Chapter Eleven

Rapping your knuckles against Chloe's bedroom door elicited no response, and when you tried to wrestle with the doorknob, you found it jammed; she's locked the door.

You press your forehead against the door, feeling the cool wood soothing your burning temple, your voice softer as you call out to your younger sister.

"Chloe, open the door, please."

You can hear a radio, pop music being played to drown out your voice, and you have to forcefully suppress the anger that ignites in your stomach, swallowing the hurtful words that threaten to spill out from your mouth.

Additional boxes begin supplanting your vision, courtesy of your HUD; warning about how you have only a short time to leave to catch the next bus to avoid being late for your shift, and making sure to bold the monetary costs of such a mistake.

You love your sister, you really do, but between mending hurt or keeping a roof over the family's head, you must always choose the latter, though it isn't a choice, for if you don't do it, no one will.

So, you leave, your mother still in your bed and your sister sulking in her room.

...She better not be late for school, or there will be hell to pay.