Borderline

Sugarcoat just rolled her eyes when she saw me.

That was stupid. Sugarcoat rolled her eyes at everything, that didn't mean she hated—

She rolled her eyes as soon as she saw me approaching because I'm exhausting to be around.

Sugarcoat rolled her eyes at everything—

Especially me.

"Uhm, hello? Anyone home?" Sugarcoat's voice broke through the thoughts.

Sour Sweet blinked. "Y-yes!" She shook her head vigorously. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Sugarcoat rolled her eyes. Sour Sweet's heart cracked a little more.

"You don't need to apologize," Sugarcoat droned. "It's fine."

But it wasn't, and Sour Sweet knew it. She nodded all the same.

Beside them, Sunny Flare stared at her phone screen. "Sucks that the school's not hosting any events for spring break this year."

"Nah, it's totally cool," Sugarcoat said, her expression as blank as her words. "Like, who even cares about going on an awesome trip? Yachts are boring. I can't wait to spend the whole break at home doing nothing."

"So you don't have any plans?" Sour Sweet asked, definitely a little too loud. "I don't have plans either, maybe we could do something!"

Why would they want to do something with me?

"I-I mean, if you want to."

Of course they want to do something, just not with me. Sugarcoat made it obvious that she doesn't have plans—too obvious.

"That is, uhm…"

She's lying, she does have plans. They just don't include me.

"If you're really not busy, of course, I…"

She wants me to think she's at home doing nothing all week instead of doing things without me, because she thinks I'll get all pissy and mopey if I find out and she's sick of me—

"...Sorry, I—sorry. Nevermind."

"What're you sorry for?" Sunny Flare raised an eyebrow. "If you wanna hang out, I'm free."

She doesn't want me there.

"I, well…"

She's just being polite. If I say yes she'll be mad.

"No, that's okay, sorry." Sour Sweet couldn't meet her friend's eye. "I'm sorry."

Sunny Flare shrugged. "Alright, nevermind then." The words were sharp and quick, yet still lingered just long enough for Sour Sweet to be sure of their meaning.

She hates me. They both hate me.

She had to turn this around. She could turn this around—just be like Saccharine, everyone liked Saccharine. Act like her, be like her, don't be like herself. It was all too easy for people to hate Sour Sweet, but everyone loved her sister.

Half-sister.

"I'll leave it up to you!" Sour Sweet spat out the words too fast, like they were venom on her tongue. There was no way the girls understood, not when her tone was all messed up. They probably thought she was being sarcastic, with how slurred and cheery her voice had been. Idiot. Idiot.

No wonder I have no friends.

"Alright, well…" Sugarcoat stretched her arms above her head and yawned, clearly bored—bored with me, because she hates being around me—"I'm sure I'll think of something. Just make sure you keep your phone on, okay?"

"Wh-what? Sorry, I—no, okay, I will! Can't wait!" Sour Sweet chirped happily. Keep her phone on! That meant Sugarcoat was going to text her later, which meant she did want to spend time with Sour Sweet which meant she didn't hate her—

Or she was talking to Sunny Flare.

—Or she was talking to Sunny Flare.

"Yeah, same," Sunny Flare said, confirming Sour Sweet's fears. Not only had she misunderstood someone who was supposed to be her friend, she'd interjected and answered a question that wasn't even meant for her, forcing Sunny Flare to awkwardly answer only after Sour Sweet had stupidly and shamelessly invited herself like a total cretin.

Idiot! Stop being such an idiot!

Settling beneath a fresh wave of well-deserved self-loathing, Sour Sweet mumbled, "I'll, uhm… I'll see you later, I guess."

Sunny Flare looked at her for a moment, her expression contorting the tiniest bit. In annoyance, no doubt. "You okay?" she asked.

Just listen to how she sounds. She's sick of me, because I'm—

Too much. Sour Sweet was too much, she knew that. She knew it.

Saccharine wasn't too much. People liked her. Why couldn't Sour Sweet be like her?

"Oh, me? I'm fine, really!" Sour Sweet said, praying to whoever would listen that Sunny Flare wouldn't detect the small bits of wavering in her voice that Sour Sweet failed to cover. "I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Yeah, sure." Sunny Flare nodded, her expression unchanged. "We'll see you later, okay? Keep your phone on."

She's only saying that to make me feel better.

"Will do!" Sour Sweet gave her a smile. It was a frail and hollow thing.

No wonder I have no friends.

Sugarcoat spoke up. "You should post a message in the group chat," she said to Sunny Flare, as indicated by her breaking eye contact with Sour Sweet as soon as she started talking. "I'm sure we can gather up enough people to do something interesting."

Group chat? Sour Sweet was in the group chat, so maybe Sugarcoat really did want her here—

Or there's another group chat they haven't told me about.

"I'll try to remember to put something up after classes get out," Sunny Flare said. "Speaking of, I gotta get to chem lab." She turned to Sour Sweet and looked her dead in the eyes. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Oh—okay! See you later!" Sour Sweet blurted out.

Sunny Flare just nodded and walked away. Sugarcoat, already returning her eyes to her phone, did the same, leaving Sour Sweet alone in the intersection between halls, wondering against her will why Sugarcoat didn't bother to say goodbye too.

Because she thinks I'm too much.

Idiot.

Sour Sweet kept her eyes on the ground as she made her way to her dad's house, passing row after row of identical suburban homes. Were they identical? There were probably some small differences here or there, but the homes blurred together in her periphery all the same. They all blended together seamlessly, all fitting in.

Despite living with her dad for nearly seven years now, Sour Sweet had never once made an effort to befriend any of the neighboring kids. She always told herself that one day, she'd introduce herself. Make a new friend, someone whose opinion of her wasn't colored by a lifetime of stupid mistakes and overly emotional bullshit. A fresh start.

That's what moving here was supposed to be, right? A fresh start?

But I went and made it rotten anyway.

She'd had a chance to make new friends at Crystal Prep, and what did she have to show for it? A few girls who barely tolerated her, all while smiling like nothing was wrong, like interacting with Sour Sweet wasn't the most exhausting part of their day.

Why do they put up with me?

A handful of piteous half-friendships were better than nothing, she supposed, but it'd be easier for everyone if the girls just had the courtesy to tell her to fuck off instead of stringing her along. She frowned as her muscles tensed briefly.

Why do I put up with them?

At last arriving at her dad's place, Sour Sweet shook her head and tried to release some of the tension grinding through her. Her decision to walk home rather than take the bus meant Saccharine was probably here already, even though her elementary school got out even later than Crystal Prep, for some stupid reason. A quick glance at Sour Sweet's phone confirmed her expectations—as well as zero notifications from the group chat, or anyone else.

Liars.

Her frown darkened into a scowl. She should've known better than to trust people who lied to her on a daily basis.

Sour Sweet shoved her phone back in her pocket with one hand as she fumbled for her keys with the other. She could deal with that reality check later—Saccharine was here, which doubtlessly meant childish screams and naive smiles awaited her. It wouldn't do to come storming through the door all pissed off and pouty. Her sister didn't deserve that. With a few deep breaths and a nod to herself, Sour Sweet made her way inside.

"You're home, finally!" The joyous cries of an eight-year-old were the first thing to greet her. As Sour Sweet locked the door behind her, she heard Saccharine come running around the corner. "I saw you out the window!" her sister said as she wrapped Sour Sweet in a hug, burying her face in her side.

"Of course you did." Sour Sweet did her best to smile. It was always easier when Saccharine was around. "Did you have a good day at school?"

She could feel Saccharine nod against her. "We learned about bats today!"

"Now that's something cool!" Sour Sweet's smile felt a little more real as she brushed a hand through her sister's pale gold hair. "What's something you learned about bats?"

Saccharine grinned up at her, blue eyes wide and wild. "Some eat bugs, but the big ones eat fruit! And they, uhm… they sleep upside-down!"

"You're getting so smart," Sour Sweet said. It was true—Saccharine learned everything fast, even if she didn't always know how to explain it back. But she was smart, and she worked hard. She deserved someone in her life who told her so.

As Saccharine pressed her face into Sour Sweet's vest again, Sour Sweet asked, "Have you heard from Dad today? I didn't see his car out front."

"Nope." Saccharine hugged Sour Sweet a little tighter. "I think he's working late again."

Sour Sweet rolled her eyes. Of course he was.

All the better to stay away from me.

No, that was stupid. Dad wasn't like that. He worked hard for both of his daughters, it wasn't right to—

He only makes it home on time on days when I stay out late.

Of course Dad loved her—

Then why did he try to replace me?

Frowning, Sour Sweet freed herself from her half-sister's grip. "I'm gonna hang out in my room," she said, already turning to walk away.

"O-oh. Okay." Saccharine said softly. "I know more things about bats—"

"I don't care about the bats, Saccharine," Sour Sweet snapped.

She doesn't deserve this. She didn't do anything wrong.

"S-sorry, I meant… I'm really tired, sorry. I didn't sleep well last night." Turning to face Saccharine, she held together the best fake smile she could. "How about you watch TV or something, and I'll make us dinner in a bit?"

With a quiet nod, Saccharine started to leave for the living room. Sour Sweet watched her go, until a heavy surge of guilt tore through her.

"I'll be quick, Saccharine. I love you, okay?"

"I love you too," Saccharine replied as she rounded the corner out of sight. Tears burned in Sour Sweet's eyes at those words spoken by such a sweet girl, too sweet to realize what a heartless bitch she lived with. Despite having so many reasons to the contrary, she still loved her big sister.

But for how long?

That wasn't—

Eventually she'll get sick of me too.

Sour Sweet wiped her tears away, her gaze falling to the floor. With a bitter sigh and an angry grimace, she retreated upstairs to the bedroom and locked the door behind her.

"Sour Sweet, come in! It's so good to see you!" Dean Cadance smiled warmly in the way only someone who was paid to be nice could do. "How are you today?"

"Me? I'm fine, of course I'm fine!" Sour Sweet did her best to smile back.

Liar.

"Or, I guess, uhm—"

No wonder nobody likes me.

"I-I'm okay."

The dean observed her silently for a moment, clearly longer than she would if she didn't suspect something. Sour Sweet's shallow grin faded and she buried her gaze in the floor.

"That's good to hear." Dean Cadance leaned forward in her chair. "Can I get you anything? Snack? Water? And thank you for coming, by the way."

"Water please!" Sour Sweet said gladly, to which Cadance nodded and left the room. Presumably to get some water, of course. She'd come back. It was her office, it would be weird if she didn't come back. Besides, if the dean was offering her water, that must mean Sour Sweet wasn't in trouble.

Or she's trying to soften the blow.

The blow of what? Sour Sweet frowned, fidgeting in her seat as she checked the door for Cadance again. Sour Sweet hadn't done anything wrong, had she? Nothing that would get her in trouble with the dean, anyway. Acting like a weirdo in front of your friends wasn't a punishable offense, at least as far as she knew. But what if they told the dean—?

"Here's that water for you." Cadance's sudden voice made Sour Sweet twitch. "I hope tap is okay, the staff fridge has been out of it lately."

"Of course, thank you!" With the brightest smile she could manage, Sour Sweet sat up straight—don't slouch, don't act like a pig—and took a sip. It was cold. Maybe cold enough to come from a sink but it might be from a fridge. But why would the dean lie about something like that?

She has no reason to trust me.

"So," Cadance said as she returned to her desk, "do you know why I asked you to visit me today?"

I did something wrong… or someone lied and said I did.

"No," Sour Sweet said, suddenly stiff with anger.

Someone must have lied about me to get me in trouble. Maybe to get me expelled? To get rid of me?

Again, the dean didn't respond immediately, as if waiting for Sour Sweet to continue with a more revealing answer. Sour Sweet instead resolved to cross her arms and let the silence stew.

Finally, Cadance spoke up. "Well, I heard from a couple of your friends yesterday—"

They hate me. They hate me and want me gone and lied to the dean to get me expelled because they think I'm too much to deal with.

"—who were concerned about you."

She's lying. They hate me.

Sour Sweet squirmed, anger and adrenaline suddenly burning in her chest. Her heart rushed in her ears as her gaze again fell to the floor, her vision blurring into static as she stared intensely at the patterns in the carpet beneath the dean's desk.

This would never happen to Saccharine.

"Sour Sweet?"

"Oh, sorry, yes?" Sour Sweet sat up with a big smile. Act like Saccharine. Be like her. Everyone liked her.

But nobody likes me.

"This is just a check-in, don't worry. Not a big deal at all." The reassuring look on Cadance's face almost masked the obvious lie. "You don't have to pretend with me, okay? This is a safe place."

"What?" The beginnings of panic clawed at Sour Sweet's insides. "I'm not pretending, I-I don't get what you mean."

She thinks I'm lying. I'm not though, I'm not!

The dean continued as if Sour Sweet hadn't said anything at all. "Nothing you tell me will leave this room," she said. "In situations like this, your privacy is my main concern."

Situation? What situation? Was she really going to be expelled? This was all wrong, Sour Sweet didn't want to upset anyone, she didn't mean to… to do whatever she did, whatever her friends thought…

Suddenly feeling heavy, Sour Sweet forced out a reply. "What did my friends say?"

They're not my friends.

"It's nothing serious, Sour Sweet," Cadance said. "They just asked me to check on you, that's all."

I must have done something awful without even realizing it.

The dean wouldn't say. Was it for privacy reasons? No, why would her friends' privacy matter if they weren't the ones in trouble? It had to be something else. She wouldn't say because whatever they said must have been awful because Sour Sweet was awful—

"Sour Sweet?" Cadance sounded concerned—annoyed.

"Why?" She barely managed to squeak. It was so hard to breathe. She was making a scene again, just like with her friends, idiot, idiot—

"Because they care about you." Cadance was still smiling at her like nothing was wrong, like her friends hadn't already proven how much they really hated her. "You know that, right?"

Did they? Cadance apparently thought they did, or at least she expected Sour Sweet to believe so. If she didn't, the dean would be mad at Sour Sweet for talking back to her.

"Of course!" Sour Sweet's voice bubbled with stale enthusiasm. "Of course they do! I have such good friends, they're so thoughtful."

"Mhm." The dean's smile fell away for the briefest of seconds, but Sour Sweet caught its ineffable meaning.

She doesn't trust me.

"You spent your early childhood with your mother, is that correct?" Cadance asked.

What? What did Mom have to do with this?

I can't tell her anything. She won't believe me. Nothing bad happened anyway.

"I-I guess, yeah," Sour Sweet said stiffly, "but now I live with my dad and my sister."

"I see." The dean nodded. "What was your mother like?"

"Not now, Sour Sweet."
　　　　　　　　　"I said not now."　　　　　　　　"You think you're so much smarter than me, don't you?"
　　　　　　　　　　　　　"You eat like a pig."
　　　　　　　"No wonder you have no friends at school, if you act like this."
　　　　　"Go to bed. No, I said go to bed, now."　　　　　　　　　　　　　"God, you're so ungrateful!"
　　　"You are just too much, y'know that?"
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"You know, I didn't weigh that much when I was your age."
　　　　　"Brush your hair, it looks like a rat's nest."　　　　　　　"Don't you ever use that tone with me again!"　　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　　"'B-but! I-it's just! I didn't mean to!' I don't care."　
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"You don't get to speak to me that way, ever."　
　　"Stop making excuses!"　
　　　　　　　"Next time you use that tone with me, you can fix your own dinner for a week."
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"You're lucky I don't make you sleep outside!"
　　　　"He was my husband, I'll talk about him however I want."
"We only got divorced because of you."
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"Aww, is she all angry? Grow up."　　　　
　　　　　"It's not your place to tell me how I can talk about my own ex."　
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"I am done with this! I should've thrown you out on the street!"
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　"No one will ever love you the way I do!"

She won't believe me. Nothing bad happened anyway.

Sour Sweet blinked. "She was fine. She worked a lot."

"She never mistreated you?"

The room was suddenly too hot. Sour Sweet felt her whole body burning. "I… I don't know what you mean."

Without missing a beat, Cadance asked, "She never made you feel like your feelings weren't important?"

But they aren't important.

"I…"

I'm not important. Not to Mom and not to anyone.

"I-I don't know what you mean…"

I don't matter to anyone. They all wish I was gone.

"It's alright," Cadance said. She pulled a box of tissues from a drawer in her desk and held it out to Sour Sweet. "You don't have to answer if you're not comfortable doing so."

Sour Sweet shivered, her chest aching and her face burning. Was she crying? When did she start crying? She blinked several times and turned her misty eyes to the tissues, and inadvertently caught a glimpse of the overly concerned look on the dean's face.

She thinks I'm exaggerating to get sympathy.

"Here." Cadance offered her the tissues again. "It's okay, I promise."

The poor abused girl whose mommy was oh-so mean to her, and that somehow makes it okay for me to be a nightmare to be around? Please. No one's going to believe that.

Sour Sweet took a single tissue and wiped her eyes, then stared at the floor again. "Sorry," she said as quietly as she could.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Cadance said. "How about you spend the next period in here? We can talk if you like, or I can leave the room, or whatever you want."

Sour Sweet heard the words, but their meaning didn't register. Her head was pounding, aching, swirling with the consequences of her failure to keep it together.

What if she talks to the girls after this? She thinks I'm exaggerating for attention, she thinks I'm a liar, she thinks they're right to hate me—

She wasn't trying to exaggerate, she didn't mean to start crying, she didn't mean to—

No one cares. No one will ever care.

"Sorry…"

Not unless I make them.

Sour Sweet resolved to spend the weekend in bed, with her door closed. Her phone sat on the nightstand, waiting in vain for an invitation she knew would never come.

The bedroom she slept in here was larger than the one she'd had at her mom's house, and much more furnished. A small, circular vanity mirror sat atop a small dresser by the door, and a row of small plushies and figurines sat atop a set of hanging shelves above it, hung neatly from the soft violet walls. The dresser itself held a bag with make-up, a dozen or so hair-ties in a variety of colors, and a thin, sleek laptop—her dad's old one from work, before he'd replaced it last year. Her closet was full of new clothes that actually fit her, rather than the baggy thrift store finds she'd owned upon moving in. Against the back wall was a wooden bed frame complete with carved bedposts, atop one of which hung a red holiday hat Saccharine had excitedly gifted her for Christmas last year. And with a full-sized mattress, plenty of pillows, and a thick duvet patterned with streaks of pink and cream, Sour Sweet knew too well that she ought to be more grateful for it all. More appreciative of how much Dad had provided for her.

But no matter how many times she slept in this well-furnished room, in that soft and cozy bed, she never woke up feeling rested. How could she? This wasn't her room, and that wasn't her bed. It was a bedroom, with a bed, but not her own. She could sleep in it, live in it, yearn for it at the end of each and every long day, for weeks and months and years on end, but it would always feel wrong.

She'd left her room, her bed, and all her things back at Mom's house. All these years later, she would still wake up expecting to be in the home she'd grown up in—the home where she was no longer welcome.

And whose fault is that?

Friday night dragged on slowly enough. Of course Dad was working late again, so Sour Sweet had once more come home to just Saccharine, all hugs and excitement… only to smother her sister's smile as she had the day before. As heavy as the guilt that dragged her down afterwards was, though, she knew it was for the best. Sour Sweet didn't deserve that smile, so instead she stayed alone in her room. Worse, she made Saccharine feel alone, wherever she was in the house. What was one more act of neglect inflicted on a girl who would grow up to hate her either way? Might as well speed up the process and get it over with.

She was half-asleep by the time Dad got home, but the sound of the front door opening woke her like a gunshot. Her heart slowed a bit when she heard Saccharine's cry of delight, and her dad's equally enthusiastic response, followed by whatever echoes of conversation they shared in hushed voices downstairs.

About me, no doubt. About what a bad sister I am.

Bad sister, bad daughter, bad person. Sour Sweet rolled over beneath her blanket as the cloud of melancholy surrounding her suddenly cracked with thunder, and a hot flash of anger ignited in her chest.

No wonder he'd wanted another kid. Sour Sweet had been such a useless burden that she'd blown up his first marriage—how was it fair to be mad at him for wanting to try again? To have a daughter he could love and be proud of? He'd only made space for her because his second wife had died and Sour Sweet had nowhere else to go, and even then it was probably just to have her help take care of Saccharine. That's all she was to him, a glorified babysitter.

And I can't even do that right.

All too quickly, the heavy fog returned to extinguish whatever embers of anger she'd tried to hold on to. Her frown melted away as she stared at the ceiling fan, and she pressed herself deeper into the mattress.

Selfish, useless idiot. No wonder Mom had wanted her gone.

How long before he does, too?

With a groan, Sour Sweet pulled the duvet over her head. She should've known better than to move here. She should've known better than to think he'd love her the way he loved Saccharine. She should've known better than to trust him, or anyone.

Sour Sweet frowned in the darkness beneath her sheets. She was an idiot for ever thinking Sugarcoat and Sunny Flare were her friends. Of course they'd go to the dean. Of course they'd try to get rid of her. She should've known better than to trust them.

Is it really their fault, though?

…No, that wasn't right. They weren't the problem. They were never the problem. How could she blame the girls for trying to enjoy their lives? Trying to get Sour Sweet expelled made sense. If she was better, if she was different, they never would've been forced to go to Dean Cadance in the first place.

Her trust in those girls hadn't been misplaced—trusting herself had been the mistake. How could she ever trust herself to make her threadbare friendships last, even just through the end of high school? The enormity of the task of just being fucking normal was too much for her, because of course it was. Everything was too much for her, just as she was too much for everyone else. Tension coiled around Sour Sweet's throat as she tossed beneath her duvet again.

What the fuck is wrong with me?!

Maybe she'd been born wrong somehow, with something in her brain screwed up from the moment she'd come into the world. Perhaps there was some fundamental piece, some crucial element that made a person function and work and be whole, that she'd lived her whole life without. Maybe she was just a dumb, sick animal pretending to be human, while everyone around her played along with the lie and treated her like one of their own. If that was true, then Mom had been the only one to acknowledge reality—the only one willing to tell Sour Sweet what she really was.

Her limbs twitched and tensed. Sour Sweet took a short, sharp breath of the stale air in this stupid fucking room that would never be hers. That had to be it. No matter how hard Dad or Saccharine or Dean Cadance or anyone else tried, they couldn't fool her. She was sick—maybe even crazy.

Who even was the real Sour Sweet, anyway? Was she the mopey loser who had siphoned piteous contempt from Sugarcoat and Sunny Flare the other day? Was she the cold-hearted bitch who had snapped at her little sister, or the girl who had oozed with fake smiles and exaggerated tears when she spoke to the dean? Was she the thoughts in her head, scolding and hating herself every time she screwed up, or the brainless idiot stumbling her way from one stupid mistake to another? So many faces, so many twisted knots of emotions out of her control, each version of herself terrible in their own unique ways. She must be crazy; she didn't even know who she was anymore, if she ever knew at all.

No wonder Mom had to be so harsh to keep me in line.

And if she was crazy, what did that even mean? How many of Sour Sweet's thoughts were her own? That voice in her head that felt like self-judgment, was that just her being crazy? Psychotic, even? She wasn't hearing voices, at least she didn't think so, but her thoughts and feelings were totally out of her control. What else could that mean, other than her being sick? Normal people should be able to control themselves, and she couldn't. She was always messing things up—at school, at home, maybe even in her own head.

Sour Sweet's eyes flicked around the bedroom, from the mirror to the shelves to the ceiling fan. None of this was hers. She shouldn't even be here, shouldn't even be alive, maybe—maybe none of this was even real. Maybe Mom had thrown her out on the street like she'd always said she would, and this was all some fever dream as Sour Sweet drifted away in an alley somewhere. Her vision blurred, her breathing quickened as her chest tightened, and the world seemed to slip away through the cracks in her composure… until her gaze passed over the little red hat on the bedpost.

For a moment, it was the only thing in the world. Sour Sweet stared at it, and heard Saccharine's laughter—whether downstairs or in her own mind, she couldn't tell. But Saccharine was real, though. The love that made her give Sour Sweet that gift was real. Love for her, for a half-sister who was always so awful to her.

Slowly, stiffly, Sour Sweet sat up in the bed. She rubbed at her eyes, grateful to find them dry. She reached up and pulled the little holiday hat down from the bedpost, turning it over in her hand.

It was too small for her, being made for a young child, but of course Saccharine hadn't known any better. She'd gotten it from her first grade class, a handout to all the kids by a teacher whose name Sour Sweet couldn't remember. It had been the first gift she'd gotten from her little sister, the first gift given by anyone other than Dad after she'd moved in with him. It was her reminder, wasn't it? Proof that no matter what, someone loved her. Someone cared about her. Someone was always happy to see her, always wanted her around, always would love her, no matter what…

…Until I make her hate me.

…Until Sour Sweet made her little sister hate her.

All at once, her chest felt like it'd been hollowed out, her insides scraped raw. What was she even doing right now? Reminiscing about the love of the little girl she'd blown off the moment she'd walked through the door? The little girl who was downstairs with their father, loving and being loved, being a better daughter than Sour Sweet could ever hope to be. Filling the hole Sour Sweet had left in his life when she'd been handed off to her mother, and doing a better job of it than Sour Sweet ever could.

With a soft exhale, Sour Sweet returned the little red hat to its place on the bedpost, then buried herself in the pillow, pressing it to her ears to block out the sounds of the happy family downstairs—a family she would never belong with. As the sounds of her father and half-sister faded into muffled noise, she stared at Saccharine's gift and hated it.

It was her reminder, she realized—a reminder that her days of being loved were numbered.

All at once, everything grew distant. Sour Sweet reached for her phone beside the bed. The bright blue notification light blinked at her, but she didn't bother to check her messages as she turned the phone off and returned it, face-down, to the nightstand.