The cries of a baby pierced the air.

Zara put both hands over her ears and groaned. It had been barely thirty minutes since her little brother had finally fallen asleep after throwing tantrums and yet, here he was, awake once again and screaming his head off.

Zara knew what would happen next.

"Three. Two. One." She spoke softly, ticking the seconds off her fingers.

"Zero."

Her mother ambled into the room. Greta Tomeo was a heavy woman with a surprising gracefulness to her. She seemed to always move on tiptoe, a fluid motion taking over her entire frame and helping her easily jump from one task to another. That was all she did, Zara's mum, tasks. 

She was a proper housewife stuck here in the middle of nowhere, dusting, washing, and mopping all day. Giggling like a teenage girl as she twirled around the house, soft edges knocking into and sometimes over furniture. Cooking and daydreaming and waiting for the grandfather clock to strike seven. Waiting for when he came home.

Zara's mother angered her sometimes. Now more than ever with her stomach sticking out due to the baby she would have in a few months. 

His baby. 

It wasn't so much the baby as the effect it had on her. Zara had never seen her mum sparkle so. Her brown eyes shone constantly, happiness and contentment radiating from her entire being. Her footsteps had gotten even lighter since she'd broken the news to Zara and Patrick as if her joy was trying desperately to defy gravity and lift her off the ground so she could soar up into the sky and sing her thanks to the heavens.

Positively sickening.

Of course, he was pleased. He had held her and kissed her and ducked his head to hide the tears in his eyes, Patrick had. Greta had laughed happily and hugged him back, her huge arms going easily around his sinewy frame. She had dragged her gaze away from his blue eyes and focused them on Zara.

"Come join the family hug sweetheart."

"No thank you," Zara had said before walking to her room.

She could hear their whispers even as she lay in bed. The house was that tiny with everything crammed together and barely enough space to move around. Though it wasn't like there was anywhere you wanted to move to. Eldris was a lonely, desolate town and freezing cold every month of the year. The population was less than ten thousand in total and Zara and her family stayed right at the outskirts where even less people lived.

Sometimes it felt like they were the only people left on the planet. 

It made Zara want to spit. 

Feeling completely disconnected from the world, Zara had to rely on Patrick's daily recount of the outside world when he came home for dinner each night. It was an irritatingly tiresome business because he only spoke of things she didn't care about like fuel prices and officials in power. 

It was all very well for her mother. She was in love, deeply so. Zara had never seen her mum look at any other man the way she looked at Patrick. Her mum had never even looked at her dad like that even in the days he never raised a hand to them. 

She looked at Patrick like he was the only thing that mattered, the adoration in her eyes so naked. Zara wasn't on the receiving end and yet even she had to tear her eyes away from her mother, stomach feeling tight.

She hated it here where she couldn't even have a phone due to zero connection and the only people she had to talk to all day, every day, were the same ones driving her up the paint-flecked walls. 

Tears stung Zara's eyes as she had lain in bed, imagining them kissing again a thin wall away. The way her mother acted as though Patrick had given her the most precious gift of all by asking her to marry him made her stomach clench with shame. She acted like she was so undeserving of him and would do anything to appease him so he wouldn't ever question his supposedly insane decision. 

Yes, Patrick had helped them at a time her father's blows had been bordering on killing. He'd seen the signs whenever he'd come to visit his sister who was their neighbor. Her father wasn't exactly quiet with his yells or thumps.

Patrick had given her mother the courage to leave. He'd poked his nose in despite his sister's advice not to. He'd brought them all here to his little house, squared up and beaten her dad to a bloody pulp when he'd managed to track them down and five months later had asked her mum to marry him.

Her mother had been ecstatic. Her blue-eyed, rugged knight in shining armor not only saved her but he fancied her as well. Zara didn't know what to think. She didn't have anyone to talk to. Her mother was the type of woman who didn't want to listen to any opinion except the one that made her happy and her then almost newborn baby brother wasn't exactly a fountain of wisdom.

They'd been engaged ever since. Neither of them was in a hurry and Zara hoped it'd stay that way till she at least left home. She was in no mood to attend. She honestly didn't think her mother would care anyway. Only Patrick mattered to Greta now. Patrick and her little brother and whoever else was in her tummy. Zara didn't care. Not anymore.

Zara was sixteen and long past the age of believing her mother to be the prettiest woman in the world. Her mum wasn't pretty, she was plain through and through and Zara had inherited that plainness. 

Same mop of mousy brown hair they both always tied into a low ponytail, the only difference was her mother brushed hers. Zaras' was filled with knots and tangles.

The same caramel-colored eyes and thin lips with the bottom barely jutting out. A sprinkling of freckles dusted Zaras'cheeks but she had gotten those from her father as well as his lithe physique. It was the only thing she was grateful for from him. 

Zara sighed. She sighed to herself a lot these days. It was better than blowing up and being deemed an ungrateful brat. She sighed again as she looked at her mum.

"I've already fed him."

Greta blinked then managed a smile. "Let me get a word in edgeways okay?"

Zara shrugged.

"If he doesn't need to be changed, carry him around for a bit. He might just want attention."

Zara's eyes were slits. "Why do I have to give him attention?"

"I'm sorting through some books and materials I'll need to teach you and to be honest my back hurts quite a lot sweetie. Please?"

"What do you mean mum?"

"My back?"

"No. The books sorting. Teach me what?"

It was Greta's turn to sigh. "You know you're starting homeschooling after Christmas. We talked about this."

Zara swallowed painfully. "We did not mum. You spoke and I listened in silence. We didn't talk at all. We never do."

Greta gave another long suffering sigh. "Please Zara not now. I have a lot to do, and classes to take to qualify to teach you. It'd help if you showed just a little appreciation."

"Don't let me stress you out then. Let's move away from here so I can attend school like I used to please."

Greta turned away.

"Just go tend to him please."

Zara grumbled at her retreating back before stomping over to the makeshift nursery room where Zion lay in his crib. His cries had reached a whole new crescendo and he was kicking his fat legs in the air as he tried and failed to eat his arm. Zara locked her jaw.

"Don't tell me you're hungry again. It's barely been thirty minutes you lump of fat!"

His pitiful wails answered her.

She sighed before going about making his food. It was milk and custard mixed together which made a brownish, watery mush. It reminded her of poop. She gave him it in his bottle and sighed again at the way his cries immediately subsided, his mouth making greedy, sucking sounds with his chubby hand fisted in her shirt.

She shook him off roughly, practically jostling him on her lap. "Don't touch me! See how heavy you are and you're only eight months. All you know is milk and custard. Nothing else."

Zion suckled intensely, his serious gaze steady on her face. It was already obvious he took after her father in the looks department. He had the same hooded expression and Zara felt herself shiver as she stared back at her baby brother. 

It was another reason why she hated having to take care of Zion, that look of his gave her the creeps. She shook her head free of confusing, vague memories and focused on his bulging cheeks and bopping adam's apple. She had never seen a fatter baby. Even carrying him on her lap was a struggle, her thighs were beginning to ache.

She sighed again. "I hate my life."