"He definitely wants to sleep with you," he taunts.
"Excuse me?" I look at him weirdly, "What are you even talking about."
"The way he touched your arm. That's what people do when they wanna fuck someone." He looks down at his paper and continues to...
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It's Monday morning and my alarm goes off at five-forty a.m., twenty minutes earlier than usual.
I harshly push the 'stop' button. I plan to fall back asleep for a few minutes until I remember I forgot to shower last night. I groan knowing I have work after school too.
I hate showering in the morning. If you don't schedule correctly, you'll feel like you've missed something the whole day because you rushed. Plus, I hate wet hair.
I sit up and rub my eyes. Taking my phone off the charger, I slowly walk out of my bedroom and to the bathroom.
I finish my ten-minute shower so I start to brush my hair, brush my teeth, wash my face, and rub on lotion.
Rubbing a little moose into my hands, I run them through my hair and twist.
Going back to my room, I put 'Rihanna' on my speaker as I sit at my vanity and check the time. I see it's a little past six a.m. so I decide to start my makeup. I apply moisturizer and do my normal routine consisting of light concealer, blush, mascara, eyebrow gel, and powder.
I used to have a much larger makeup routine at the beginning of high school but once I got to junior year, I kinda just stopped caring. I also started having a lot more depressive episodes so maybe that had something to do with it.. oh well.
Since I have more time, I take a bit longer on my lips. Leaning forward to get an up-close view in the mirror, I line my lips with the liner Harper gifted me. Applying lipstick very similar to my natural lip color, I rub them together and add my strawberry combo on top.
I spray my face with setting spray and hope it'll last for work. Getting up, I go through my clothes and put on my regular uniform along with dark blue knee-high socks for the autumn weather, my favorite.
Going back to my closet, I pick out the brown jeans I tried on at that store Saturday, a lighter brown sweater, and some white Converse to take with me in the car to change after school.
I tie my low-heeled chunky Oxford shoes and spray on vanilla perfume. It's past six-thirty so I turn up my music louder, Sage likes to get ready with it too.
Going back to the bathroom, I fix my hair with the time I have left. I re-twist the sections of my hair and leave it to dry.
I go back into my room and take my clothes and backpack downstairs with me.
I look over into the kitchen from the bottom of the stairs and see a brand-new pack of colored pencils and a mandala coloring book. A look mixed with disappointment and anger paints my face.
That's my mother's way of apologizing: gifts. I don't think she's ever apologized sincerely or verbally, for that matter.
I throw some bread in the toaster and prep my fruit for avocado toast.
Spreading the green mush on the toast, I eye the new gifts sitting at the edge of the island. I don't need them but I do want them. Just like an apology. I don't need one but I want one. I let out a frustrated breath before taking the book and pencils and shoving them in my backpack.
