#feeding your 7 year old sister a pound of sugar and then telling her lies

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Ivy is in her pyjamas by seven that evening but she won’t settle. She keeps insisting that when mom and dad are gone she doesn’t have to follow any rules, including bedtime, and I realise the error of my ways in establishing this dynamic with her. Perhaps being the fun brother has too many downsides. 

“Please, Ivy, just get into bed, what do I have to do?”

“I’m not tired.”

“I don’t care, go anyway.”

“What if there’s something good on telly that I want to watch?” She swipes the remote from the table and switches on some re-run of Gossip Girl, which is absolutely not allowed.

“No, turn it off, that’s not for you.”

“It’s for girls, it says it in the name.”

“They’re not girls, they’re… ladies, and they’re all spoiled. A bit like you, huh?” I snatch the remote out of her little hand and flick it off, so she balls her fists up in frustration and starts pummelling me with them. It is nine o’clock in ten minutes and I haven’t gotten around to cleaning our breakfast, lunch or dinner from the kitchen. Baguette crumbs and puddles of spilled hot chocolate still litter the table and counter upstairs making it look like, well, like a teenage boy is running this operation. 

“Stop,” I cry, “you’re over excited, this is what happens when you get too much sugar, I swear to God…” 

“Give me the remote!”

“No!”

“I want to watch TV!” 

“Go. To. Bed.” I put the remote high up on a shelf where she’ll never reach it, which is a stupid idea, because she shrieks and starts trying to scale the furniture to get closer to it. I swear I can feel the ticking of the clock inside my brain by now, she has to go to bed, I don’t know what else to do. When she gets onto the coffee table she kicks over the glass of orange juice that she asked me for fifteen minutes ago and sends it to the floor with a hollow thunk. I stand and watch as liquid pools over the hardwood flooring and I feel something in me snap. I grab her and yank her down hard. Way too hard. 

“Ow, ow,” she cries, “let go!” and I peel my fingers away to see the red ring I have left around her little wrist. Tears have sprung to her eyes, and in a panic I get down on my knees and hold the sides of her head as she begins to shake with sobs. 

“Ivy, I’m sorry,” I say, “That was too hard, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I really didn’t, I’m sorry…”

“I just wanted to watch the telly,” she whimpers, and fat tears pour down her round cheeks and drip from her chin. I feel ill. This is what happens with me, all the time, I get her hyped up and feed her sweets and then I get angry when she can’t calm down. She’s just a little child and I’m a fucking idiot without a clue about how to be responsible. It’s only been a day since we’ve been left alone and look at us now, the kitchen is destroyed, there’s orange juice seeping into the oak flooring and I’ve made my sister cry. 

“Ivy, please,” I say, “I’m sorry I hurt you, what can I do to make it better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to call mom?”

She gasps, “No,” and she’s right, what a stupid idea. 

“Do you…” I look around me in a panic, “Do you want another hot chocolate?”

This brightens her up, “Another one?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Of course, yeah, sure. If you… If you get into your bed I’ll take it in and you can have it there, what do you think?”

She swipes her hands over damp cheeks, “I’m allowed hot chocolate in my room?”

“Yeah just for tonight, and only if you promise that you won’t spill it or tell anyone else. Okay?”

She nods, and I breathe a sigh of relief. 

She goes to her room while I head up to the kitchen and shove old plates and mugs out of the way to make room for a new one. I give her two scoops of chocolate powder and extra marshmallows as a guilty offering, and as I’m stirring it all together with hot milk a shadow crosses the window.

I curse under my breath. She’s five minutes early, and usually I’d be happy that a girl was so eager to hang out with me, but now is a less than ideal time. I try to get to the door before she does but I don’t make it, and the doorbell rings obnoxiously through the house. 

“Hello,” Clóda says when I open up to her, and her eyes immediately drift to the ridiculous looking hot chocolate in my hands, “Um, is that what you’re drinking?”

“No, um, it’s not, it’s for my sister.”

“She’s still up?”

“She’s going to bed now, I just wanted to bring this to her, and then we’ll be on our own,” She steps inside and I close the door gently behind her. 

“Is that a good idea?” She wonders, “All of that sugar?”

Fucking hell, I don’t know, do I? “It’s fine. You can just come downstairs and sit on the couch, I’ll be a minute,” I see her taking in the mess of the kitchen, and add, “don’t worry about that, it’s just been a busy evening, it’s not like that usually.”

“Okay.”

Ivy is sitting up in bed wearing an anxious expression. “Who was at the door?”

“Jen.”

“Oh,” a pause, “Did she lose her key?”

“Yeah she did, she was out on the beach and it fell out of her pocket.”

“Oh no, I hope she can find it.”

I push her fringe away from her forehead, “yeah, I hope so too. You know how it is with girls' pockets and all, they don’t really fit much in them, do they?”

She smiles, “No, they don’t. So it’s not really Jen’s fault, it’s her jeans.”

“Exactly,” I straighten up, “You okay now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay well, if you need something just shout for me and I’ll hear you. Don’t come out into the living room or anything, I’m going to be, um, watching a really scary movie.”

“Oh okay.”

“Goodnight Ivy.”

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#lucky boy #happy christmas lmao #i'm too sleepy to do anything but go on tumblr rn so here you are #love this chaotic night #nothing can go wrong #right? #feeding your 7 year old sister a pound of sugar and then telling her lies #it'll be fine