When Did You Get Boobs?

                                    

                                          
    "I thought you'd be excited," my mother gushes, bending down to peek into the oven, her blond hair falling in front of her eyes in messy strands, "you and Mason were such good friends!"
     My mother is clueless. Don't get me wrong, I love her. Everything about her: her bear hugs and gentle voice. I love that she can make the best out of any situation. She just isn't the best at noticing things that are happening around her. With good reason of course, the hospital takes up all of her time and her attention. It's not her fault she's clueless. She just is.
 
          "We were eight, mom. Nine years have passed. A lot of things have changed."
     "I'm sure that's not the case," she laughs, "I've already talked to Margaret, we're having this dinner. And I'm making spaghetti with garlic bread! You and Adam love my spaghetti."
     Adam and his father moved in a year after my dad left. I was four, and Adam was eight. I was so excited to get a big brother. The first year was amazing. Mom and I had a family again. Everything was perfect, until the day of my fifth birthday. Steven and Adam were driving into town to pick up my cake when the brakes malfunctioned and the car spun off of the road into a telephone pole.
      Adam survived with slight damage from a severe concussion and a broken arm. Steven died on impact. 
     Mom has taken care of Adam ever since then. She treasures him like her real son. That's why I can never tell her about the things he does. She wouldn't believe me and even if she did she would blame me, because in truth, I deserve it. I killed Steven. I deserve everything Adam gives to me.
     "It smells amazing in here, right Melanie," Adam asks me, grinning as he walks into the kitchen with nothing but a pair of basketball shorts hanging from his waist.
     "Thank you, Adam, at least someone appreciates my hard work." Mom teases.
      "No, mom, I love your spaghetti, I do," I rush out, fearing that I may have come off as ungrateful. 
     Her eyebrows furrow, "I was kidding, honey, now go freshen up, the Foster's will be here in an hour."
     I'm not stupid. I know that I am the problem. I know that my Dad left us because I was too much responsibility. He and Mom were fine before I came along and ruined everything. He couldn't handle having to watch me while mom was at the hospital. Who would want to watch over a brat who could only whine and complain? He hated me.
     I know that I killed Steven. I didn't need a birthday cake. But I was so adamant that it had to be a store bought one, decorated in candy flowers and fake fairies. I was so selfish. He died because of me. No one can, no one should, forgive me for that.
     I know that Mason said he left because he wanted to see his dad. But I also know he was gone for more than one summer. He was gone for nine years. Adam has told me countless times; he wanted to stay away from me. He turned around and never looked back. I mean, of course he did. I was so needy. How could he fight monsters for me, when I was the monster?
     I'm thinking about this as I step into the shower. The warm water burns my skin, running down my back.
     If I tell anyone how I got the bruises on my ribcage, or the jagged scars imprinted across my spine, Adam will leave me too. No one has stayed as long as he has. Even mom takes extra shifts just so she doesn't have to be with me. Adam has stayed, despite everything I took from him. His punishments are just the price I deserve to pay. Anything to make him stay with me. What would I be if I was alone?
     I stay in the shower for only about twenty minutes before stepping out and wrapping a towel around myself, my hair dripping water that leaves small puddles on the floor as I walk to my room.