“It’s a garage sale, sister.” My brother’s lazy drawl came from the porch. I swung, seeing him lounging on a chair with a beer and bunch of his friends. Guys from school. Guys who had no business being in my house.
When I was younger, I was abnormally tall. Too tall for my age, all legs and feet and awkward limbs. My brother and his friends would pick on me at school. Kids are cruel, and I was an easy target. Years of guys and girls lumping shit on me taught me that I was worth nothing. I was smart but I was awkward, no easy come back or defence ever sprang to my lips. Instead I’d shuffle away, hunched shoulders, blushing and trying not to cry.
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Rationally, I knew I was drunk. Somewhere in the back of my darling-ly logical mind was a little voice telling me to stop drinking and get my arse home.
Instead I slapped my hand on the bar, signally my bestie Flo to pour me another.