OCTOBER 28 COMES before I even know it. I wake up at the crack of dawn, to be more precise around five o'clock in the morning when it's still dark out and still peaceful and still and quiet. My alarm on my phone goes off loudly, starling me awake. I wake with a gasp as I shoot upright in my bed, frantically searching for my phone with wide eyes. I find it and turn off the alarm, groaning and pressing a hand to my temple, massaging it in small circles with my palm in hopes it would help ease this headache I now have. Unfortunately, it doesn't.
I flip the bedsheets off and swing my legs off the edge of the bed, only then to turn around to make it immediately. Slouching and moping, I squint when I walk towards the bathroom, flipping the light switch on. I sneak a glance at my reflection. I look terrible. My red auburn hair all tangled up and unkept, out of place and fallen loose around my face, framing out my beautiful features. My eyes are half-opened and squinting against the sudden bright light and I notice small dark circles underneath them. Another long night of working. Bed marks appear on my freckled cheeks from where I slept on the pillow.
I'm slouching when I enter the bathroom, looking half-dead. I let out a yawn, though I tried to stifle it with the back of my hand which doesn't work as well. I did my hygiene routine and after that head straight back to my bedroom to get myself ready. It's John's birthday today, so I woke up early in hopes I could quickly make him a surprise birthday cake though I'm starting to regret my decision and wishing I could just go back to sleep. Still slouching and looking like a zombie, I swing open my closet door and rummage through the closet, trying to figure out which outfit to wear. I don't think I'm meeting up with Mr. Laurens today so I don't have to worry about being Alexandrea tonight which is a plus.
Through a huge, long yawn, I toss a long-sleeved black turtleneck onto my bed along with a dark emerald green leather jacket with blue ripped jeans and white Chuck Taylors. I quickly change and gather my things up for school, stuffing them into my bookbag. I unplug my phone from its charger and plug in my headphones, pulling up Spotify and tucking my phone into my jean pocket before heading down the stairs to prep the cake. Meade told me that John loves chocolate so I'll make him a simple chocolate rectangular cake. I grab the mixing bowl, a couple of eggs, the milk, several measuring supplies and the cookbook and a rectangular pan. I stand before them, hands on my hips. Let's hope I don't burn the house down.
I don't know how long it's been since I've started cooking the cake for John. I hum along to the songs that plays, swaying my hips as I dance around the kitchen, totally lost in a dreamworld. I do a spin at one point as the song plays, holding the mixing bowl in one hand as I stir up the cake batter with a whisk before pouring it into the rectangular pan. I smooth out the layer of cake batter with a butter knife, double checking the directions to make sure I didn't miss anything and open the oven. The oven is already preheated so I don't have to worry about that as I slide the pan inside, closing the oven lid and taking off my oven mitts and dusting my hands. I place my hands on my hips, still humming along to the songs as I scan the kitchen that's now a mess. At least, I didn't manage to burn the house down.
"Alexander?" a voice says from behind me or nearby me, I couldn't tell because it was slightly muffled due to my earbuds blocking out any external noise but I can still hear him faintly. He sounds like he's just woken up too, his voice thick and heavy with sleep.
I don't pay attention, just humming along and occasionally making a dance move as I finish up cleaning and straightening the kitchen and head towards the living room to wrap up John's birthday present. I decided to go with a blue leather-bound sketch book (call me cliché, but I chose that color so it would match his eyes) that I found at the store the other day with his initials with cursive handwriting: J. L. and on the inside of the sketch book reads: My dear Jack, I love you! Happy birthday, Jackie! ~Your favorite little lion, Alex
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Helpless (Book 1)
FanfictionSeventeen-year-old Alexander Hamilton should feel lucky. He should feel lucky that he survived the hurricane and the illness he and his mother had when he was twelve. He should feel lucky that he has a family now, an adoptive one at that. He doesn't...
