Too Late to Care

I was completely soaked as I walked home alone, and my phone vibrated just as I stepped through the front door.

In the family chat group, my mother, Bea Austin, pinged me with the message: [What are you doing about food for the next few days?]

Bitterness flared in me as my tears welled up in my eyes, but before I could even reply, Bea had sent another text.

[Don't touch anything in the fridge.]

[Everything belongs to John and Jane—it's one for each of them.]

[If you touch it, you'll affect the balance.]

The sense of warmth and gratitude that I'd just felt vaporized instantly.

All I sent back was one word: [Okay.]

I really wanted to ask just then: What about me?

However, I'd asked that question plenty of times, but no one cared—as if I didn't get to share anything in the house at all.

As if it was only natural.

Putting away my phone, I searched around the house but only found a loaf of bread that was getting stale.

It wasn't easy to finally fall asleep, starving and cold.

Then, in the middle of the night, I jerked awake, feeling a pair of filthy shoes hitting my head.

As I opened my eyes in surprise, I saw that the lights were up and heard the rowdiness from the living room, with our parents complaining about torrential rain blocking the road.

John stood at the door, his arms folded as he snapped at me impatiently, "What are you spacing out for, pig?! Can't you tell it's time to wash my shoes?"

His shoes were caked in mud, and I could feel the stickiness of it on my hair after he threw them on my head.

I was too sleepy to open my eyes, and I started wearily, "Just let me rest for now… I'll wash it first thing tomorrow, okay?"

He promptly bellowed, "Just say you don't want to do it! Don't give me excuses!"

Jane entered just then as well, nonchalant as she dropped a heap of muddly clothes all over the floor. "Don't drag your feet. And you know the drill—if you wash his, you have to wash mine too."

Bea was holding a pile of laundry herself as she walked past, frowning and snapping when she saw me, "There are three kids in this house, and fairness is the rule! John and Jane are tired after a long day, while you're goofing off here! Is there a problem with you doing the laundry now?!"

I really wanted to laugh seeing all the accusing glares.

So there was fairness in this house?

Guess it must be circumstantial, with John and Jane getting everything while I only got housework.

Still, I didn't bother arguing and quietly brought all the muddy laundry to the laundry room, and it took hours just to clean everything up.

My vision was beginning to turn dark—a sign of hypoglycemia from starving.

I held on to my consciousness to get a drink in the living room, only to bump into my father, Tim Stark, who was holding a box of grilled ribs.

Seeing me, he quickly hid the box behind himself and smiled uncomfortably. "I didn't tell you since we only ordered exactly four portions. If we tried to split that unevenly, your siblings will make a mess of things again. The diner did give us some nuts though, and they don't like those…"

I smiled, keeping my distance. "I'm allergic to nuts, Dad."

Tim was stunned, but only for a split second as Jane's sweet voice quickly drew him away, brushing past me.

As he left, I couldn't help clenching my knuckles at my sides, my heart feeling like it had been pricked by needles.

After having a drink to calm down, I returned to the storeroom to rest, only to see that John and Jane had messed it up entirely.