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I can’t believe today. It’s been such a blur. It’s all been so…crazy. That’s the only way I can put it.
Because that’s how it’s gonna seem. It even seems that way now, as I write it. When I read this tomorrow, I’ll think I was drugged. Maybe I am.
It’s hard to know where to start. Most days are pretty simple.
Wake up, get up, eat, wash, dress, watch TV, do chores, do homework, argue with family, eat, wash, bed.
That’s the way I got used to. You know, basic stuff.
Phone calls from your friends from the minute you got up to the minute you go to bed. Snacking on chocolate while you work. Glaring every time you come into close proximity with another family member.
I almost liked that stuff. A bit dull, but dull’s better than insane asylum, right?
Well…that’s what I’m gonna find out.
See, my life may have seemed perfect from the outside. We lived in a mansion, a beautiful luxury. We looked like the kind of ideal family that you dream of, the kind that are in all the adverts on TV trying to persuade you to buy their particular brand of washing powder or something like that.
My mother, Joyce, was a model. For most of her life. It was her career.
It started when she was a teenager, younger than me. Anyway, mom used to be in all the catalogues and magazines, then it progressed to adverts on TV and billboards and in the paper, and better magazines. She got to be a catwalk superstar. I’m not joking. She tried her hand at acting in Hollywood hit films, starring in sitcoms, singing a couple of times, TV appearances on chat shows, photo shoots became a breeze. She designed her own clothes range. It sold out completely. So she chilled out for a year and met my father, a doctor.
Joyce and Hank were made for each other. Everyone said they looked good together. They were the perfect couple. The slushy mushy romance stuff happened.
They never meant to get married. They’d just wanted one of those whirlwind romances, where you never know what’s going to happen. One day you’re meeting up for wild sex at a hotel somewhere, the next you could be split up and drowning your troubles in vodka.
But that didn’t go so well for them. Hank got Joyce pregnant, with Faith, my older sister. And then they’re parents suggested that they should get married. They did.
The stories I’ve heard and the pictures I’ve seen. That wedding was dream worthy! With Joyce in her beautiful dress with her dazzling smile and her long, golden hair. Like Rapunzel. Like an angel.
Hank and Joyce loved Faith very much. They spoilt her with lavish gifts and frivolous spending of money. They had two more daughters. Me, Buffy, and the youngest, Dawn.
Faith, Buffy and Dawn are not at all a like.
Faith has long, dark wavy hair, and melting chocolate dark eyes to match. She is strong and tough. She is a fighter, literally: kick boxing classes twice a week. She wears leather a lot of the time, mainly because she likes the biker-rock-chick vibe and because she has the figure to pull it off.
I’m like my mother, apparently. Long blonde hair, green-blue eyes, petite. I wear comfy-casual, smart-casual, cute, girly clothes. You know, tank tops and tight black jeans, that kinda thing. I’m witty, confident and flirty.
Dawn has the longest hair. Hers is dark brown and poker straight, going all the way down her back. She has the same kind of eyes as me. She’s pale and pretty, into the kind of girly style I like. Tight jeans and flouncy sleeved tops. She’s loud and irritating and spoiled brattish.
So, perfect family.
The daughters get A+ all the time. Faith because she makes other people do her homework for her. Dawn because she’s at that age where she thinks it matters, and she’s just naturally smart. Me through sheer determination in order to avoid giving my parents more stuff to use against me.
We have designer furniture and carpets and wallpaper and curtains…designer everything. We live in luxury. Heaven.
We have pets too. Surprised we were allowed pets. Faith and I begged for ages before we got them, and pleaded for ages after so we could keep them.
My parents have a rare birds aviary somewhere amongst the hectares of garden. Dawn has a thoroughbred stallion of expensive stock and special breed. Faith has a Bengal cat, one of those half-wild-breed and half-domesticated mixed cats.
I have a puppy. Not just any puppy. A pure bred, show winning quality, rare and expensive Chinook dog. Pick of the litter too. He cost over $2000. His name is Liberty.
But, considering everything looks like it should be great…well, looks can be deceiving.
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