Cross My Heart and Hope to Die

by Calypssee

Summary:

Your parents didn’t give two shits where you were. But they made sure to leave you somewhere with someone. And, you found yourself in the care of Mrs. Graves -she was no better.

Upon arrival, Ashley despised you, and Andrew kept his distance for your sake.

---

Or alternately, you and the Graves siblings have a toxic relationship built on family trauma and sex appeal.

Chapter 1: The Addition

Friends never came easily to you. But older brothers proved harder to navigate. They say that blood runs thicker than water, but everything ran clear between you and Jared. He despised you. He'd hightailed it on his skateboard—pocketing the cash meant to feed you—the moment your parents left him in charge and were down the road.

It happened all the time.

And when nightfall would come, you would dread Mommy leaving for work, because Father slumped over the suede armchair, tuckered out with liquor bottles between his pits. He reeked of beer so that even in his stupor, he wouldn't be awakened to Jared's sly fingers slipping cigarettes from his pockets.

Then came Jared's uninterrupted fun to your dismay.

A sock shoved down your throat soaked up your inconsolable tears and saliva as your older brother burned the buds onto the fragile skin of your inner arms. His body straddled your hips, his shins locking your thrashing legs to the ground.

And when mommy would catch glimpses of the markings, she would sit to herself at the edge of her bed, cursing your father's name in vain.

You never corrected Mommy, and she never said a word to Daddy.

One day, Jared left you with a bowl of animal crackers. You scoured the fridge for a juice box after the door slammed and the lock slid in place. But, groceries ran slim, and spoiled milk sat nestled behind a few cans of Corona. You stood on your tippy toes, peaking over the shelves, and nothing resembled juice.

With your tiny hand stretched out, you tried to obtain the carton of milk. However, your haste and lack of height caused the cans to knock down, which rolled over the edge, bursting upon impact.

You flinched. The tears burst out as you fell to your knees. The beer puddle kissed your tights and clung to your skirt. You kicked the fridge and smashed the cans under your fists.

Before Jared could see the damage of a four-year-old, hours after your little accident, and before he could clean up to save face, your daddy returned home.

Daddy's rage broke everything: Jared's skateboards, Mommy's pearls gifted from her mother, and he tore your beer-reeked clothes off. 

You were never left alone again. 

---

"Say hello to your new friends," Mommy used your hand to wave at the two older kids. "The girl is Ashley. She's in the fourth grade and she's eight. Then there's her older brother Andrew. They wanna play with you. Right?"

The little girl scowled but nodded. Mrs. Graves smacked the back of an uninterested Andrew. "Feel free to drop her off whenever. Andrew is such a responsible boy. He's practically raising Ashley."

Your mom giggled. "I wish my son were more like that. He's a mess. I don't know what to do with him. He takes after his father. This one... she's my little mini-me."

Mommy poked your nose with hers. You heard Mrs. Graves quip, "If that's true, she'll be quite the doll."

"She is! You can even dress her up as one, too." Mommy's eyes lit up at the mention of fashion. You sulked further into the fur lining of her jacket as she tried to parade you around. She pinched your butt as you scuffed your Mary Janes on the dirty carpeting. "Don't be shy now. Go on and introduce yourself."

You put your thumb in your mouth and batted tears from your eyes. "Mommy, can't I go with you?"

"Dear..." She brushed her fingers through your hair. She adjusted the burgundy beret until the plaid bow attached framed your face, "It's a busy night, love. Mommy's sorry."

"Daddy-"

"Isn't. Home."

"Fine! What about Jared? I'll be home with him," You whined.

"And he'll leave you again. I don't want you alone. Mommy thinks Mrs. Graves and her kids will take good care of you. Don't you trust me?"

You nodded. And with mommy's efforts, you introduced yourself. You were almost seven in a lion's den. But you'd survived hyenas' quarrels before. What's the worst that two siblings can do?

---

Mrs. Graves excused herself to the bedroom, claiming fatigue. She muttered under her breath, "Your father should be home soon. He's bringing home takeout. Leave me alone till then."

Andrew whistled in response. The door shut, and silence infiltrated the space. You sniffled—once, twice, even a third time.

Ashley erupted, "What are we supposed to do with that!? She's being a huge crybaby! I can't take it, Andy!!" She clung onto her brother and hissed at your watering eyes. Your cheeks redden at the attention.

"Leave me alone," You whimpered. "I'm not crying."

The siblings stared at you. Andrew twiddled with his sister's barrette-filled hair. Ashley wore green overalls a tad too large for her, so they looked more like Andrew's size. Both siblings had the complexion of vanilla bean ice cream, and their hair was as dark as licorice.

"You so are!" Ashley whined. "Why are you dumped on us? This is so unfair, Andy."

Andrew tried comforting his younger sister, "Leave her alone, Leyley. It's only for tonight. Let's just watch a movie or something."

"Why are you defending her? I'm your sister, not her. You do this all of the time!"

"Do what exactly? I'm not defending her... I don't want to hear either of you whine." Andrew stood from his seat on the couch. "How about we get snacks? I'll pop some popcorn."

You tilted your head, watching as the girl sprang onto his back, the boy reluctant, relented to giving her a piggyback ride. Your brother would never dare. Could you have had that if you were born different? 

"I'll act dead. I won't exist," You whispered. You hopped in place, hiking your backpack higher on your shoulders. A little louder you spoke, "You and Andy ca-"

"Don't call him that! He's my Andy. And don't you dare call me Leyley. It's not for a common hussy."

Andrew's eyes, a brilliant kiwi color, flashed towards you. You shook like a leaf in autumn. Yet, you dressed solely with winter in mind. It's mid-March when the breeze kicks at one's legs. He wondered if, in summer, you'd be dressed in the finest floral outfits suited for Easter day.

"What were you saying?" Andrew encouraged.

"I don't want to watch a movie. I'll wait for Mommy by the window." You pointed. And he nodded, walking off with Ashley swinging her legs in the air.

---

Daddy's gone. So is brother. Mommy's alone. She still has you. You aren't enough. You are a burden. That's what you think, perched on the windowsill. Snow White sang at the water well. She must have thought the same as you. You peeked over at the screen where her Prince Charming caught Cupid's arrows with his chest fully bared.

And as destined, he'll kiss her awake soon after.

Your tummy rumbled, and you felt too stubborn to leave your vantage point. Mommy could whisk you away from the rude siblings, and you didn't want to miss the moment. You had taken out your violet cotton bunny plush, waving it side to side between your feet. His floppy ears rolled into his round button eyes. And his belly bore pink with bloat.

He must be full all the time. 

Mr. Graves had greeted you with a box in hand of gooey cheese pizza and lemon-peppered wings, which he left on the counter. It's been 20 minutes since the family gathered at the table, and you haven't moved.

Nor did they ask you to come.

Footsteps pattered from carpet to tile. The TV paused as Ashley left to set her plate in the sink. Mrs. and Mr. Graves continued in hushed voices at the dining table while Andrew sat in front. He scratched at his oversized grey sweater, and he used his index finger to poke at his food.

"When is her mom picking her up?" Ashley leaned over the table.

"That woman's a dancer. She'll be out all night. Andrew, you'll have to walk her to school, and Nina's getting dropped off in the morning."

Andrew huffed, "Since when were you popular? I gotta get three girls to school now?"

Mrs. Graves hummed. "Sorry, kid, that's how it'll be for a while. People are in tough times, so they flock to the one not hurting the most. Bare with it."

"You could've said no." Andrew pouted.

Chapter 2: The Doll prt 1

Summary:

A doll's presence was all it took to cause a ripple effect to occur.

Porcelain dolls have eyes that notice the insignificant details.

It would settle on a freckle four centimeters to the left and a quarter inch above your cupid's bow. To anyone but the doll, that would go unnoticed. So, expect that when you peek through its glass confinement, its eyes—akin to those of a person's— won't meet yours. Instead, it'll linger on that minor imperfection. That fracture in what was supposedly a perfect mold.

No one's face is prettier than a doll's after all.

And once the doll has noticed all that makes you human, then and only then will it turn its gaze to the tacky floral patterns on the wall. Having seen past you like you did to it. But, to it, you never mattered in the first place.

Mommy had dressed you as such. Like a Porcelain Doll for keeps. She spent her extra cash tips to keep you prettied up in your room filled with accessories. The French doors, see-through and meant to be an office, were turned into your doll house. Everything you did was seen or heard. Even as you changed, someone watched.

Then the yelling began. It was always there, further down the hall, but now it was outside your door more often than not. You would sit on your bed, sleep evading your startled form, as your mother berated everything your eyes noticed, like the wrinkles that gathered around her brows. Adding with age and multiplying with substances.

Daddy left when you were eight, and it meant that Mommy blamed you for driving a wedge into their relationship.

Father never wanted a girl. He reminded you of that fact each birthday that he was present. Only lesser men spawned pussies. Daddy would say. You never shot back a retort, finding buttercream swirls more appealing than his face.

In your mind, you'd think: you're right, Jared's a coward.

Jared ran away before you turned twelve. He always ran when he couldn't have something. And you were what he wanted the most.

He loathed your doe-eyed expression. He wanted to cram you into a box to look at forever. The desire to snap your legs to keep you like a wingless bird is ever-present in his thoughts. You were so pretty that he tried bruising your flesh to make you undesirable. But it fueled his preadolescent hormones further.

That's why Jared fled. His conflicts were written on torn-out pages from your favorite books, haphazardly strewn under your pillows. By fifteen, all Mommy had was you and your porcelain eyes.

Daddy and brother died.

---

You tensed over the checkered tile floor, which you've stared at all morning. The A/C whirled down the hall, sputtering out of sync; it hardly worked, and no repairman could be called. You toed at the roughed-up edges of wooden planes, meeting the kitchen flooring. You traced purple scribbles from a marker long discarded with the heels of your feet. You chuckled at your balance seeming off. Your stomach ached, but nothing could be delivered.

The last thing you've eaten to satiate the tiniest bit of hunger was a can of tomatoes warmed on the stovetop a half day prior. Unfortunately, it was split among three -the Graves siblings and you.

You paced on tip-toes from the sink to the front door, barred on the outside.

You used to peek each morning through the peephole for a sign of life besides the lone security guard making his rounds. And each time, there was the one guard whose footfalls on the water-drenched carpet.

These days, you felt like a marionette, stumbling through the motions on uneven limbs. Your right side lifted higher than your left, and your arms splayed parallel to your hips as if you held onto the wire strings themselves. If you hopped off pointe, you felt limp and discarded. Worn out. As though the puppeteer decided a doll of more novelty deserved to breathe life.

And if you ever did stop moving, then the TV's saccharine buzz would meld into your pores as it spoke its static language. Foreign, if not for its monotony over your life. It reminded you that death remained your last resort.

You wouldn't survive this. Couldn't.

"You're up..." A voice startled your reverie. It was lithe and woolly in the air with hints of sleep attached to each syllable. Leyley stretched over the couch's mustard arm. "That burns calories." She gestured flippantly at your display.

"Your point... We'll die anyway," You chewed on your inner cheek.

Ashley faced away. Any snide remark wrangled tight to her chest. She shrugged, "Who's Andy on the phone with?"

You glanced over at Andrew, the only member of this dump who was fortunate enough to receive weekly check-in calls. "Probs it's Julia." Who else could it be besides her? Julia this and Julia that.

When the phone rang, Andrew pounced for the receiver, soaring head-first into her tales of a world outside. You had not bothered to listen except to the forlorn sighs breaking over the static. But your steps mimicked the rhythm which he'd spoken -hushed and bothered.

Ashley wore a blank facade. Her pink eyes sparked devilishly against the paleness of her skin. "Oh?" She gritted through thin lips.

You brushed frigid fingers through your hair, which remained a hot-knotted mess. Leyley reached over pillows for the remote, and with speed, she muted the sound, before filtering through the television stations as if anything would pop up. However, she knew there was nothing but the news, which had shut off an hour prior.

Andrew sneered at his sister. "Or I can try talking to them? But-- No, or I mean yes. But that doesn't--... No, I'm not angry. I'm just--"

Pause. More shoutings of female rage sputtered over the receiver.

"No, I--... Can you let me talk?" Andrew snorted.

A female voice shrilled from the phone, "--'ve time to think---... just can't do it anymore." "What else is there to say …Sorry?"

Andrew stiffened. He pinched the furrow of his eyebrow. "Although I don't see why I should be held accountable for--"

beep -- beep -- beep… CLANK

Metal smashed against itself as Andrew deposited the rotary phone back into place.

"Who was it?" Ashley spoke. Her fingers stroked the gem dangling from her choker, wrapped in a death vice around her neck.

"My ex-girlfriend. Apparently."

You hopped down, bare heels meeting the ground.

"Oooo, she dumped you? Why is that?" Leyley twirled her words together into a song.

A silence bloomed between the siblings. The back tag of Andrew's sweater was flipped up, reaching toward the nape of his neck. "Why do you think?" He breathed out low.

"H-how should I know? Maybe… because you're a parasite-infested homebody, that's perma-quarantined?" Ashley brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin above them. "Or, it's because she found somebody new? It's been a few months, buddy. Or maybe she didn't like you much in the first place."

"…Whatever you say, Ashley." Andrew dragged his feet to the balcony. The door slammed shut on this argument.

Leyley swiveled her gaze to you. "I didn't even tell him the worst of it. I could've brought up the fact that he's fucking you."

You puffed out a soft laugh. "It's because you tell me to."

---

"NOOOO!!!" Ashley welled. She had kicked her feet into the air, flailing them about like weapons with no aim. Anything and everything was a target in her blind fury. "I don't want her sleeping in my room."

You huddled on the top step to the second floor, head buried into the flesh of your arm. Andrew hobbled past your form with your bookbag in tow. You glanced at the rabbit toy, nodding off towards the door. Its arm flopped over his shoulder.

Mrs. Graves tore sheets out of the hallway closet with haste. She had bags under her eyes, and her groans were exaggerated. "Ashley! Stop. I told you, when she stays the night, she'll be in your room."

"No faaaaair-" The little girl drawled. "Let her stay on the couch!!!"

"And let that child have an accident on it? No."

"So, she'll pee in my room!" Ashley's cheeks turned red with heat.

"If she so has to," Mrs. Graves rolled her eyes. "But, I assume she's potty trained..." She waltzed towards her daughter, depositing the linens over top of her head. Andrew wrangled Ashley from underneath the covers. 

The little girl's arms spun like a broken windmill, knocking her fists against his head.

"That's not the point!!! I don't want her here."

Mrs. Graves flattened the blankets out on the ground. "It's not about what you want."

Notes:

This work was originally on Tumblr!
Go there for more soup @Ur-Mousey ( ˘▽˘)っ♨