7

Panting from my unplanned – and unwanted, I must add – exercise/fleeing, I drop down on my bed, which creaks from the old springs out of protest at my, evidently, too heavy weight, with a deep sigh and rest my forehead in my palms. Why, why, WHY, must Jonas drag up difficult topics, especially when he’s about to go on a frickin’ date with someone?! I’m not at all interested in digging deeper into my messy mind to sort out the chaotic thoughts that currently inhabits my head. I don’t have the time, energy, nor the will to sort out what just happened, yet, I’m unable to leave those thoughts alone. Why won’t we see eye to eye about our relationship and what it should entail? Is it possible to stay friends when Jonas still seems to have feelings for me? Will he ever overcome those feelings? Why does these crappy things happen to me all the time? Why can’t I ever get a break? Why ME? If there’s one quality I truly despise, it’s feeling self-pity. Which is very unfortunate since I’m so great at doing it. You could consider me a master of self-pity. I often lie awake at night feeling sorry for never being good enough to my foster parents. For killing my mom. For being useless at magic. For not being popular. For being weird. I even pity my self-pityness, that’s how bad it is. And I hate that feeling. It makes me feel weak, whiney, and pathetic. Yet, I can’t stop. On the up-side, at least I’m really good at something.

I lay on my back in my bed to churn over my thoughts, before heaving myself up to begin my daily chores. As a puppet on strings, I automatically scrub the bathroom downstairs. The bathroom is so tiny, my work is done in just a moment. The dull, dirty pink laminate floor looks a little less dull and a little less dirty after my fervent scrubbing, and the fresh smell of chlorine makes the old room seem less rundown. I empty the trash can and, for the thousandth time in my life, wished there actually existed a Scourgify-spell. It would have made my life so much easier – provided that I actually managed to master at least one spell in my life. I straighten up and admire my work. There is something immensely satisfying to have a sparkling clean bathroom. I check my watch and realize it’s almost time for dinner, so I hurriedly leave the bathroom to go collect some vegetables. All I end up finding being ripe, is a few leaves of spinach and salad, and I enter the kitchen with my meagre assortment. Kurt stands at over the steam at the stove and stirs in one of the pots.

Yey. It’s tomato sauce and spaghetti again. Or, as Kurt likes to call it “Pasta pomodoro”, even though I’m quite sure the recipe for that dish consists or more ingredients than tossing a can of cold, crushed tomatoes in the spaghetti bowl before being served.

“Sure took your time. It’s dinner in three minutes.”

“Sorry. It took a little longer finding some vegetables.” He gives my sad little pile of leaves a perfunctory glance and scoffs.

“So, you’ve spent all this time, and still couldn’t find anything decent.” I just nod and start chopping up my vegetables before setting the table. I make do with only a fork at my plate, since there are not enough clean utensils. As dinner is served, Evy joins us at the kitchen table, and we begin to eat. Kurt takes a bite, but soon clears his throat.

“As you’ve let us know, you have decided to take on a job this summer break. We’d like to discuss the terms of the income sharing of this activity.” I looked up from my plate in confusion. What’s he talking about? ‘Income sharing?’

“As you well know, we have a lot of extra costs from your livelihood as we took you on then you were little. You will not have as much time as usual this summer for all the work that needs to be done at home, and to contribute with your share, Evy and I think it would be appropriate for you to divide some of the income from your new job with us.” I can feel my mouth dry up and the disappointment burns like a small fire in my chest. True, we don’t have a lot of income, other than what the municipality is paying them for fostering me. I did however count on my foster parents to realize that their economy would be worse off if I didn’t live with them, and therefore not appropriate the little income that I would get from my job.

“For fairness’s sake, I will take care of your paycheck. Then, I will distribute a proportionate amount for you to spend on whatever you want. The rest will go towards the household costs.” I feel the burning sensation intensify as I understand that my plan of buying a new winter jacket has gone down the drain in a matter of seconds.