I slammed the door to the room I shared with my sisters, and stalked back over to the computer, sitting back down with a loud sigh. The chair creaked under my weight, and I winced at the sound. I asked for a new, silent chair every week, but there was never enough money, so I was stuck with the rickety old one my dad upgraded from. The thing squeaked enough when someone normal-sized sat in it; when I sat in it the whole house could hear its dying screams.

My thick fingers raced across the keys as I typed in different jobs titles. We lived in a small town in New York, but I wasn't looking for a job in town. No, I wanted to leave. I'd turned eighteen three months before, and I wanted out. I loved my family, but we were as crowded as crowded could be.

My parents, my four siblings, and I were crammed into the three bedroom house and expected to function in a normal fashion. It wouldn't have been that bad, if we were all small. But when two people had to flatten themselves to the walls when they passed, there were two problems: not enough space, and overweight people.

I had somehow managed not to gain too much weight throughout the years, but I was still too big. Apart from my brother, I was the smallest in the house. By smallest, I mean the only one who could still wear jeans that didn't have elastic waistbands, and not look like a mushroom around the middle.

James, my older brother, was the single healthy person in our household. At first, my family had the nerve to laugh at him for it, and at those times I wanted to slap them all until their heads spun, but they didn't laugh for long. James got offered a modeling job when he was sixteen, and he's been living pretty well since then. He was going to buy his own apartment and everything, but I begged him not to. I was the only reason he stayed.

Without him, I don't know what I would have done. He alone understood the pain I felt when I looked at myself every day, and how I hated not being able to do anything about it. He was a model, but he knew what I was going through. He had to live at the house as well, and be subject to the meals my family served around the clock. Butter in everything, lard, grease and oil... it was enough food to feed the neighborhood. I didn't even want to know how far in debt my parents were, from spending on food alone.

I clicked on an interesting listing, and scrolled down. There was a listing for a popular fashion company that was looking for a new designer. They were having a contest: men and women eighteen and older could create one full outfit, and show it off at their studio on the deadline. The creators of the best three outfits would be hired on the spot. It sounded great, but I knew it wasn't for me.

The shouts that penetrated the walls alerted me to James' arrival, and I smiled, still searching the site. James knocked twice before entering. I didn't turn around, enthralled with the fashions on the site, but my vision was blocked by two ice-cold hands.

"Guess what I brought you."

"Dude, your hands are freezing."

"Guess."

I sigh. "I don't know... some makeup?"

He barked out a laugh, and removed his hands. "Right. That would be a waste of money."

"Since it wouldn't do anything for this face anyway-"

His hand covered my mouth, and his other arm came around to set a small tub of brownie ice cream in front of the keyboard. "No, because you wouldn't wear it. Ever."

I scrubbed a hand across my mouth, and turned to look at him as he pulled up a chair and turned the back to face me, straddling it. It almost hurt to look at him; the perfect picture of health and fitness, back from a hard day's work of modeling. How could his life get any better? He must have hated having to come home to us pigs every day. I pushed the ice cream towards him, and he frowned.

"You know that's the last thing I need, J."

He pushed it back. "Its okay to splurge-"

"I've been splurging my entire life. How to you think I swelled up into this-"

"Hey." His eyes softened, and he shook his head. "Don't start that mess, Chris."

He wouldn't tolerate me talking down about myself. Never did. Maybe that's why I needed him around. "Why'd you bring me this? You don't bring me food unless you have bad news."

He winced, rubbing at his shaved head. The yellow band on his wrist stood out against his dark brown skin. "Yeah... I mean, it's not bad news, but..."

I swiveled my chair to face him, noticing his tone. His voice stayed light until he got serious. He didn't elaborate, and I fidgeted in the chair, eliciting a few squeaks.

"Are you gonna tell me what's up?"

"I'm... I want to move out, Chris. I found an apartment complex close to my job, and I'm moving in on Saturday."

I kept my face neutral. "Oh."

He tried to gauge my response, head tilting and eyes boring into me, but I wouldn't give him anything. I didn't show him my fear, my sadness, and my pain. I didn't show him I was falling apart.

"Come on; don't shut me out like that. What are you thinking?"

"Nothing. You're moving out. Fine."

He grabbed the arm of the chair when I tried to turn away. "Are you going to let me finish?"

"You stopped talking. I thought you were done."

"No. I knew you would do this-"

"I'm not-"

"So why don't you come with me?" he finished.

My mouth hung open mid-sentence, and he tapped my chin to close it, grinning. He braced his arms on the back of his chair, propped his chin on top, and waited for me to finish thinking.

Come with him? Was he offering me a chance to get away from my family and still stay with him? That sounded way too good to be true, but why would he lie? He wouldn't lie to me. Was I ready to move out? What if I was a bother to him? Would he send me back home after he realized it was a mistake to bring me? Of course he would, no one would ever stay with me by choice-

"I can tell you're beating yourself up. Quit." He smirked. "You know you're gonna say yes, so give up the act."

I couldn't help but smile. "But why would you take me with you?"

"Why wouldn't I? You begged me not to move out when I turned eighteen; I remember that tear-fest you threw. Said you couldn't stay here alone, and you would turn into a whale and... you remember. I would have taken you with me then, but you were only twelve. That wouldn't have worked. Now you can take care of yourself. You move in, and I don't have to worry about you like I would if I left you here. Win-win situation, yeah?"

Win-win situation... yeah, it was. I grinned. "I'll get my own room?"

"Like I planned on sharing one with you," he scoffed, reached out to fake a punch at my jaw.

Excitement filled me, and I jumped up to hug him. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

He just laughed, and pushed me off. "Whatever. You better be ready to do some housework, 'cause if you're staying home all day, you need to make yourself useful. What's this?"

He plops in the computer chair, looking at the contest page. "You gonna enter this, Chris?"

I laughed out loud before I could stop myself, and he shot me a look. "No. You have to model your outfit, and I know I won't be doing that."

"You could do it. You're not half as bad-looking as you think you are. You're related to me, for goodness' sake, that would be impossible."

He ducked when I went to hit him. "Really. Come on, enter. The studio is a couple shops down from mine, too. You could ride with me to work. Promise me you'll think about this."

"No, I'm not-"

"Christelle. Promise me."

I rolled my eyes at his use of my full name. I'd always thought my parents were crazy for naming me that. What kind of name was Christelle...

"I mean it, Chris. Promise, or you're not coming with me."

I glared at him. "You can't do that."

"All you have to do is promise to THINK about it, Chris. You can't even do that?"

It took everything in me to promise, and he grinned, back to his lighthearted self. "Now we have to tell everyone we're out of here."

My heart dropped. I forgot all about everyone else. Their voices still floated through the walls, along with the smell of dinner. Mom was going to have a heart attack. She couldn't even let me go shopping on my own, and I was eighteen. She controlled every aspect of my life, and I didn't know what she'd do after being told I was leaving. "Uh..."

"Come on, it won't be that bad."

"No one has ever moved out. We're going to be the first. You know how mom is, and I'm sure dad won't approve."

He stood, and tugged me along after him. "Hey, it'll be fine. We're both of age, we're not wild and crazy kids. They'll just have to deal with it."

I couldn't stop the erratic beating of my heart as he led me out of the room. I hoped they wouldn't take it too bad. What's the worst that could happen?