Page 4 of Arianna

Her words warm my half-broken heart.

Anna. Anna, pretty.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that she is wrong. That I am not pretty. Not like her.

Not like most girls.

I am ugly on the inside.

Pretty girls don’t feel rage.

Don’t feel jealous.

They are not rotten, slowly decaying on the inside with every breath they take.

They are not me, and I will never be them.

I am what I am.

“Out there! Out there!” My baby sister’s excited chatter pulls me out of my thoughts, forcing me to look where she is pointing. I follow her tiny finger to the ceiling of my room. Most girls my age have posters of famous heartthrobs on their walls or those tacky stars that glow in the dark. I don’t. Instead, I glued countless photos of cities and beautiful places I dream of visiting one day. I borrowed the magazines from nonna and started ripping out pages of places I will find outside this ugly city.

Places I know I will never get to step foot in.

Still, I have them up there, so every time I close my eyes before bed and open them when morning comes, they remind me of what awaits me outside this family.

A big world.

A world with countless possibilities.

As long as those pictures stay up there, I won’t ever give up.

I won’t lose hope, even though hope is very fickle.

I twirl one of Mila’s pigtails as I sigh. “Yes, Mila. All those places are waiting for us.” I never talk to her in silly voices or talk gibberish back at her. I talk to my sister like a grownup. She is advanced for her young age, already knowing her colors and words some kids are only taught in school.

I teach her all I know, hoping it will help her have a fighting chance once I am no longer with her. That day will come. The day I will have to leave my heart here with her. With both of my sisters.

“We go there?” Mila looks up at me while she rests her head on my chest. When our parents are away, Mila sleeps in bed with me.

Green eyes meet light blue with specks of gray. God, her eyes are so rare, just like her. My rare star.

Looking up at the ceiling, I point to the photo of the Eiffel Tower. “Do you see that big structure, Mila?”

“Yes. Big.” She whispers in awe and giggles as she holds me tight.

I manage a small smile. It is difficult for me to laugh at times. I don’t feel it. Not like most people do. “Yes, it is.”

“We go there?” The heart inside my chest cracks for the millionth time in my short life. I don’t feel it anymore. I am used to this pain.

“Yeah. Maybe when we are older, we can sit in one of the cafés near the tower and drink coffee after shopping at the most exclusive stores in the city. What do you think?” I give her false hope because I would rather become one of the things I hate most, a liar, than break my baby sister’s heart, and this life will break it. There is no doubt about that.

Mila taps her chin twice, as she does religiously every time a thought occurs. “Cupcakes?”

“I’m sure they have cupcakes there.” We are not allowed sugary treats in our house. Father could care less about what his children want, and mother only thinks about herself.

“Pops for Anna?”

Pops.

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