Page 50 of The Sinner: James

With one flick of my hand, I pull my laptop closed and bring my eyes to her.

“You know, Daria... I’m getting a little tired of you acting like you're my guardian or something. You’re not Mom. She doesn't even do this kind of crap. Just go. Leave me alone,” I say, motioning her to the door. “I can’t wait to see you go away for good.”

A smirk lines her lips, her hands clasping her hips.

“Really? You think being home with Mom and Dad for an entire year is better for you?”

“It won’t be a year. And I’ll be in Italy, doing my research.”

“Oh, that’s what it’s called? Research? Give me a fucking break, will you?” she sneers, pinning a scornful gaze on me.“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard from a bum like you.”

“I’m not a bum.”

Her eyes blaze with anger.

“Oh, no? Then what is it? People your age go to college, get a job or start a business while you plan to live off your parents, wasting your time in Europe with some lame-ass project. No one in their right mind takes a sabbatical to write a damn book. Not now, anyway. Have you checked the Internet lately? Everybody and their sister writes a book. There are tons of books. And they are way more interesting than yours. At least people try to make a living with it, but not you. No, no... And you know why? Because you have no idea what real life is and how difficult it is to make a living. You’ve never had a job in your life. You don’t even know what a bill looks like, let alone how to pay one. You’re nothing but a spoiled little girl. Their fucking precious daughter.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes in disgust.

I can no longer push back my retort, words flying from my mouth.

“Look who’s fucking talking. As if you have it so hard,” I bark, gesturing, annoyed. “First off, you could open a designer shop out of your closet. Do you want to talk about money? Let’s talk about money. You spend everything you have on stupid shit. Shoes, purses, jewelry, and dresses. Why the hell do you need so much stuff, Daria? Isn’t the entire purpose of buying this shit to take it off anyway? You want to talk about jobs? Let’s talk about jobs. You’ve never had a job in your life either, so why do you keep reminding me that I hadn’t gotten one? And speaking about bums, all you did this summer was open your legs or mouth for whatever man had his cock hard for you.”

She clenches her teeth.

I can almost hear them grinding.

“I bought most of my clothes with my money.”

“What money, Daria? How did you get that money? Sucking someone’s dick?”

Her lips pull into a smug smile.

“I think you’re jealous,” she says.

“Why would I be? What’s so fucking hard about opening your legs? Anyone with a slit can do it.”

A wicked smile stretches across her lips.

“Can you?”

I fold my arms across my chest, my lips pressed into a tight line as I suddenly go quiet.

Slowly, she shakes her head, amusement glinting in her eyes.

“Oh, my God…” she murmurs, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “My poor baby sister. That’s why you’re so frustrated,” she says before clicking her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk… He doesn’t want to touch you...” she murmurs, gloating, entertained.

The blood drains from my face, her chuckle piercing my ears.

Eventually, she gets quiet, taking me in with fresh eyes and quirking her lips again.

“Of course…” she says. “How come it didn’t cross my mind? Your little virginal gift means nothing to him. That’s why you’re so obnoxious, huffing and puffing, having a meltdown.”

“You don’t know that,” I blurt.

Glowing satisfaction beams on her face.

“Finally, you admit it,” she says.

---