ISABELLA

CHAPTER SIX - "STRANGER"

OCTOBER 23RD, TUESDAY

"BEEP!"

The loud and sudden noise made me jump from my seat, letting out an involuntary, high-pitched scream as the startling noise stopped, and was replaced by entertained and amused chuckles from a familiar voice.

I felt blood rush to my cheeks in embarrassment as I glared at the figure standing in front of me, an all-knowing smile plastered on her lips. A bright, red air-horn held in her hand, and her other in the pocket of her loose-fitting hoodie.

"Why, hello to you too," Bethany greeted teasingly, placing the metallic can down on the desk. I stared at my sister with a blank expression before pinching the bridge of my nose, sighing in annoyance.

She shrugged. "Needed to get your attention somehow."

Moments later, she practically threw herself onto the soft surface of my bed, the previously neat covering of green blanket now wrinkled and displaced. I stared at her, confused.

Suddenly, she asked, "So, what happened on Friday?" 

Fuck.

Her question caused the steady metronome of my heart to skip an anxious beat, resulting in me spinning my office chair to face away from her.

In the most obvious tone I could muster, I replied in a mockingly and confused way, "I went to a party with one of my friends?"

Bethany looked at me, raising one of her brows as she twiddled and played with the green fabric between her fingers.  "You have friends?"

Fucking asshole.

I let out a gasp, dramatically holding a hand to my chest and watched as Bethany laughed and chuckled at my expression, running his fingers through her deep, rich, chestnut hair.

I brushed my pale, brown ones to the side of my face, suddenly more aware of the brown strands than ever.

A dull, boring, monotone mop of hair, cut short and pointing in different directions after the endless amount of times my fingers had run through them.

Uninteresting, simple, and dull, much like the girl who was the holder.

The same shade of brown as the hair that belonged to the man, who left as soon as he discovered responsibilities were mandatory for his actions.

Bethany sighed, picking up the photo frame from the nightstand beside my bed. She glanced at the image momentarily before hastily resting it on the wooden surface again, standing up from the bed and searching for something else to toy with.

"I'm just going to say this out straight, belle, you look like shit, and you haven't looked this shit since Mister Bee died."

Ah, good old Mister Bee - the inappropriately named goldfish, named by a six-year-old toddler. Gone, but never forgotten.

Throwing away the thoughts of my deceased pet in the back of my head, I opened my mouth to rebuttal my sister's statement with a response but was interrupted by him before I could get a word out.

"No, shhhhh, hush." She stood in front of the desk, next to me. She put his index finger up to my lips as a sign of silence before leaning back and displaying a triumph smile, her arms crossed as she sat on the table. "Now, tell your caring and amazing sister what's wrong."

I blinked, hesitant as to if I should tell him to get off my desk, my room, or just my life in general.

I opened my lips to tell him something like, "You can't help." but shut my mouth as the thoughts ran through my head.

The faces of the boys she'd toy with flashed through my mind, her rejecting them the day afterwards told to me through different gossips along the corridor, and her fluently getting out of emotional responsibilities told to me through heartbroken sobs from the girls' bathroom.

"She didn't even want him! And he just-" The voice from the other stall would cry out. "-He left me for her, and she didn't even want him!"

I wondered to myself how long she can keep up the facade before someone punctured a hole in her web of lies, desperately trying to convince others of someone that she is not.

Hm.

Maybe she can help, after all.

"I think a boy likes me," I murmured quietly, looking down at my feet, fidgeting with my fingers as I swallowed the lump at the back of my throat. Bethany raised one of her brows, picking up a novel that had been resting on my table.

"Is this the part where you tell me you're all of the sudden straight?" She asked.

I blinked, taken aback by her question.

"What? No!"

She flipped through the pages mindlessly, her eyes barely scanning the words as she twiddled and played with the bookmark that had once been resting in between the first few pages of the book. "Okay, then what's the problem? Just tell the guy that you're not interested because you don't even like guys."

I shook my head and crossed my arms, leaning back into the seat of my chair in distress. "Not everyone can be an emotionless playgirl like you who automatically rejects every one of the opposite sex, Bethany." She shrugged in response, brushing off the topic casually as the sounds of paper being overturned sounded in my ears.

"For starters, I don't even know if he likes me, maybe I'm the one who's just overreacting and being a narcissistic bitch." I sighed, watching as she placed down the novel and began to toss a box of paper tissues around.

"What makes you think he likes you, then?" Bethany questioned, her gaze never drifting from the box as she threw it from hand to hand, tossing it up before catching it by the palm of her hand.

"Well, I mean, I don't know?" I questioned myself, my tone unsure and uncertain as I bounced my right leg. I ran my fingers through my hair again, slightly tugging on the strands as I gestured with my other hand.

"I mean, I didn't think about it beforehand, but I kind of just thought about how he tells me stuff that he really shouldn't be telling people that he's only known for two weeks and a bit."  I took a deep breath in, exhaling the breath of air sharply. "And then I think about how he also hugs and hold my hand, and I just never say anything so it's not awkward."

"And I also started thinking about how he stutters and blushes around me, and I'm, I don't know, conflicted? Does he like me? Am I overreacting? Does he not? It doesn't make sense if he does, because I told him that I like Ro-"

Bethany placed the cardboard box back on the shelf above the desk, her eyes glimmering with uncertainty and confusion as she stared at me, her brows furrowed together.

"Hold on, you told him?"

I looked down at the floor, biting my bottom lip and fidgeting with my fingers. I could feel my cheeks flushing and my skin turning hot as my mind drifted back to after school, crying to each other. "Uh, kind of?"

I mean, playing the pronoun game was kind of just an immediate telltale sign.

"And he's still doing all that blushing and stuttering stuff around you?"

I peered up at her, waiting to see her reaction. "Yeah."

"Oh, that poor, poor boy." She shook his head slowly, her hands reaching for the wooden pencil holder and swiftly picking out one of the pencils, spinning it between her fingers. Sighing, she said, "I mean, at this point, you've done all you can, so I think you should just leave it out to die."

"Leave it out to die?"

She twiddled the pencil, her eyes never leaving the bright yellow of the object as it spun between her fingers. Her index, middle and then her ring finger.

She manipulated the direction of the pencil fluently like it was putty in her hands, and without a moment's hesitation, she tossed the pencil back into the pencil holder and searched for a new one to toy with.

Was it because of the colour? The way it spun? Or did she just get sick of it?

I wouldn't know.

"Just wait until he confesses and reject him, or just wait until his little crush dies out and just continue with your life as if nothing happened," Bethany said, pulling out a new, blue ball-point pen from the holder, doing the exact same motions with the new object in her hand.

"That's..." I hesitated, struggling to find a simplistic way to describe it without rambling before finally settling down with a single word, looking at him directly in her eyes."Cruel."

She did nothing but stare back at me, a casual smile on her lips.  "That's the point."

She turned away once more, continuing to fidget with the pen as she stated, "When you're rejecting him, don't give him any hope. If you do, he'll still expect something from you, and that's when it starts to get annoying."

Annoying?

I blinked, surprised at her harsh choice of words. My mind immediately flashed to a pair of deep, brown eyes and flowing, silky black hair, the taste of sweet raspberry slushy reappearing on my tongue.

Was I annoying?

I quickly pushed the thoughts of the autumn night to the back of my head, distracting myself from the overspilling butterflies in my stomach and the warmth in my cheeks with a question directed towards him.

"Okay, but what about-"

"No," Bethany interrupted before my sentence had even been formed. "Your main goal here is to get him off your back, don't hold back when you're saying no."

"But-"

"No buts," She interrupted, staring straight into my eyes and causing me to freeze in my spot, startled. "You break him before he breaks you, you understand? Even if that means you have to tell him that he's a miserable, pathetic human being for ever even considering that possibility that you'd like him back."

She turned away and shrugged, twiddling the pen between her fingers as if never had ever even happened.

"That's how I do it, anyway."

Silence.

My eyes were plastered to the floor, them having a mind of their own and refusing to look at at the almost unrecognisable girl in front of me, my brows furrowed, shocked at her bitter, cold words.

What?

But what was worse was the way that she delivered the words - in such a casual and simplistic way that suggested that she had done it a million times over.

Were we even talking about the same thing?

I raised my head and glanced at the person in front of me, still twirling the blue pen between her fingers.

I didn't know who this person was, but he sure as hell wasn't my sister.

The insults and assaults had sculpted her into a new person, using her looks to her advantage, refusing to let what happened in our previous school reoccur, and burying the person that she once was, six feet underground.

Was she trying to prove something? If yes, what was she trying to prove? That she was worthy of being loved? 

I didn't understand.

"Dinner!"

The voice of mom snapped me out of my train of thoughts, pulling me back to reality. Bethany glanced at the door, and I nodded at her for her to go down.

She sighed, not leaving the room as she glanced behind her shoulder one more time. I gestured for her to leave, ushering her to go downstairs.

"Coming!" She called out, grasping the door handle and pushing down.

I watched her figure, and a horrible feeling of dread came down on me. The feeling that if she left the room, out of the safety and comforts of this confined space, the Bethany that I once knew would disappear, left with nothing but her fake persona and facade.

My happy, smiling sister.

And I recognised my feelings as childish and absurd, but I refused to let them go.

Or rather, I couldn't.

"Don't leave."

She turned to me, a perplexed expression displayed on his features. A confused smile was on her lips as she looked at me, her hand still firmly grasping the door handle. "What?"

I blinked, slightly surprised at the fact that I had said the words out loud before mustering up a fake smile, ushering her to go downstairs and gesturing with my hands for her to leave my room.

"Nothing, just murmuring to myself." I bit down on my bottom lip, my hand still waving him to exit. "Just leave already, my oh so caring and amazing sister."

Please don't.

She chuckled. "That I will, my lovely demon spawn of a sister."

As I heard the door open and shut, I let myself fall onto my bed, my back hitting the soft surface and bouncing slightly.

I shut my eyes, relishing in the momentary silence.

Since when did we become like this?

I opened my eyes again, my gaze drifting to the photo frame that had been hastily placed on the wooden surface of the nightstand. 

In the frame, a picture of a youthful girl, with the pale brown hair that belonged to the man that couldn't handle responsibilities, and another young girl, with a toothy and bright grin on her face.

I imagined what I'd say to that girl.

That happy, smiling girl.

Hey.

I miss you.

Sobbing came from inside the bathroom, loud and aching. The door was locked as the heart-wrecking cries continued to be emitted from behind the wooden door, through the door itself and echo through the small hallway. 

"H-he just left!" She cried, body shaking. Tears gushed out of her eyes as I sat directly opposite to her in the small bathroom, my knees pulled up to my chest. My eyes never left the trembling girl in front of me.

"He said he loved me, and he-" The sentence was cut off as I shuffled closer to her, letting her rest her head on my shoulder. I felt tears slowly seep through my shirt, but I didn't comment on it. "He didn't even tell me in person! H-he texted me and told me that I was getting boring!"

I could only tighten my grip on her. "You're not," I murmured.

"I thought he loved me," She whispered through her tears. "I just, I just thought he did."

I remembered last week, and how she had told me, "Not to wait up." and how she was going to her boyfriend's house.

She didn't come back until the next day.

My blood was rushing, and anger seethed out from every part of me. I wanted to scream at him, to make him pay for what he had stolen from my sister, and to make him regret abandoning like a useless puppet that he had no more use for.

But I couldn't do anything, so I just let her cry and hugged her harder, wanting to help her through the heart-broken sobs of someone that was used.

And the next day she was shamed. Shamed for playing into his tricks and games, called a slut by girls who heard rumours, and mocked by the boys asking if she would also do the same for them.

And him? He was praised.

For scoring the girl, for getting away scot-free with no consequence on how he had damaged and stolen from my sister, and for being a man.

I heard more cries from the bathroom than I had ever before in the next months.

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