In A Twist of Fate

Chapter One: The Morning

Amaya's pov 7:00am

It's bright, too bright. I could've sworn I pulled my curtain closed before I went to bed. I've been asleep for so long that when I open my eyes, everything is still a little bleary. Maybe that's why it takes me a second to see the time clearly displayed on my alarm clock. All of the sudden, I'm wide awake, "Shoot!" I get myself out of bed, stepping into my slippers, and fumbling around my room looking for my glasses. They're sitting on the nightstand, not in their case, by the way, when I notice my dad standing in the corner. He stands there with an amused expression on his face, and I realize that he's watched this whole series of unfortunate events.

"Oh my gosh dad I'm so sorry, I know I told you I set an alarm, and I swear I did! I guess I just didn't wake up and-"

"Amaya, it's fine, just get ready, I'll meet you in the car." I blow out a sigh of relief and give him a dismissive wave. Okay, now it's time to tackle the seemingly massive task of getting dressed. I throw open my closet door, and see nothing but clothes sitting on the floor. I guess I'll have to take care of that eventually, but that time is most definitely not now. I bend down and grab a skirt, fishnets, and a black crop top; everything that was on the top of the pile. It's honestly a miracle that anything at all matches. Well, that's not exactly true, my eyes scan the floor and realize that most of my clothing is black, so I suppose it would match. Maybe I should put a splash of color in my wardrobe... another problem for another time.

Rushing to my bathroom, I slip on my clothes, opening the door to my medicine cabinet, still struggling to clear the fogginess that seems to always be present when I wake up, and that's probably the reason I put toothpaste on my edge brush, "Is anything going to go right today?" I mumble under my breath. I answer my own question when I decide not to even try brushing my hair with the now-nasty hairbrush, and manage to stub my toe on the edge of my door. "FU-dge, fudge, I mean fudge."

Running down the stairs, I can still feel my toe throbbing, and decide to ignore it as I throw on a pair of socks and my boots, and fly through the door. I hope in the car and turn to my dad, feeling especially accomplished after that series of unfortunate events. My dad cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, asking, "Backpack?" I breathe out a sigh of pure frustration and click the small unlock button on the passenger side door, and walk back into the house, remembering that I left my bag hanging on the entryway door. I grab it, and trek all the way back to the car, this time stepping in the backseat, stretching out my legs.

"I'm finally ready, let's go, I don't want to be later than I already will be."

"If you're sure you've got everything. Did you eat?" he responds.

"If I say yes can we go?

He sighs, but gives in, "Sure."

The rest of the ride was quiet, except for the same radio station blaring the same music that my dad always listens to. I've tried for years to get him to change stations, to try any new music, but every time I bring it up, he says the same thing, "If I find something that I like, I don't see the point in sifting through things that I don't in hopes of finding something that might not even be as good." And while he has a point, and I half see where he's coming from, hearing the same voices, and the same beat on repeat is annoying. So, I plug my headphones into the jack and flip through all of my music. I finally settle on some Beyonce, and it's a welcome change from the smooth jazz that's playing through the car stereo.