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The house has been unusually quiet.

There's no laughter filling the walls.

There's no shouts clinging to the ceiling.

Footsteps are being treaded cautiously, conversations exchanged in courtesy.

Paula goes to work at 6am and doesn't come home before late evening. She's probably pleased by the few sounds that inhabit the house, never knowing that the quietness is present at day as much as night.

Arthur has noticed. He's louder than usual, singing with more fervor as he tosses and cackles with the kitchen supplies. He's checking in on us more frequently too, attempting to make us join him, make us join eachother. His pleas for movie nights are never successful, the dinner table silenced apart from Arthur's shallow questions being thrown from one person to the other.

He's trying to engage us, unite us as a family inside these four walls that surround us. Inside these four walls that separate us.

I know how he feels. I know he feels like it's like starting all over. Like beginning from scratch again, only this time no one's trying, no one's engaged.

Glen's seclusion is starting to really get at me. He was my best friend, my protector, my helper. My brother. His sudden retraction from all things involving me has cast a shadow over my once grateful being, I'm no longer feeling as welcome in this house as I once did.

He hasn't been mean, or disrespectful, or obvious in his silent reclusion, his manner slowly evolving into one of depression. He's softly alienating himself from not only me, but everyone around him, and I don't want to be the cause of it.

Spencer is no longer throwing me nasty glances, there's no pretend in her avoidance, she's merely just retreating herself to her room. Nothing about her is out of the ordinary, her discovery of Glen's more-than-friendly feelings toward me has not been acknowledged, not been seen in her demeanor.

I'm able to look at them more closely tonight, Arthur finally succeeding in his attempts at uniting us for a movie night. I don't know how long he'll succeed though, the mere occurrence of both Glen and Spencer being home on a Saturday night is not possible. And we're all aware of it.

"So, who's your date tonight, Spence?"

"Mom!"

"What, aren't your parents obliged to know who you're spending the evening with?"

Arthur is throwing Spencer a knowing look, the kindness in his eyes telling her to
just go along with it, to please Paula's overbearing curiosity.

I've got the best view.

The darkness that embraces us this late Saturday evening is making me see things differently than I've been able to before. Paula and Arthur are cuddled
tightly together on the couch, Spencer keeping her distance from them on her side of it. Her arms are tightly knit around her, a sense of physical defensiveness overtaking her features. Her eyes are cast toward the television screen, but she's obviously not watching the movements on it. Her face is stoic, hard, the light from the television screen dancing on her features, highlighting the landscape of her face in a way that makes her eyes stand out. They're not eliciting the sparkling blue that usually fills her eyes, a deeper, more intricate shade of blue having taken possession of them in this moment in time.

Glen is not giving his attention to anyone; his eyes are following the movements of the television screen where he's sprawled all over the loveseat in front of me. Even the way he lies is different from what we're used to, the nosy nature he's inherited from his mom not appearing tonight.

When Spencer finally replies to her mom's incessant probing, it's with a huff of a sentence, one that makes her face get lit up in different ways than before. I'm not actually listening to her answer, too focused on the way her lips move with the pronunciation of each word. The darkness makes it feel safe to watch her, like she's unable to see me where I'm sitting oblivious in my own light.

It's not as luminous on me though, therefore I'm under the illusion that I'm
invisible, that the glances I throw around won't be noticed by the people I'm watching.

It's amazing what you manage to believe if you choose to ignore common logic, when something you want to believe becomes your reality. I suppose this is what fooled me, what tricked my mind to imagine that no one would be able to see me.

My blatant staring at Spencer was never meant to be discovered, no one was supposed to know. If I suspected I could get caught, I never would've engaged in this forbidden activity, but the spell she seems to put me under easily takes me in.

And easily calls me out.

Therefore, I'm shocked when my eyes finally leave her and wander over to the couch in front of me. The one with a boy of unknown thoughts, of unknown understanding, of unknown discovery. His eyes bore into me, the terror easily traceable in my expression. I don't know how I could downplay this, how I could make it look like I didn't just scan his sister's features in the most scrutinizing way.

Because I don't know how much my eyes really gave away.

Her date did come. Someone from another school, another neighborhood, another gender.

He was invited in, hand clasping warmly with everyone's as he did was what expected of him.

He did it a bit too perfectly. The confident but respectful appearance he put on in front of us was well rehearsed, well worn out. The looks he threw in Spencer's direction were ones of pretended affection, a front to put on when in company of someone's parents.

They left not long after, I'm pretty sure as to what they had planned.

And I really really don't want to think about it.

The movie's not over, having been put on pause as Spencer's date were introduced, and as I feel obliged to watch the rest of it, I'm unable to avoid Glen's presence. He hasn't said anything, hasn't had the chance yet. But I feel his eyes upon me as I'm desperately throwing my attention to the television screen, suppressing one cringe after another for every time I am reminded of my slip. Of my stare.

I'm used to him looking at me. It's usually with warmness, with care. This time though, it's different. He's not sending me snugly feelings with the glances he's projecting, there's something else present this time. And it's not of the pleasant variety.

I managed to escape. I managed to slip out of the living room without Glen following me, or even giving me a look of an intervention coming my way. He merely cast his eyes shortly on me, leaving me with a bitter feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can't help but feel unveiled, exposed, his eyes telling me I'm not allowed, I'm not approved.

It scares me that I let it go this far. That I let someone catch a glimpse of these inappropriate emotions that course through me, that I let someone see.

I've come to terms with what these feelings have in store for me. I've accepted it, learnt to live with it, embraced it. It's the looks, the judging, and most of all the complicated and impossible situation I'm gotten myself into that tears at my insides.

Maybe if it had been someone else. Maybe if my joke of a heart had decided to put its effort on someone else, then maybe it would've been easier. Maybe it would've been possible.

Because of this situation, this state of heart that lays within me, I'm unable to see a way out. Deep within this family's values lies a faith that doesn't approve of what I feel, or what I am. It hasn't struck that deep inside me yet, and I don't believe it ever will. But it's rooted in everyone else, and if it hadn't been for this family that's finally accepted me, I probably wouldn't have any problem about coming out. 'Cause I didn't have anyone to please.

That's not the case anymore though. I cannot live my own life anymore, not without the knowledge of someone watching me, testing me, loving me. But I do not believe it's unconditional love, and that's what scares me.

The chance of it not being explicit.

Guess who was sleeping in her own bed this morning?

Yes, I did too.

But it's not me that I'm talking about

I'm talking about the other girl sleeping under this shared roof, this familiar cover
that protects us all.

I don't know when she got home. It could've been early morning, could've been late last night. All I know is the warm whiff of relief rushing through me when I see her already at the breakfast table the morning after.

Maybe she cut the date off short, maybe – just maybe – she didn't give to him what she gives to all the others. Maybe she for once actually stayed clothed.

The thoughts, the vivid imagery that courses through the inside of my eyeballs is explicit; cringe-worthy. And it's not just imagined.
The picture of a half-naked Spencer being feeled up in the backseat of Glen's car is as clear as day, the moans she elicited still protruding into my auditory canals. And they don't amuse me, they don't excite me. There's nothing sexy about reminiscing Spencer's own hands touching someone else, her willingness to get undressed.

Therefore, I don't want to think about the possibility of these things happening last night; of someone touching her, pleasing her.

However much I don't want to know about about it, I'm still curious of Spencer's answer when Paula asks her how the date went. I might pretend to not care, to not be affected.

But God knows I'm way more affected than what I'm allowed to be.

"It was cool, we went over to Sadie's place to watch a movie after dinner."

"So you stayed over there?"

"Yeah, it got so late that I just slept on her couch when he left."

Lies. All lies.

They're not even good lies, the ones she seem to sputter out in every direction, still they haven't caught on. Still, they don't see their daughter as what she is. A whore.

Harsh, but in this moment, in this disappointment that gnaws at my guts, I feel inclined to be vicious. Inclined to act immature.

There's no expression indicating what I feel though, as I know Glen's eyes are glued on me. Like they've been every time Spencer's answered. Every time Paula's asked. There's only one safe place for me to act out what I feel; and that's in my own room, in my own company, alone.

I'm scared of Glen, I'm scared of him noticing anything beyond what he has already seen. I'm scared of giving him evidence of what his mind believes. Of what his guts are sure of.

Of what he's perfectly right in.

"So, Glen and Ashley, any romantic interests for any of you, maybe?", Paula gleefully drawls out in a teasing manner. Her eyes shine in curiosity, mine in terror and Glen's in confusion. Neither one of us answer, which only throws petrol on the ever-rising fire in Paula's nosy nature.

"You wouldn't want to bring anyone to dinner on Tuesday, would you? I'll make lasagna!"

"No!"

The groan in unanimous, Glen and Spencer shouting it out loudly for Paula to hear, me merely thinking it loudly in my mind.

I'm still not accustomed to show ingratitude.

"Okey, okey, I promise to not cook anything if you promise to bring someone over, even if it's just a friend!"

She nudges Arthur lightly in the side, being very obvious in her hidden prayer that we might just bring someone of interest to the table.

If they just knew both of us already have one seated.