’s troubled. Broken. A total stranger.
Is this really how I see myself?
There’s a crash from downstairs, a long clattering bang that sets my heart fluttering wildly. Grabbing the painting, I stash it in the gap in my closet. It’ll likely be smudged by the time I take it out, but that’s preferable to my dad finding it.
Sprinting along the short hallway on the upper floor of our house, I run down the stairs, expecting to see my sister’s body lying on the floor.
Instead, she’s near the tiny kitchen in the corner of our living room, attempting to lower herself to her knees. Pills are scattered around her feet in a halo of white specs. She glances up, a genuine look of fear flashing through her eyes until she sees it’s me.
“Sorry,” she mutters, her delicate fingers scrambling to pick up the pills. “I slipped, and the lid was off. I’m sorry.”
I slow my pace, letting my thundering heart rate return to normal and cross the room, kneeling beside her.
I put my hand on hers to stop her frantic, fumbling movements, scooping up the pills. I’d love to throw them out now that they’ve touched the filthy floor, but I know we’ll just have to put them back in the bottle. I don’t want her to get sicker than she already is, but we can’t afford to buy more.
I collect the remaining tablets as quickly as I can before helping my sister to her feet.
Her pale green eyes are wide and worried as she glances up at me. I would give anything to erase that look. Years of living in fear in this goddamn house have made her meek as a mouse, and her eyes dart toward the hallway behind me as I grab the overturned bottle and start placing the pills back inside.
My sister’s hand floats sideways, searching for her cane. She clutches at it with a jerky, desperate movement that breaks my heart as she leans her whole weight against it. After a short pause, she shuffles back and manages to rise to her full height.
Annabelle is nineteen, but she looks much younger; her long, red hair, once luscious and falling in cascading waves down her back, is now thin, straggly, and limp.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, biting her lip and pulling herself onto the shitty barstool my dad stole from work. “I wasn’t concentrating.”
“Seriously, Annie, you’ve really screwed up this time,” I say lightly. “That’s gotta be, what, ten pills that fell on the floor? I’m taking it out of your paycheck.”
Annabelle rolls her eyes, giving me a lopsided smile.
“I mean it. Bread and water for the rest of the day,” I say with mock fury.
Slowly, the spark returns to her eyes, and she leans her cane against her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
“If you don’t make me breakfast, thenyoudon’t get breakfast either. And you can’t survive without food for the whole morning. I know you too well.”
As if on cue, my stomach rumbles, and she laughs. I move to place the bottle back on the counter, attempting to find a spot that isn’t covered in crumbs or puddles of liquor. In the end, I settle for the surface of a magazine.
Jesus Christ, this place is a dump.
I hide my displeasure from Annabelle, like I always do. The mess and squalor that our parents have forced us to live in all our lives doesn’t bother her as much as it does me. The living room is strewn with beer bottles from Mom getting in late. There are bags of chips on the side table, and cigarette butts littering the floor.
My stomach flips as I wonder whether they were all fully stubbed out before they hit the carpet. With the way my dad has been carrying on lately, the floor is probably ninety percent alcohol at this point. One spark, and Annabelle and I would be burned to death in our sleep.
“I’ll help clean up,” Annabelle says, about to hop off her chair. I grab her arm quickly.
“Don’t even think about it. You need to eat, hydrate, and then take your pills. You look exhausted. I can manage it.”
“You’realwaysmanaging it, Mia. I can’t just keep sitting here on my ass all day. I’m sure I can do a bit of light cleaning.”
But I can see how pale her skin is in the morning light. Her lips are dry and chapped, the bags beneath her eyes deep and dark these days.
“When’s your doctor’s appointment?” I ask, even though I already know.
“Three o’clock. But you shouldn’t be taking me today, don’t you have to leave before then?”
