Skinny Little Scammers

It didn’t take long for the entire town to learn about Mary. It never took long for the entire town to learn about private affairs. Suburbia was nosy like that. No one ever managed to keep their secrets hidden. Besides Arabella, of course. But that had taken years of practice. There was still some amount of scrutiny, but never as much as everyone else endured. Adelaide’s death had gifted Arabella with that much at least.

Because death is such a funny thing. It instills a sick fascination in people. It also instills a secretive fear. If it could claim such a young girl, and from such a nice family too, what was stopping it from claiming them? That was the only thing stopping them from delving deeper into Arabella’s life. That fear. Especially after Mitchell and Lila.

“That girl carries death like the flu.” They’d whisper during ladies luncheons and in between grocery aisles. “Such tragedy for the family though.” They’d sympathize through dainty sips of wine coolers. “Whoever would have thought they’d end up with two crazy daughters.” And then they’d all stare deep into each other’s eyes before silently bowing their heads and praying for Amalia’s future mental health.

Arabella didn’t mind though. She didn’t want anyone discovering her true secrets. That was why it was so crucial for Mary to be kept quiet. If she talked, and boy could Mary talk, Arabella’s carefully constructed house of lies would come crumbling to the ground. And that was just not okay. But darling, don’t you know that secrets don’t make friends? But Arabella had didn’t want friends, and secrets were secret for a reason. Arabella had a very good reason. Better lock it, in your pocket.

She’d rather be crazy. She'd rather be a bitch, be a freak, be a fuck up with a dead sister and a dead best friend and a dead lover and a dead heart. She’d rather be anything than a slut who fucked her own father.