meant I'd had to buy a ton of adaptors just to charge my cell and my laptop. I didn't hate the television as much as I thought I was going to; all the major cable channels were provided, and for the first few nights I'd fallen asleep on the couch with NFL commentary on low in the background, the familiar accents relaxing me.
I didn't make it to the caller before they rang off, and I was kinda glad I'd missed it when I saw it was from my mom again.
I waited a little while and then it buzzed with a voicemail notification. I'd been deleting them without listening to them, but it was odd for her to have tried to call me so many times.
This time, then, I decided I'd listen to it.
I wished I hadn't.
Maybe I had gotten so used to the British accents around me but her voice sounded harsh and shrill. Then again, she'd always had the ability to set my teeth on edge; it was just that I didn't want to hear her, perhaps.
Every sentence ended on a rising squeak as she frantically informed me that "Angie needs you, honey! She's in real trouble! Did you get my messages? We don't know what to do! And there's the children!"
I was being battered by exclamation points. I deleted this message, too, cutting my mom off as she began her pleading for me to call her back.
Angela was my younger sister, and an example of everything that was wrong in the world. She was a lazy, work-shy stay at home mom with a feckless redneck husband called Brian and the worst of it was this: their kids were called Bonnie, Billie and Bobbie.
Oh yeah, wait, and their surname was fucking Baker.
I mean, if you want a stereotype of trailer trash, there it is. Right there.
Okay, so Brian worked a hardware store and he did pretty long hours, too. He had apparently no ambition to get himself out of that dead end job. I don't think he had any kind of college degree; I was sure he was a high school drop-out and so was Angie herself. Hell, she'd popped out her first baby when she was nineteen, effectively ruining her life.
Everything Angie did made me feel sick. Our mom had worked damn hard when we were growing up; she'd left our deadbeat father and worked two jobs to get us through school, which made Angie's actions even more of an insult. She had this sense of entitlement that I just didn't get.
In spite of all that, our mom didn't cut her off or call her out on it. Nope. She kept on supporting Angie, and her brood of stupidly-named kids, and so Angie thought it was okay to live like that.
Still, I tolerated her at family gatherings. We used to live pretty close together and I had helped her out, way back when she was starting out with Brian and she was pregnant for the second time. When she'd gotten pregnant the third time, I started to lose patience. I sent her some condoms and hoped she'd get the hint.
Instead, she'd repaid me by stealing my credit cards and my goddamn identity and running up a huge fucking debt.
She claimed afterwards she'd been too scared to tell me she was in financial trouble.
I mean, what? She was too scared to tell me - so she went and fucking stole from me?
I might not have been delighted at coming to England but it was a promotion and more importantly, it was far, far away from Angie.
And now she was "in trouble" and I had to do something?
Me?
She could go get a job like the rest of us.
Angie tugged at my mind and I realized my face was so tense it was beginning to hurt. I wanted to cut myself off from her. From all my family. It was too complicated.
But it was never that easy, was it?
Chapter Eight - Andrew
I was perturbed about my growing feelings for Jasmine. At first I'd just wanted to have a brief liaison with her. Then I'd wanted to develop a more specific sexual relationship.
Now I was thinking even more deeply about her. I wanted to know about her , not just her body, and that was causing me some concern.
I had never wanted a committed relationship - not the way the wider world pictured a "committed
I didn't make it to the caller before they rang off, and I was kinda glad I'd missed it when I saw it was from my mom again.
I waited a little while and then it buzzed with a voicemail notification. I'd been deleting them without listening to them, but it was odd for her to have tried to call me so many times.
This time, then, I decided I'd listen to it.
I wished I hadn't.
Maybe I had gotten so used to the British accents around me but her voice sounded harsh and shrill. Then again, she'd always had the ability to set my teeth on edge; it was just that I didn't want to hear her, perhaps.
Every sentence ended on a rising squeak as she frantically informed me that "Angie needs you, honey! She's in real trouble! Did you get my messages? We don't know what to do! And there's the children!"
I was being battered by exclamation points. I deleted this message, too, cutting my mom off as she began her pleading for me to call her back.
Angela was my younger sister, and an example of everything that was wrong in the world. She was a lazy, work-shy stay at home mom with a feckless redneck husband called Brian and the worst of it was this: their kids were called Bonnie, Billie and Bobbie.
Oh yeah, wait, and their surname was fucking Baker.
I mean, if you want a stereotype of trailer trash, there it is. Right there.
Okay, so Brian worked a hardware store and he did pretty long hours, too. He had apparently no ambition to get himself out of that dead end job. I don't think he had any kind of college degree; I was sure he was a high school drop-out and so was Angie herself. Hell, she'd popped out her first baby when she was nineteen, effectively ruining her life.
Everything Angie did made me feel sick. Our mom had worked damn hard when we were growing up; she'd left our deadbeat father and worked two jobs to get us through school, which made Angie's actions even more of an insult. She had this sense of entitlement that I just didn't get.
In spite of all that, our mom didn't cut her off or call her out on it. Nope. She kept on supporting Angie, and her brood of stupidly-named kids, and so Angie thought it was okay to live like that.
Still, I tolerated her at family gatherings. We used to live pretty close together and I had helped her out, way back when she was starting out with Brian and she was pregnant for the second time. When she'd gotten pregnant the third time, I started to lose patience. I sent her some condoms and hoped she'd get the hint.
Instead, she'd repaid me by stealing my credit cards and my goddamn identity and running up a huge fucking debt.
She claimed afterwards she'd been too scared to tell me she was in financial trouble.
I mean, what? She was too scared to tell me - so she went and fucking stole from me?
I might not have been delighted at coming to England but it was a promotion and more importantly, it was far, far away from Angie.
And now she was "in trouble" and I had to do something?
Me?
She could go get a job like the rest of us.
Angie tugged at my mind and I realized my face was so tense it was beginning to hurt. I wanted to cut myself off from her. From all my family. It was too complicated.
But it was never that easy, was it?
Chapter Eight - Andrew
I was perturbed about my growing feelings for Jasmine. At first I'd just wanted to have a brief liaison with her. Then I'd wanted to develop a more specific sexual relationship.
Now I was thinking even more deeply about her. I wanted to know about her , not just her body, and that was causing me some concern.
I had never wanted a committed relationship - not the way the wider world pictured a "committed
Similar Books
