MPOV

At some point Dylan and I had passed out right next to each other. I woke up on the ground with my head on his chest. Ew.

The first thing I did was run to the bathroom to throw up in the sink several times. Dylan was soon joining me. I always happen to wake up a minute before him when we get drunk.

After about ten minutes of disgusting wretching, we rid of the bottle of alcohol (we had drained the entire thing) and cleaned up our mess. This was by far the most vodka either of us had consumed.

I groaned. "Jesus, how drunk did we get last night?"
"I don't know what we were thinking, but I'm never drinking again." Dylan settled into a coughing fit.
I nodded. "We shouldn't drink on Fridays. We have to spend time with Bridget and Jeb today and convince them that they're good parents."
Dylan groaned. "How did we get so unlucky? What if I want to go out, have fun like a normal person on the weekends?"
"Because we're not normal." I reminded him. "We get to party every day of the week EXCEPT the weekend."
He snorted. "You? Party? That's hilarious."
I made a face at him and flipped him off. "What time is it?"
He checked his phone.

"It's seven. They should be home in an hour or two." He said.
We brushed our teeth for a long time, trying to get rid of the taste of puke and vodka.

Dylan and I shared a bathroom. There were five bathrooms in our house. One was in the basement, two on the regular floor, where our parents slept, and two on the third floor.

Our house wasn't really considered a mansion. That word reminds me of a haunted mansion. Thinking back on it, that house basically was a haunted mansion in disguise as a gigantic, lush, modern home. The basement was where Jeb had created a sort of rec room, with a flat screen TV and sound system, hockey table, plenty of video games, and a small bathroom. No one went in the basement except for Jeb and Bridget when they wanted to have sex on a hockey table.

The main floor was the biggest. My parents had over dinner guests on the weekends. Dylan and I were always required to be present and…perfect. Everything was very open, so you were able to see the kitchen from the dining room and all that. There were leather couches and more TV's and vases of flowers and beautiful paintings. There was a modest hallway with doors that opened to Jeb and Bridget's bedroom, two guest bedrooms, and a guest bath.

No one besides Dylan and I went up to the third floor except for the cleaning people that came every other day. Our 'parents' haven't gone up there since in a few months since Dylan and I woke up late and almost missed school. On our floor was the double sink, single shower, and separate bath that connected our Jack and Jill rooms. There was another bathroom at the end of the hall, but no one used it.

Then there was another floor that our parents didn't know that we knew about. There was an attic filled with boxes and family heirlooms and old pictures that normal people would have on display somewhere. It wasn't like the attic was some big secret. They just didn't know we knew. And that's the way things were going to stay.

"It smells like hangover in here." Dylan whined.
"Doesn't matter." I shrugged. "No one goes up here."
"We should make breakfast soon." He suggested. "They'll be happy if they see we made breakfast for them."

I didn't have a better idea, so I agreed. I shot Jeb a text: "Hey dad. Don't eat yet. Dylan and I are making breakfast. "

He answered right away. He loved when Dylan and I called recognized him as a parent.

"Thanks sweetie! Love you! Will be home at nine-ish."
"K. Love you 2. And don't tell mom. She should be surprised."
"K"

"They'll be home around nine!" I called to Dylan.

We both took quick showers. He covered himself in cologne and I covered myself in perfume. Then we both changed into plaid pajama bottoms, him in a huge t-shirt, me in a racer back. We had both fallen asleep in our regular clothes and it'd look suspicious if our parents came home and we were already dressed. No, we were both their naturally perfect, beautiful children they wanted, no, NEEDED us to be. They didn't actually want us all the time. They really didn't want us at all. But they needed us for appearances. When Jeb gets clients they usually come over for dinner. Dylan and I, because Bridget busy being a perfect wife/source of eye candy, have the job of charming whoever the person is. If they think that Jeb is responsible enough to raise two perfect children, they're going to think he's responsible enough to manage their accounts of a building or laboratory.

Besides, our 'parents' needed to feel like at least SOME people actually cared about them. And that's where we came in as their perfect, perfect, perfect son and daughter.

I put on my nerd glasses (I actually do need glasses, thank you very much, and Jeb got them for me after seeing girls at school where them. I'm not some ironic hipster) and French braided my hair.

"You know," Dylan remarked as he brushed his hair. "If I didn't know you, I would never guess how weird you were just by looking at you."
That was Dylan's way of saying that I looked nice.
"And if I didn't know you, I would still guess that you're a freaking prick."
That was my way to say you look good, too. We both knew what the other meant. Why would we say it nicely?

I made pancakes and eggs while he set the table, made coffee, and juiced some oranges. Jeb and Bridget were delighted when they came home.

"Oh, what's all this?" She squealed, her voice high and nasally but happy.
"Surprise! We made breakfast." Dylan said, giving his mom a hug.

Don't judge. We don't see our parents often. And it's not that we like them. We just need to make them happy. And Bridge loves happy surprises.

"Oh, sweethearts!" She hugged Dylan and me tightly.

We sat down and began to eat.

She then smiled brightly at me. "Maxine, have you been losing weight?"

You know it's sad when the person who's supposed to be your mother has to ask you if you've lost weight. And you still live with them.

I shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know."
"You're looking thinner!" She complimented.
I smiled weakly. "It might just be stress from school."
"At the rate you're going you'll be making friends and breaking hearts in no time."
"She doesn't need to be losing weight. If anything, we need her to be gaining weight." Jeb said, looking concerned.

*Insert snort followed by "As if!* Like he actually cares. If he cares about me, he'd see me every now and then. Maybe he'd even make sure that the fridge was full sometimes or that Dylan and I weren't on drugs or in gangs. Well, to be fair, he does give us money to buy food if there is none and he does try to be a good dad when he actually is around, which is never. I don't have any excuses for Bridget.

"Jeb," Mother-dearest chided him. "I think it's good that she's dropping a little baby weight."
"What baby weight?" Dylan asked, defending me. "She hasn't had baby weight since she was, like, a baby."
I coughed. "Hello, still in the room here."
"You're so lucky that you could lose weight so easily, hun. It takes me forever." Bridget said. She was a little bit heavier, but she had the curves that everyone loved and wanted.
"Will you stop encouraging her?" Jeb asked, glaring at her. "She's thin enough as it is."
"I'm not losing weight!" I argued. "I get thinner when it gets colder because I'm not outside as often; I don't have as much muscle. You can stop talking about me now."

Jeb raised his eyebrows at my sudden outburst.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just don't want you to think that you should get any skinnier. You're perfect." Jeb said, smiling at me.

I bit my lip, hating him for being so nice. I don't need pity.

I guess Dylan and I are a little bi-polar. But we're connected in some way when it comes to our 'parents'. When he gets seriously pissed off at them, I always am, too.

"If she's so perfect, why are you never around to see her?" Dylan asked.
Jeb cinched his eyebrows together. "What?"
Dylan sighed. "Nothing." He said bitterly, taking his plate over to the sink.
"Are you mad at me because I have to work?"
Dylan didn't answer, instead stomping up the stairs, knowing they would never follow him.

"What was that about?" Jeb asked.
I looked at him strangely. "How should I know? I'm not him."

Maybe it's because he's never had a dad and now thanks to you he doesn't have much of a mom, either. It's not that he wants parents. It'd just be nice to have the option once in a while, you ass hole.

I didn't say that, though.

"Tell him we're having Mister Owen and Miss Crystal Sigler over for dinner. And tell him he can stay up there until he finds a better attitude."

That pushed me over the edge. I don't know where the sudden surge of anger came from, but it was there.

"He was planning to stay up there all day anyways. I was, too. That's all we do, Jeb. Think about it, besides your Saturday dinners, occasional weekday dinners, and church on Sunday, when do you see us?"
"Max-" He began.
"Even if you really DID have to work all the time every single day of the week, and we both know you don't, you just spend all your free time banging Bridget, we would still have the entire weekend to hang out, right? But we don't come downstairs to see you. Because we hate you just as much as you hate us."
"MAX!" He bellowed.

I ran up the stairs, going to the one place he would never find me. I was going to spend some time in the attic.

I over reacted. But there's no happy middle ground in my family. Dylan's either my best friend or a complete jerk trying to rape me. Bridget's either a bitch that's nice to me or a bitch that ignores me. Jeb is either a caring dad or a total jerk.

One thing about Bridget and Jeb, though. They're perfect for each other. In fact, they deserve to be stuck with someone as hideous and miserable as them. They like to pretend everything's perfect. They pretend not to see the scars on my wrists. They pretend that they don't know the other is cheating on them. They pretend that Dylan DOES have the father figure around that he desperately needs but will never admit that he wants.

I opened the random walk in closet in our hallway. There was a trap door at the top that you could pull down from the string hanging off of it. I didn't need a ladder. I've had enough practice. Gracefully, almost like flying, I opened the door, jumped, grabbed on to the ledge, and swung myself into the attic.

"Hey- What's going on?" Dylan asked, following me.

I collapsed on the old, beat up mattress. Sometimes Dylan and I slept up here. And by that, I mean we get really drunk up here and need a place to crash because we don't want to risk jumping down the trapdoor when we're hammered.

I didn't answer him for a while.

"The Bradley's are coming over for dinner."
Dylan cursed. "I hate them."

He lay down next to me, being my best friend for a little while. We hung out up there for a long time. We're always so entertained in the attic, like we're lost in a whole other world, like going back in time. Dylan never gets bored when he looks at old pictures from his or my, we're not sure, old relatives. He loved looking in photo albums filled with pictures of, again, his or my, past generations of families, filled with brothers and sisters and a dad and a mom that's probably home to see the kids.

I know Dylan. I may not like him, but I know him as I know myself. He clings on to any girl he can, trying to build the relationships with people he's never had. They never last. Once a girl starts to bore him, he dethatches himself, trying not to get hurt like he has been before. I figured out a long time ago that that's why he's always on to me. I've been the only secure, permanent thing in his life since we were eleven.

He's the only secure, permanent thing in my life, too. And maybe I would have been as queerly crazy about him as he is for me. But I don't really like guys. Don't get me wrong, I'm hetero all the way. I, like him, just don't want to be hurt. And that means that I don't open up my heart to anyone.

So when I felt my phone buzz, revealing a text from Isaac, why did I feel my heart lift a little?