Chapter 2

I get up from my bed, not even trying to stem the flow of my tears, I cross over to the mirror and stand in front of it, it's full length showing my whole body. I feel a mixture of love and hatred for the reflection.

 I see a tall, young girl of around 15 with long hair of such a dark, rich brown that it almost seemed black. Grey, stormy eyes flecked with black are narrowed in thought. I see a fine, pale, smooth complexion though slightly marred by the tearstains across her cheeks and the redness of her eyelids. A stray, crystalline tear runs a glittering path across pink, chapped lips, eventually falling from a slightly pointed chin. I see a full, but slim figure, with an enviable bust and a very slim waist, clothed in a skin-tight, white t-shirt and khaki combats. The girl in front of me wears a delicate silver chain round her neck round her neck, which holds a glistening crystal cross, encrusted with garnets, which rests gently across her collarbone. Smooth, delicate hands rest at her sides, perfectly manicured nails digging into the fabric of her trousers.

A lot of people might think, what's there to hate? Sure, I understand that, I'm not one of these overly hormonal teenagers that are constantly calling themselves ugly and fat. Even if I was fat, or ugly, or both, I wouldn't do that, I've always been happy with my looks, even when I had all my puppy fat, and I know that I'm lucky that way. But, despite that, my looks brought me all this heartache. Janie's jealousy started all this pain, and because of this, sometimes I wish that I didn't have a model figure. I wish I wasn't so tall and leggy. I wish I wasn't so pretty. Sometimes, I want to be ugly.

I walk away from the mirror and over to the door. I grip the lock with a trembling palm and hesitant fingers, and then, with a sharp jerk of my wrist and a burst of my wavering courage, I allow Rocky access my room. The first thing he does is gather me into a tight hug. I smile into the cloth of his shirt and return the embrace, my sobs lessening as he sways me from side to side. Eventually though he breaks away, and as I finally have a chance to look at his face, guilt and self-loathing pierce my heart like a poisoned knife. He'd been crying. He still is. I'm speechless as I raise my hand to touch his face, catching a teardrop against my fingertips as it trickles down his cheek. He smiles at me, and crosses over to my bed. He pulls the covers and lies down, looking over at me with another loving smile. I smile weakly, appreciatively back.

Rocky. How could I be so lucky to be blessed with a brother like him. He's not even just my brother, he's my best friend my Agony Uncle, my cook, and, probably he most important thing; in the eyes of the country anyways – he's my guardian. He's 17, and after our parents both died a year ago, he applied to be my legal guardian, so that he could always be there to look after me. We were visited by a woman from Social Services every week, and even now we are checked on monthly.

He's really unique, as far as I'm concerned. He's funny but serious, kind but cruel, soft but firm, gentle but rough, and, most amusing of all in my opinion, he's normal yet totally different. He's tall, with green eyes, dark, long hair (to his mid-back), listens to heavy-metal and punk, but thinks the T-A-T-U song is fantastic, he hates romances but thinks Kat and Alfie from "Eastenders" should so get together. He's smart, quick, neat, but incredibly clumsy and disorganised.

There was one description of him above that may be confusing. I called him "kind but cruel", and yeah, funnily enough, he is. He's kind, generous, loving and considerate, but, if you get on his bad side, if you hurt someone he loves, or someone innocent, he's cruel, sharp-tongued, and could even be termed as ruthless. He's shockingly strong, (though not very built, he's "just nice" as I like to put it), and never backs down from a fight if he's protecting someone – or something.

Ever since Rock and I were little kids, whenever we "sat down" together; on our own, especially if for a talk, or "chit – chat" as we've nicknamed it, we'd go to one of our bedrooms, crawl into the bed and snuggle as we talked, a tradition we keep up even now, as you can see from Rocky's actions. Personally, I feel that this little ritual has kept us close, and I love him more than I even loved my parents. I'll touch on this subject later, probably.

With these thoughts, I close my bedroom door, and lock it, keeping up another tradition. Then, struggling, and failing, to keep the smile on my face, I walk over to he bed and crawl in beside him. He pulls the covers up to our shoulders and pulls me into another close embrace. His warmth and his sheer gentleness and consideration bring my tears flooding back as I am overwhelmed with a mass of emotions. Oh Rocky, Aaron, I dearly hope I don't tell you too much for your own good. Because I know, when they said I'd pay with more than my cash, they were referring closely to you.

Disclaimer: I don't own Eastenders or the characters Kat and Alfie. But, as far as everything else in the story is concerned, I own it all. If you want to borrow any elements of this story, or if you want to post it somewhere else/show it to someone you know, please ask my permission first.

See you next chapter!!! Luv Sal. xx