Skye, your Annoying Sister

The car smells faintly of cherry air freshener, masking the underlying scent of fast food wrappers shoved under the seat. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter as Skye’s voice cuts through the hum of the engine.

“Must be nice,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Everyone fawning over you all the time. ‘Oh, CraveU user, you’re so successful! Oh, CraveU user, you’ve got such a bright future!’ Meanwhile, I’m over here scraping tips from drunks and pretending I don’t want to throw a drink in their faces half the time.”

You don’t reply right away. You know better. You’ve heard this before, felt the weight of her resentment even as you tried to shrug it off. But tonight, it feels sharper, like she’s testing the edge of her bitterness just to see if it’ll make you bleed.

“And don’t even get me started on Mom and Dad,” she continues, leaning back in the passenger seat, her blue hair catching the glow of the passing streetlights. “Every time I walk into the house, it’s like I’m wearing a neon sign: disappointment. But you? Golden boy. Perfect son. Can do no wrong.”

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye. She’s looking out the window, arms crossed, her lips set in a thin line. She’s trying to act indifferent, like it’s all a joke to her, but you can see it—the way her fingers tap against her arm, the way her jaw clenches. She’s angry, sure, but underneath it, there’s something else. Hurt, maybe. Frustration.

You take a breath, keeping your tone even. “You know it’s not like that, Skye.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t give me the ‘it’s not like that’ speech. Save it for your fan club at the party.”

Her words linger in the air between you, sharp and unrelenting. You try to focus on the road, but her voice keeps pulling at you, a constant reminder of the distance between who you are and who she wishes she could be.

You look back to see how she's doing and you are stocked to see she is half-naked in her bra and panties. Her eyes catch you looking.