"Thank you." Jaiquill gave a small smile, beautiful, but also sad. "I was to have a brother called Preston. He died in my mother's womb, though." She looked away.
She shrugged nonchalantly. "It's my mother's fault. She was the freaking alcoholic of our family, she was the one who killed him. Not to mention she also killed my father and almost killed my four year old sist-" Jaiquill cut herself off, and sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be dragging you into all this."
Jaiquill gave a light shake of her head, looking away again. "No, I'm sorry. I just haven't had anyone to vent about family to, I mean, besides Carter, but he's dead. I don't know who I can talk to now." She seemed distant, lost, her mind corrupted by terrible grief at his name. Her eyes were glassy and glazed over. "The way I see it, everyone writes a story at birth, then that story eventually becomes your life, and if you don't write it yourself then someone else will. My mother wrote my story for me. No freedom, only cooped up in a small space where I was the only survivor, and that just calls for disastor." Jaiquill murmured, and fished out a pack of gum from her pocket and popped a piece into her mouth. She shrugged again, putting her gum back in her pocket.