White Butterflies

Origins: Pt. 1

God, another bee got in my room again. I guess that's what living in the attic gets you. The buzzing is all around me, and I can't seem to find where it's coming from. Maybe it's near my window? I try walking over, and see-

"Aha! Got you now!" I say as I spot the yellow blur near my windowsill.

I grab a tissue to catch it with and start to reach up, up, up...

Ouch. I appear to have reached over my bed, pointedly not towards a bee, but the air, and effectively landed myself on the floor. 

I look up to see my phone buzzing, my morning alarm blaring to the tune of Kyoto. I turn it off and realize that I'm already running a bit behind. It's the first day of sophomore year, but I'm just so tired. So, so tired. Perhaps missing school wouldn't be that bad?

The rational portion of my mind halts that thought in its tracks . It would be irresponsible, and besides, I have a motive to be on time today.

It's a new school year: tenth grade for god's sake. A new year to prove myself, to become exactly who I've always wanted to be. A composed, pretty, smart girl. I will become her. I already am her, and I just need to prove that to everyone else. 

I just hope everyone will believe that façade as well as I do.

"Marinette!" I hear my mom call from the floor below me. "You're going to be late for your first day back at school!"

"Got it mom," I call, my throat scratchy and voice filled with exhaustion. I slump down, now fully laying on the floor. I pull out the bun I forgot to take my hair out of last night before walking over to my dresser. It's fall, a chilly season in Paris, so I pull on some pink slippers. In the mirror I take a once-over of myself: dark circles, dry lips, embarrassingly old pajamas, and of course, bruises all over my body. Whether it's some recessive trait or foreign disease, I can never seem to figure out why I'm so damn clumsy. Yesterday, I fell down a full flight of stairs- in public. 

I make my way to the kitchen and give my mom a kiss on the cheek before sitting down for breakfast. "I bet you anything Chloe will be in my class again," I say while pouring some milk for my cereal.

"Four years in a row?" she asks. "Is that possible?". She dislikes Chloe almost as much as I do. Most people do, of course. The blond-haired fashionista, the beautiful mayor's daughter- more like the most pretentious bitch I've ever met.

My mom looks over with an encouraging smile, her crow's feet and smile lines showing off not her age, but her caring heart. "Don't say that, it's the start of a new year. I'm sure everything will be just fine." 

I feign agreement with a short nod and quiet chuckle. I set down a container of chocolate powder-flavoring for my cereal milk on the table a bit too hard, and it's a second too late before I realize that my first inept act of the day has taken off. 

An orange springs out of our fruit bowl and knocks into a butter knife on the table, causing a chunk of butter to toss into the air. That butter, seemingly with a mind of it's own, catapults into the tub of chocolate power, pushing it over and spilling the chalky substance all over the floor. At the same time, the orange sends an open carton of milk and a stray yogurt container onto their sides. A waterfall of milk hits the floor as I sigh with disappointment, knowing it is going to be a long day.

My mom walks over and brushes my cheek with the back of her hand, cheering me up a bit. 

Following the cleanup of the kitchen, I finish my breakfast and go back upstairs to get dressed. Something casual, something trendy. I pull top after top out of my dresser, bottom after bottom until my room is a mess of clothing thrown in different directions.