Pulling off the thin silk top she just fitted from the top of her head, her tippy toes stood on the brown hardwood floor before a squeak came from the heels of her feet as soon as she finally pressed them back down. The store's dressing room floor was cold against her feet, and she silently wished she had at least worn her warm blue foot liners before she left. Beside her, a blue and white checkered polo shirt hangs on the edge of the cubicle stand, and she snatched it as soon as she dropped the clothing from her other hand straight to her wide-opened bag. Smoothly, she wore it and buttoned it in an instant. When they were done, she tied the end of the shirt in a tight knot, leaving a part of her belly revealed.
"There's a bottle of brandy back at the car. Entertain yourself," Heart said through the slightly open cubicle door before kneeling down towards her black leather bag.
Chelsea rested both of her arms behind her head as she stared upwards the light on the center of the room. Her long golden blonde hair stayed firm on her chest when she shifted on the single couch installed inside the dressing room. "Ray thought I should use the leftover of Mom's ashes in my painting." She paused. "Then we can hang it on the center of his new living room."
Heart had been told by their step-father Ray about that two days ago, and she strongly disgusts the idea. He thought that it would be nice if they feel her presence whenever they see the painting, but the only reply he got from her was a storming walk out from the room and loud slam of the door. It was one of the most sickening ideas she'd ever gotten from him and even just from thinking about it, it felt as if debris of earth fell onto her all at once. She shook her head even if she knew Chelsea wasn't looking.
It had been a week since their mother's tragic departure, along with the burned wreckage of their dead house. Inadequate wiring was the said cause of the fire through the morning news the next day, but they all know that the media is wrong. Ray probably just paid them not to tell the actual truth behind, but he never told his step-daughters anything about it. Nonetheless, it didn't really matter. Just from knowing how self-destructive their dear mother was lately before she passed away and how troublingly secretive their step-father always was, it didn't really seem to be a bad thing to conclude something that can probably fix the whole puzzle. And that's when Heart thought about it again, yet the only picture forming in her head was a vision of her mother pouring gas all over their old kitchen and igniting her favorite Zippo lighter towards the seeping fuel.
"But it was dumb though," Chelsea mumbled. "The thing she did." Crumpled money bills clenched in Heart's fists before she glanced over the pile of clothes she just fitted on today. She was fully aware that the bills valued almost more than the clothes' price, but she can feel a quite tingle inside of her wanting to shove all those clothes inside her bag and walk out like nothing unlawful happened. No one would know, just like how other shopping days went for her - if that's what they even call it.
Chelsea straightened herself on her seat and made her fingers crawl its way towards the back of her head. Carefully, she combed her hair while brushing out any knots. The point of her middle finger slid through her spine, parting her hair into two. Lazily, she started weaving strands of her hair over and under into a traditional braid. Her eyes pointed to Heart's direction as she watched her stare between her closed fist and the clothing compiled on her right. It wasn't long before she saw her sister doing the same of her mistakes again, shoving in the mountain of clothes in her surprisingly not-so-big bag all at once. Her eyes rolled out of certain doubt. She'll never change.
Heart zipped her bag and let out a sigh. "Maybe some women are just too in love with their distress," she finally replied.
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