"Didn't you say you were too unwell to get out of bed? Funny—when you were about to hang yourself just now, you looked full of energy!"
"Let me guess—the ‘sickness' came the moment Carmela came home? You just couldn't stand not being the only little princess anymore, right?"
My words hit her squarely in the heart. She tried to argue, but I cut her off mercilessly.
"Fake sickness, fake suicide, fake tears—what's next? You think my best friend asked you to ‘repent'? You're both daughters of this family, so why are you the only one acting like you've got brain damage?"
Her face turned pale as paper. "Y-you—you—"
I laughed coldly. "You what, you? Why are you stuttering? Go see a doctor, and if your brain's malfunctioning, try reading a book!"
Unable to fight back, she reverted to her favorite act—the helpless, delicate flower routine.
"Carmela, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to. I was just scared you'd hate me."
Then she looked at me pitifully. "Yanna, if you want to scold someone, scold me. Just don't take it out on my brother and parents."
There it was again. Same act, zero creativity.