The Truth about a Slut

The Truth about a Slut. [1]

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"Wow, pretty amazing." Bibi snaps sarcastically.

I flinch, her voice sharp. It's what I hate the most about Mum or Bibi as I call her. Her not-so-english voice has a hideously sharp pitch. Even more so when she's angry.

Bibi huffs dramatically, turning back to the bubbling soup on the stove. "Harmoni?"

Harmoni Cinta (pronounced:chin-ta) Cole. That would be me. And, once again, I must wonder whether my Mum was high or just fucking screwed when she named me. Of course, my brother didn't get any more sympathy than me, being named: Benedict.

"This is ridiculous! I'm slaving in the kitchen, making food for the 'army'!" Bibi screams.

Fuck. By 'army' she means, me and Ben. Apparently we eat as much as a fucking army. Gimme a break, old hag.

I fling my sheets back, already dressed in my uniform, shuddering as the winter cold creeps into my skin and bones. I curse this life I live. Really. I hate it that we don't have central heating, or even afford to turn on any gas heaters.

I groan, glancing at my cell phone's dark screen, squinting at the time. 8:35am. I shrug into a jacket, tugging at holey stockings beneath my short skirt.


"HARMONI!"


Fucking hell! "WHAT!" I yell back.


"DON'T YELL AT ME!"


Yeah, you see Bibi's lack of logic? She yells, I yell, then she yells at me not to yell. I open my door and slip into the cold kitchen.


"See, I slave for you two selfish, arrogant little kid!" Bibi's face distorts violently.


"Kids." I correct her automatically, under my breath.


"No thank you, no nothing. Everyday. Nothing!" She continues ranting.


I sigh, grab whatever leftover pizza from last night and hurry to the front door. "See ya."


"Mum, where's my..."


I pull the front door shut on Ben's words. The icy wind blasts rudely in my face, making me want to crawl back into my warm bed. I shiver violently, then begin the condemned walk to school.
I suppose I'm lucky that we live so close to school. But, in all honesty, I can't wait to get out of here.Out of this hole, I live in. I'd live somewhere exotic, like Tuscany. Ok, ok, so I only thought of Tuscany becuse I saw a movie about this chic who went to live in Tuscany. You know, Tuscany under the Sun... or was it something else.


I approach the gates of Lichgow High. Ha. Yeah, no really, that is the name of the highschool. Well, the name of the fucking town I live in. It's sick.


I walk towards the main building, ignoring the snide or lustful looks cast at me by boys that are hanging around the entrance way. Sickos.


I side glance at the row of cars gleaming under the watery sun through the early mist. I run a hand through my thick, black hair; staring at the cars, wishing, longing for one of my own. I shift the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder, about to turn back to the doomed building where you were pointlessly educated.


Then I see him.