"STELLA, is that you?"

I paused, pulling tighter the blanket cocoon I had swaddled myself in, as a voice shattered the silence. My breath hitched in my throat. I was mid-step, the kitchen tiles cool against my bare feet, with my other hand positioned on the fridge handle. It wasn't a voice I was very keen of hearing at that moment. And so I paused, and I waited.

If you didn't move, it couldn't see you. If it applied to some dinosaurs, maybe it also applied to moms.

"Stella, I heard you, I know you're in the kitchen."

I blinked. "No, this is Patrick."

My mom then crossed through the archway from the living room, her brow quirked and a parental hand positioned on her hip. She was wearing her usual athletic-spirited apparel, and with her hair pulled back and a minimalist off-white purse hanging over her shoulder, she looked a lot more put together than the bedhead and blanket ensemble I was currently rocking. At least some people said I had her light eyes.

Although mine looked a little more bloodshot.

"Hey mom," I mumbled half-heartedly when she walked in, pointedly avoiding her gaze. "Just getting some grub. Don't mind me."

"Did someone get home pretty late last night?" she asked, breezing past my words, but the tone of her voice said she already knew.

I shrugged, making some noncommittal mumbles in response while sticking my head in the refrigerator in hopes that my ostrich-mentality would work. If I couldn't see her, she couldn't see me. That seemed like a sound science.

She cleared her throat. "What was that?"

It did not work.

"Was just at Eva's, we had a long night, is all. Watched some movies. All the chick flicks. Was super fun." I shuffled around the milk and butter, looking for something to eat that could be made under five minutes, or with the aid of a microwave. Not that I usually didn't like to go all-out with my creations, but I wasn't really feeling it. I was feeling more like sleeping for an eternity than anything.

Death, happily, had been bypassed by the crackers Reese had brought in the morning. It was the little victories, but movement was still mostly a hassle.

"Well your dad called this morning, but you were asleep, so I didn't want to wake you," she continued, and I felt a strange twist in my stomach at the mention of him, which I chose to ignore for the sake of food scavenging. Sandwiches were quick and delicious. I decided I would make a sandwich.

"Oh yeah?" I murmured, feigning disinterest, keeping my voice steady as I pulled open the bottom drawer to shift some more food around.

"Yeah, I told him how great you've been doing and how I haven't gotten any calls from your teachers or principals at all since school started, which is a definite improvement from last year. I guess the breathing techniques really are working."

I nodded, swallowing any emotions that would inevitably arise with the conversation she was trying to have and that I was desperately trying to escape from. I could hear the forced nonchalance of her voice and the fidgeting of her purse, but I wouldn't acknowledge it. It wasn't the first time.

Grabbing rye bread and sliced ham, I pushed the fridge door closed with my body, making sure to keep my blanket draped over my shoulders. "Well I am the golden child, considering what you have to work with."

"I heard that!" called Chris from the living room, a sharp edge to his voice, causing me to roll my eyes.

"It wasn't a secret!"

I turned my attention towards the silverware drawer, rummaging around for a butter knife and trying to ignore my mom's eyes burning into my back, reading my every movement. She was always really transparent about these things, especially when it had to do with my dad. Every time he left or came back or inevitably left again and she'd tried to talk about it, it was always written so plainly across her face.

"Well, I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you. And how he is too. We both are. You've been doing really well so far, for your last year," she said with numerous notes of praise in her voice, drawing up behind me to place a quick kiss on the top of my head. I closed my eyes momentarily and felt her presence, but then she disappeared.

"I'm going grocery shopping, do you want me to grab you anything?" she asked over her shoulder in the doorway.

I tapped my chin. "Uh, granola bars? Oh! And some bacon. Oh! Also some pesto, and those fresh basil leaves, and also some cilantro. And more flour. That's everything, I think. Do you want me to write it down?"

A smile broke out on my mom's face and she shook her head. "Bars, bacon, cilantro- got it. Anything for you, Chris?"

"I second the bacon! Also maybe a pizza! If it's on the way anyway!" his voice rang in our ears, gun fire erupting in the background from whatever video game he was playing.

"Are you sure? You've been looking a little round lately, big bro!"

I heard an indignant scoff sound from the living room. "More cushion for the pushin', Stells! The dad bod is in!"

When I shot my mom an unimpressed look, she merely shook her head at us, vanishing through the front door. When she was finally gone and I was no longer under the pressure of her interrogation, I tried to forget her words by focusing on the creation of my sandwich, but it was proving a little more difficult than I thought.

Although she had been right about one thing- this far into the semester, I'd had only very few brushes with my homicidal fury. Despite the noodle incident, and, well, the Britta thing was totally out of my control, I had mostly kept my cool so far into the term. And the Reese thing, but that felt like it was eons ago, and I refused to count anything that didn't send me to Mr. Roth.

While spreading the butter, I pulled a face. Mr. Roth was a chapter in my life I wanted to keep far, far away from me until the unfortunate event of my death. Those four walls, almost entirely plastered with ridiculous motivational posters that still haunted my very worst nightmares, were a level of hell that I would never return to without the most desperate of fights. Although that's what threatened to get me there in the first place.

Weirdly enough, despite him being the reason why any sort of trouble had been headed my way, Reese had also served as a poignant distraction from my usual anger, and if anything was a punching bag for most of my graphic threats anyway. It was like writing in my journal, except I got my anger out by threatening to cause him great bodily harm.

I grinned.

He'd left after the first Fast and Furious movie, saying something about things he had to do and since I cared little of what he did in his spare time, as long as it wasn't sucking face with other girls, I let him be off. There was a moment where the end of our night rushed back to me, that silent moment that was brimming with unfinished sentences, but I didn't want to think about it.

I didn't expect him to pull out that vulnerable side of me, and considering the circumstances, I couldn't be blamed for what I might had said or didn't say. The vodka and the moonlight and his weirdly reassuring words created an atmosphere that had more control of my mouth than I did.

Either way, nothing had happened. And so there was nothing more to say.

Heaving a sigh, I grabbed my beautifully simple ham sandwich and trekked into the living room, where Chris was stationed in front of the TV with his controller in hand. His brows were furrowed and his eyes were set in unwavering concentration, accompanied by his fiery button mashing.

"Apparently dad's proud of me," I mused while collapsing into the seat next to him, wrapping myself up burrito-like in the blanket. "Don't be jealous now."

Chris' eyes never strayed from the screen. "He said he's also proud of me, the twenty year old college dropout, so that bar isn't really that high." A smirk dug into his cheek.

I snorted, lightly bumping shoulders with him. The strange knotting of my stomach refused to let up, despite the apathetic approach I was forcing myself to take, my body was not convinced. It wasn't something I let myself think of a lot.

The thought of my diary surfaced, and it honestly shocked me how I hadn't thought of it in such a long time. Somewhere hidden in Reese's house was the diary, and he'd admitted to reading at least some of it- anything with him in it? Or my dad?

I really needed to get that thing back. And the laminated copies. Who the fuck laminates anymore?

"I think we're both some pretty awesome offspring, if you ask me. They lucked out. And fuck dad if he doesn't want to be here and experience it."

I swallowed and looked up to Chris, and despite the fact that his eyes remained stationed on the blitz attack that was firing on screen, they were softer. We both knew that it had always hit me harder than him. I was the one that was tirelessly clutching onto the grudge.

"We're pretty fucking great," I agreed, a genuine grin curving on my face. "Anyway, how's Monica and all? And where's the new shipment of candles? We're running out fast, this is a matter of national security at this point."

Chris shrugged, complete apathy written across his face. "We broke up a little while ago, no big deal."

I shot him a skeptic look. "Wait- what? When? Was it 'cause of the whole COD thing?"

The slightest hint of what some might call guilt began to bubble up inside of me, but I convinced myself it was more distress over the fact that we no longer had a steady supply of scented candles coming in.

Scented candles were my life.

"Nah, I dumped her, actually. Turns out we didn't have a lot in common, other than the fact that she gave great blow-"

"Argh, do not need to hear this!" I cut in, slapping him in the arm. "Could live the rest of my life happily with you never finishing that sentence!"

A shit-eating grin split across Chris' face, and he shrugged. "Well, it's true. Anyway, I've been talking to some other girl anyway, she's a lot cooler and laid-back."

I scrunched my nose. "Is she going to replenish our candle supply? Or bring something else to the table? More importantly, what do I get out of this?"

Chris snorted, shooting me a momentary side glance before his eyes resumed glued to the television screen. "She doesn't have a job, so, no. I know, shocking."

"Oh, okay, so are you both going to move in to one of your parent's basements then? Because if so, I vote her house."

A sly grin slipped onto my face as I took another bite of my sandwich- which was delicious for such a quick and easy dinner. Chris cast me a quick-second glare.

"She's a student, I'll have you know."

"Oh, so she's smart? A university girl? What's she doing with you then?" I shot him a mocking, dubious look.

"I'm not sure, but lucky for me," he murmured, and a dopey smile touched his face.

For a moment I paused, absorbing this strange expression on my brother's face that was fleeting and rare, and then scoffed.

"Well, tell her I wish her all the best, and that she only finds good fortune for having to put up with you for a second."

"I'll be sure to do that. Also, give me a bite of that sandwich."

"... Oh what's that? It's my bed, it's calling for me! Ta-ta for now, dearest brother!"

***

I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I'm putting it out anyway and can re-do it later if need be.

I promise things will be HAPPENING next chapter, so hurrah! And this gives you a little more insight in all things Stella, if you cared, ahahaha.

Again- you guys are totally the beeeest readers ever, and thank you so much for giving this story a chance! It seriously means the world to me, every comment/vote/adding to reading list, every notification makes me grin like an idiot and I'm so happy to have awesome readers like you! c: