"i just wanna die by my momma side. tell her that i love her while my brother cry. i don't got the time for no compromise, bitch i need it all imma make it mine."
____________

To say Gustav is pissed off is speaking lightly—too lightly.

Since our last meeting, I've refused to text him back. I know I seem like a major clout whore or just a bitch in general, but I'm not too sure what to say to him. And I've been going to school all week which has nearly drained me completely.

peep 🐣 : yo, evelyn, what the fuck. i know u have been reading my messages. why are u ignoring me? it's driving me fucking nuts

I ignored the text from the now bleach blonde boy and slid my phone into my back pocket, trying to avoid dealing with all of this at the moment. Maybe I should just tell him I need some time to think because that would be the truth, but regardless I just can't bring myself to try and think of how I should word the text message I'm sure is bound to be lengthy.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I exited the school building after the annoyingly loud bell signifying that class was over rang. Thankfully my parents let me use the car instead of forcing me to ride the bus, so I headed to the parking lot to get home as quick as possible.

My parents are hosting a grand opening of a new art gallery here in Los Angeles and of course I'm being forced to attend, so getting home quickly is a must—Especially because I'm going to also be forced to wear something dramatic that makes a "statement," as my mother would say.

On my way to the parking lot, my phone buzzed dramatically against my butt in my faded jeans pocket, alarming me to the fact that someone was calling me. I panicked and held my breath, but when I realized who it was, I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or not.

I had assumed it was probably Gustav, finally tired of not being able to get ahold of me through text. Instead, it was Davey—my older cousin from Michigan. If I had to consider anyone else a potential friend, it would be him, but I don't really speak to him too often unless he's coming to visit, plus he's twenty-five.

I answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Evelynnn, how are you doing on this fine day?" I grinned, glad to hear that his voice seemed happy or that he sounded healthy in general. Davey has been dealing with with severe kidney issues ever since he was a kid and there's a possibility he could be going on dialysis soon, so I'm absolutely elated to hear him in a positive mood.

"I'm doing quite well, just got out of school. How are you doing?" I questioned with a genuine smile stuck on my face.

"Honestly, better than I have in a while. I don't know what it is, and I know I don't exactly what feeling normal is like, but I woke up today feeling like a brand new person. I think it's this medication they have me on. Makes my face look a little chunkier than usual, though."

"Well I'm glad you're choosing a little double chin over failing kidney's. I'd probably have to slap you if you didn't." He laughed heartily through the phone, and I stuck the keys in the ignition, turning the car on.

"Sooo, what have you been up to lately lil lady? Going to school? Living life to the fullest? Hanging out with famous people?" I coughed uncomfortably as I pulled out of the school parking lot, flicking on my turn signal.

"It's no big deal. I didn't even know people would be so pressed about it, honestly."

"Who's Lil Peep?" He finally came out with the question I already knew he was going to ask, and the one question I'm absolutely glad that no one from my school had bothered me to ask at any point this week. It is a private school so maybe they don't even know who Gus is.

Maybe the media or other Twitter users just thought I was someone else, hopefully.

"He's an emo-rapper, technically. But uh, I kind of happened to meet his London-native friend Bexey in the mall like three weeks ago, and he knew who I was because of my parents—somehow he thought it was a good idea to introduce me to his friends, which were three members of GothBoiClique—their music group, you could call it."

"Bexley?"

"No, Bexey." I corrected my cousin who was more than clueless about music, or this kind of music anyways. He's a more, 'I was born in the wrong generation,' kind of guy and listens to more than enough 60's and 70's music. The most influential time period, according to him.

"Well, damn. That's kind of crazy, but cool at the same time. I feel like I've heard you mention him once or twice before—like a while ago," Davey recalled, and I agreed with him. I have most definitely told him about Gustav Åhr, my possibly most favorite artist and has been for at least a year and a half. "So, I'm thinking of coming to visit you." He changed the subject and broke the news to me.

I couldn't help but squeal in utter happiness, and unfortunately an elderly woman in a Volkswagen Beetle has her window down at the same time as me at this red light. I gave her an apologetic look and hit the gas as hard as I could the very second the light turned green.

"When?" I questioned him, adjusting the phone so I could hold it up against my face with my shoulder.

"Well, when's your spring break?"

"I think the first week of April, I'd have to double check though. Anyways, have you talked to Debbie yet?" Debbie, my mom, is Davey's aunt. My uncle Donnie is his dad—and possibly the most alcoholic man I have ever met in my life.

"No, I was hoping you could do that for me. We all remember what happened last time." The last time Davey came to visit was when he was twenty-one, and during that visit he mainly was going to the clubs here in LA and getting super drunk, coming back to our house in the very early hours of the morning and vandalizing random shit in town, while destroying his already fucked up kidneys. He finally got caught and went to jail, resulting in my mom and dad having to spend hundreds of dollars getting him out.

Davey's mom, Melissa, had to drive her angry, stubborn ass all the way from Michigan to come and get him. I watched her drag him out of our house by his ear, her shrill voice calling him an embarrassment and disappointment the whole way to the car. That's the last time I saw him in person, and even after that I felt like he kind of betrayed me.

We were close all my childhood—at first he was just paid to babysit me, and then it was just us hanging out as I got older. Even with the eight year age difference, I felt like he was the one person I could relate to the most, the only person I could tell anything and not feel bad about really expressing myself.

Then after we moved to LA, I barely was able to see him and finally when I could he ruined the whole thing and even though we've made amends he could never really give me a reason why he did what he did.

Of course I was a confused thirteen year old with uncontrollable emotions who didn't understand why he could choose alcohol over me, but it didn't make it hurt any less or make the pain go away. I cried to my mom and dad for months afterwards.

"Yeah, I can talk to her. I don't think she could really hold something against you that happened four years ago, Davey. You are her nephew so no matter what happens you guys are still family." He sighed dramatically through the phone, probably not satisfied with what I was saying. Whatever, I was telling the truth.

"You're right, I suppose." He admitted to me and I flicked my left turn signal once again to turn onto the street my house was on.

"I usually am. Anyways, I'm about to be home in like three seconds and I have to get ready because the parental unit is doing a grand opening of a new gallery right here in town. I'll text you and let you know when my spring break starts, and I'll let you know what my mom says, okay?"

"Cool beans, chickadee. I'll talk to you later then, but just know you're not getting out of telling me all the details of this Lil Peep situation—Don't think you can get out of it." My heart immediately swelled at the nickname that I haven't heard him use in months, it really reminded me that no matter how long we don't talk he still cares about me and that our bond is still there.

"Sure thing, Davey. Oh, and I really want to tell you how happy I am that you're doing better. That's amazing your meds are actually working now."

"Thank you. I love you."

"Love you too." And with that, he hung up the phone just as I started pulling in the driveway of my home.

I parked the car in our two-car garage and took the keys out of the ignition. I sighed deeply and checked my notifications again, seeing that Gus had texted me two more times.

peep 🐣 : how could you just use me like that?

peep 🐣 : fine. goodbye.

Knowing that this was my fault, I didn't allow myself to cry. You can't just sob your eyes out over something you did to yourself or others, because you knew what the possible consequences could be. I did feel bad for Gustav, though. He clearly cares about me (as I do him) for some reason, and I'm just ignoring him.

Hopefully he wasn't under the impression any of this was his fault, but I couldn't bring myself to text him and explain it to him. Mainly because my feelings are a jumbled mess, and I kind of just wanted to take a step back from him and I's situation because it literally happened so fast that I couldn't catch my breath until now.

Not his fault, but I need time nonetheless.

Sure, I probably could have told him that and he would have understood. But, somehow, I feel like it's better for him to hate me so I don't somehow end up hurting him worse than I already have.

I shoved my phone aggressively into the mesh pocket of my book bag and slammed the car door as I got out.

What did the car ever do to me?

I flung open the bright red front door to my house and was immediately greeted by my parents grinning faces. They're obviously happy, and I'm sure nothing could kill their vibe tonight.

"Hey, baby-boo." I rolled my emerald green eyes playfully at their chosen nickname for the day.

"Hi, mom, hi dad," Shuffling off my shoes, I went to go take a seat at the dining table; joining them. "Are we eating dinner here or at the gallery?" I questioned after my stomach rumbled aggressively.

"Did you eat lunch?" Tom asked me, pushing his glasses back up his nose so they didn't fall off—which honestly happens more often than you'd think. I don't know how those damn things aren't broken yet, they must be made out of steel or something.

"Not really, they didn't exactly have the best choices today. I'm not quite sure what it was either. Maybe a mashed potato of some sort?" Dropping my book bag onto the floor next to me, I got comfortable in my chair.

"We're having dinner there. Beatrice—you know—has prepared a ton very nice meal and snack options for the fifty people that will probably be there." Deborah informed me, in a happier voice than her usual monotone one.

"Jeez, fifty people? That's a lot."

"Well, we would have had more but I didn't want to stress Beatrice out more than necessary. I mean, it's all going to be appetizer type foods so it's not too much of a big deal but she is sixty-four years old, I do not want to overwork her." My mother clicked her matte black stiletto nails on the glossy wooden table.

"How has she not died yet?" I insensitively asked without thinking.

"Hey." My dad interrupted in a scolding tone.

"The woman loves her job and doesn't want to retire, I might as well give her something to work on considering she doesn't have many regular clients." I nodded my head and awkwardly rubbed the back of my neck, feeling bad about my question.

"Why don't you go get ready?" Debbie suggested, standing up and walking away from the table. She casually 'model strutted' to the kitchen and began pouring herself a glass of  red wine. If you haven't noticed, that entire side of my family extremely enjoys alcohol—probably more than the doctor recommended amount.

Following her suggestion wishing to escape the uncomfortable tone I had set, I quickly made my way up the stairs—avoiding putting too much pressure on my still healing foot. The puncture wound on my abdomen had nearly healed after the attentive care of my dad, but I knew it was going to leave a noticeable scar once it finished scabbing over.

My foot on the other hand was taking nearly forever because it was in probably the most inconvenient spot ever. Considering my luck, my mom is probably going to force me to wear heels tonight too.

Let's just hope she doesn't notice me trying to couple my navy blue dress with a pair of black Converse.

I decided to take a shower because my hair felt kind of greasy. I clearly applied too much conditioner the night before, so I snatched my dress and underwear off my bed, heading to the bathroom to get booty butt naked.

(a/n: i'm sorry for that 💀)

After stripping down, I turned the shower on as hot as I could handle—which meant so hot it was nearly burning my skin off. You know, the usual.

I did my normal shower routine, starting with washing my hair and ending with scrubbing my face. It surprisingly didn't take long, only around fifteen minutes.

When I got out, I quickly blow dried my long, looking healthier than usual hair and threw it up in a bun, attempting to look somewhat presentable but also not putting in too much effort because why would I do that?

I slipped on my underwear and regretted not doing that first because I had to stand butt naked in the bathroom while I dried my hair. Smh.

Then, it was time to put on my dress. Unfortunately I couldn't wear a bra with this one, so I just had to free-ball it tonight.

Once I was done zipping it up half way in the back, I scurried into my room to try and get my makeup done as soon as possible.

I didn't want to go all out because I didn't have too much time, but I did do my foundation and setting powder, mascara, eyebrows and a little bit of a nude lip gloss to top it off.

Happy with the way I looked, I decided to leave my room and go downstairs.

"Mom?"

"Yes, baby?" She exhaled smoke through her nose as she gently touched up her lipstick in the mirror that was strategically placed eye level in the hallway.

Does she ever put her cigarettes down? She may be beautiful but what is it all for when she dies early from lung cancer?

"Can I pretty please not be forced to talk to anybody there? I don't know anyone and they're all like, your friends." She sighed and turned towards me, putting her left manicured hand on her hip but when she noticed my dress wasn't zipped all the way up, she did it for me.

"Any friend of your father and I is a friend of you," she paused. "Or I'll kill them." I let out a loud cackle, shocked by her statement.

"Fine, fine."

My father didn't take too long to get ready because he doesn't particularly dress up for anything, regardless of whether my mother picks out his outfits or not. He was dressed in navy blue dress pants, similar to the color of my dress, and a black long sleeve turtle neck.

My mother on the other hand was nothing close to modest, more akin to a forty year old Kim Kardashian. She's wearing a nearly skin tight gold dress that goes down to her knees with a very subtle cheetah print that you'd have to squint to see and black corduroy knee high boots.

"You look great, honey." My father complimented my mother and kissed her on her right cheek. She smiled at him and returned his compliment, leading us out of the front door. It wasn't nearly dark yet, but the sun was setting and the beautiful pink, purple and orange hues that bloomed across the sky made me feel happy, and like tonight was going to be a good night.

It didn't take long to get to the destination, it was about seven minutes from our house which I found to be very convenient. I feel like this is probably the one gallery that they're going to choose to use as their 'home base,' which is pretty cool and I'm hoping to get a job there as a guide, I mean who better to explain their pieces than their own daughter?

At some point I believe they're going to accept work from other artists, but they're just apparently so cool that they don't even have to yet—they're just that popular. Cue dramatic eye roll. Thankfully they don't let that kind of stuff get to their heads and stay the kind hearted people I know and love, even if my mother is eerily like the Tin-Man and my father is comparable to the the Cowardly Lion.

When we got to the gallery, I realized it was a lot bigger than I had anticipated; bigger than any of the other five they owned and had their names slapped on.

Apparently it was big enough for someone to come park our car for us. Weird.

Something told me that my mother lied to me as there was definitely more than fifty people practically pouring out of the building, and I was surprised there wasn't a mock red carpet leading to the entrance with the amount of people with their cameras out. I groaned, not used to this sort of thing whatsoever.

"Mom," I whined like a brat. Don't judge me.

"I really had no idea we'd get such a turn out, darling." She tried reasoning with me, knowing immediately exactly what I was talking about. She reached down and grabbed my left hand and reassured me things would be okay. I'm seriously excited for them and so so proud of all of their success, but my anxiety was kind of getting the best of me.

As she did that, my father put a comforting hand on my back as we nearly pushed passed all of the chatty and eager people to get into the huge building.

Faintly hearing people call out my parents names made bile rise to the back of my throat because I didn't want them to leave me alone to talk to the people.

I've practically been sheltered my entire life to these types of things and the fact that so many people knew of my parents made my heart pound so hard in my chest that there could be bruises, if that were even possible.

"Mr. and Mrs. Woods! What are your thoughts on the gallery opening?" A reporter looking man with a greasy comb over shouted.

"We're absolutely elated." My father spoke for my mother so she could focus on pushing me through the doors and leading me somewhere decently quiet which ended up being a large kitchen that was branching off of the main gallery area, where all of their pieces are already placed.

We had to maneuver around nearly fifty people that were just in the main room, not including all of the people that were winding up the stair case waiting to check out the other exhibits—and definitely not including the people that were already upstairs.

Finally in the safe confines of the kitchen, I was greeted with a familiar, friendly face. Beatrice. Her wispy white