The only friend I really had in 10 years—my dog, the one the Harland sisters had thrown out over and over again—ended up getting hit by a car. But this time, he didn't make it.
I cradled his broken, lifeless body home. To be honest, I didn't feel much of anything anymore.
Violet glared at me, looking pissed. "You brought that damn dog back again?!"
Her sister Hazel stomped over and tried to yank the dog out of my arms. "Callum's allergic to fur, you know that! Seriously, are you just trying to screw with us now?!"
Callum. My stepbrother. The one who's been taking everything from me since the day he came into my life. First, my mother. Now, even my two childhood friends who had been by my side for two decades!
After burying my dog, I checked my email and saw the message that had been sitting there.
[Mr. Bancroft, please confirm if you'd like to join the Helix Biosciences Research. Please be informed that once confirmed, all contact with the outside world will be prohibited for five years.]
I didn't even hesitate. I typed out my response. [I'm in.]
It was already late at night when I sent it.
Violet called me at that hour anyway.
"You jerk! Thanks to you dragging that damn dog back, Callum had an asthma attack and ended up in the ER! You better get off your ass and make him some vegetable and chicken stew—bring it over ASAP!"
Just before she hung up, Hazel got on the line, adding, "And don't forget—no celery! And make sure the chicken's fresh, got it?! Otherwise, it'll taste terrible! Now hurry it up!"
After I hung up, I stared at the picture on my nightstand—of me and the Harland sisters. For a moment, it felt like a distant memory.
They used to actually care so much about me.
Back when I was a kid, my dad had just passed away—we hadn't even buried him yet—and Mom was already married to Callum's dad.
I didn't belong in that new family—they made sure of that. Eventually, Mom got so fed up with me that she sent me off to live with my grandma.
That's how I met the Harland sisters next door.
Maybe they pitied me, a kid without a dad, getting picked on.
They were protective like little suns in my life, bringing back the warmth and company I'd lost.
They wouldn't let me get close to any other girls. And at home, they barely let me lift a finger, practically shoving me out of the kitchen.
They promised they'd always have my back. But then, Callum came along, and just like that, their promise didn't mean a thing anymore.
The dog was a gift from the Harland sisters for my 10th birthday, and I named him Bucky. To me, he was family.
Violet used to throw big birthday parties for Bucky every year, and Hazel even blew a fortune building him a custom doghouse.
But once Callum complained about being "afraid of dogs" and "allergic," they didn't think twice before kicking Bucky out.
The poor dog couldn't figure out why his folks just suddenly abandoned him like that. Every time he managed to find his way back, they'd throw him out again—and even hit him. Until, finally, he ended up on the road, and a car hit him.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed, and I checked to see that it was a message from Callum.
[Hey, forget the chicken broth. Violet and Hazel already got me some crab.]
The photo attached showed Violet, usually so cold and untouchable, in a cheap apron over her designer dress, meticulously shelling a crab for him.
Hazel was there, too, blowing on a spoonful of soup like he was some helpless kid.
A few minutes later, Callum posted on Facebook: [The prince and his two princesses, together forever!]
They looked like a perfect little family. I didn't fit in that picture anymore. I couldn't help but force a bitter laugh at that realization.
I should've known it was time to go, so I set a countdown on my phone.
Seven days to go. The day before I leave happened to be Dad's death anniversary. After I pay my respects, at last, I'll be gone.
