𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 - 𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻

Thirty | Game Day

Chapter 30 : Game Day

I paced back and fourth around my bedroom, debating if I should go to school or not. I mean, I don't really have a choice, but my mom only gave me one chance to stay home only if I wanted too.

It's unusual when parents do that, but I honestly never complain about it though.

I ran my fingers through my hair and paused as I caught a gimps of myself in the mirror. Ugh.

I honestly hate myself.

I fidgeted with my fingers as I checked my outfit for the day. Dark blue jeans with rips in the knees, and a black hoodie I bought online with a picture of marvel's Avengers' endgame.

Something completely simple.

Simple is good.

My hair is straightened down, stopping at my elbows. Over the past few weeks, I've noticed how long my hair has gotten.

My hair naturally grew long just like my mom's.

I'm actually starting to think I'm just a copy and paste of her.

Scrunching my face up, I grab a hair tie, wrapping my hair up into a ponytail and stared at myself.

I scrunch my face up again and pull it out.

"Hair crisis?" Mom said from the doorway of my room. I sighed deeply and turned away from the mirror and gave her a nod.

"Looks just aren't for me."

"Now that's not true," Mom walked in and turned my body around to face the mirror again.

After my mom re-fixed my ponytail into a neat high up, we stared into the mirror for a while in silence.

"Hey, mom," She gave a small 'Hm?'

I took a deep breath, "Do you think I'm beautiful? Honestly, not just because you're my mom."

She was taken back by my words and frowned.

"Of course I think your beautiful, baby. I never say it because I'm your mom, I say it because it's the truth. You are incredibly gorgeous. Now, where is all this coming from?" She turned me around and grabbed my shoulders.

"Um, nothing. Just a thought that came up," I shook my head and walk away from her, grabbing my backpack from beside my bed.

"Are you sure you're alright," Mom grabbed my hands in a firm grip. I closed my eyes for a brief second before opening them back up, my eyes meeting with her blue ones

That's probably one of the only features I don't have of my mom. Unfortunately, I have my dad's eyes.

When I was little, I've always admired my eyes because I had my dad's. I was always proud to call him my dad, but now I can't even say the word out loud and not think of how he traded on us.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"No, you are not. Just talk to me, baby. I know you aren't fine, just tell me. I'm here for you," She held my face in her hands and I couldn't help the tiny sob that escaped my lips.