“Listen Mads?” I interrupt. “Do you think your mum would let me stay over again tonight?”
“Um… I doubt it. Not after last night. But I can ask. Why? What’s going on?”
“Nothing really. I’m just locked out again.”
“Pay. Something’s wrong. I can hear it in your voice.”
My phone signals that it has a low battery. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” I say, and end the call.
Diligently, I wait until the sky grows dark over my head, and the street lights turn on. I decide to make another phone call, this time to Ramona. I use the same story I used last night – I forgot my keys, can I stay over because my parents won’t be home until late. Yes, they know I’m here. No, it won’t happen again.
I use this as the excuse until I run out of friends. Then I go back to the beginning and make up a new one. Each night, I’m afraid they won’t believe me. I don’t know how long I can do this before they start saying ‘no’.
Chapter Six
As time moves on, I spend a lot of it reflecting on my life so far. Looking back, I can’t really think of a time when my parents actually seemed happy to have me around.
I have a vague memory of my mother hugging me when I was very small, but I don’t know if it’s real, or if I created it after witnessing her care for my siblings.
Interactions between myself and my father were practically non-existent. He spoke to me only when it was absolutely necessary, and then it was mainly grunts and barked orders.
My mother, on the other hand – well she made sure to keep tabs on me.
I find it strange, because she wasn’t as strict with my older brother, Aaron, and my younger sister, Sophie. They seemed to have a lot of leeway and were allowed to stay out late and go out more than I was.
When I questioned this, I was told it was because I didn’t do as well at school as they did. Or that they were allowed out because their sporting team had done well. I suck at school, and I suck at sports.
The truth is, I’m the black sheep of my family – literally. I mean, I don’t even look like them. I’ve often thought that perhaps I was adopted, but I have seen photos of when my mum gave birth to me. In the photo, she and dad are both looking down at a tiny baby with masses of dark hair.
They were smiling in that photo. So they must have loved me once…
I think I must be some sort of genetic throwback. My entire family are fair haired, blue eyed, and fair skinned. My looks are more Mediterranean. I have olive skin, hazel eyes and dark curly hair. I don’t fit in at all.
Perhaps that’s why it all started. Perhaps they treated me differently because I look so unalike them. I suppose it was embarrassing for them when people actually questioned my parentage… I really don’t know. However, I do know that I’ve never felt wanted, and I’ve never felt included.
My brother and sister used me as their scapegoat. It was always so easy for them to point their fingers and claim that I was the one who broke the vase, or dropped the mobile phone in the sink full of water.
Often, I would get home to find the house empty, and they’d all gone out to some dinner or family event without me. While it did upset me, I eventually got used to it.
I did try though. I did everything I could to be a part of the family. Once, I even had my hair bleached to try to fit in more. But all that did was earn me a month’s grounding, another trip to the hair dresser and a very short haircut that caused my already curly hair to look like a frizzy ball of darkness surrounding my head.