Strawberries & Cigarettes

Chapter 2

March 09, 2015

Aurora still hasn't gotten used to waking up in her new bedroom.

The walls and ceiling that are too white, the wide and windy curtained window next to her bed, the unorganized suitcases around the floor.

The cold air that lingers every morning till night.

She's not used to it.

Though her decorative skills were utilized nicely, her room furniture portrays her character, so she can at least get used to the familiarity of herself.

Her head turns to look at the black cat plushie from the Coraline movie, the item being under the soft beige blanket with her.

Aurora loves collecting stuffed animals, which are all occupying her pillows and her right side of the bed.

They're like company for her.

"Another day, another dollar... Well, hopefully soon it'll become true."

She boops its nose and chuckles at her Spongebob reference. Soon climbing out of her bed to dress in something simple for the day that awaits her.

After brushing her fluffed brunette hair, she applies her light everyday makeup.

Which consists of brushing her thick eyebrows with a spoolie brush, coating mascara on her eyelashes, and spreading a gloss to her lips.

Sometimes a peach or rose pigment to her lips.

Since caramel-stained freckles sprinkle her face, most on her button nose and rosy cheeks, Aurora doesn't like covering them in makeup.

So, she lets them be free.

She actually prefers them to stand out, dawn till dusk, and treasures them when she counts each one in the mirror when her mind is unoccupied with thoughts.

Stepping into the kitchen while keen for her early awoken day, Aurora prepares herself scrambled eggs, strawberry jammed toast, and two strips of bacon.

Her taste buds will forever crave sweet and savory.

A loud yawn makes itself known as she sits down at their wooden table, and she can already sense him brewing coffee for himself.

Aurora glances over her shoulder, and Spencer's bed head, droopy eyelids, and excessive yawning cause her to chuckle.

Mornings aren't his favorite, won't ever be.

And she was correct, he's brewing coffee.

The warm aroma filters their kitchen with her cooked breakfast still inhabiting the air as well. 

If they weren't platonic best friends, or if Spencer didn't gag at the idea about women, they would look like a young married couple.

"What are you doing today? Besides looking like a hippie," he asks as he sits down in front of her with a cup of black coffee in his hand and a blueberry muffin in his other one.

She lowers her eyes to her basic outfit, meeting his eyes again to furrow her eyebrows and tilt her head to the side at him.