A Cabin Conundrum [on hold]

Chapter 4 - Oh. My. God.

Chapter 4 - Oh. My. God. (Janice style)

You know that feeling you get when there is something dragging on in the back of your mind? Well here it was, settled in the pit in my stomach.

After my ingenious fight with Ashton, I took a walk to blow off some steam and recollect my thoughts - not my best idea. My mind hops onto its own train of thoughts and all the meaning of trying to convince myself that my actions were correct are demolished.

The next week, the first day of school rolled around. Summer for me was the two months that I had left to soak up every last inch of my high school life.

Plans ended on a sour note.

So here I was, like most teens, awoken and having about a bazillion heart attacks when I hear my alarm wail. I was sleep deprived so hitting snooze a couple times was the ordinary for me, until I finally found the willpower to eject myself out of bed.

7:15 my clock reads - just a little off schedule but I can pull it back somehow. And that somehow was saving an extra ten minutes thanks to the outfit planning I did last night.

Hauling my body to the bathroom, I go to prep my face for the day.

I'm naturally a lazy person, therefore I never wear a full face of makeup. After I brush my teeth and wash my face, I curl my lashes. Seriously, those bad boys grow straight down. I apply one coat of mascara and some lip balm, then make my way down the flight of oakwood stairs.

I jump down the last two stairs and my feet land on the padded carpeted floor.

Down the hallway I smell pancake aroma with all its buttery goodness.

No, I'm not the hugest butter fan, I'm all about the maple syrup. So Canadian.

The second I walk into the kitchen I see my mom flipping the food - more like attempting to. Her face relaxes in relief as the pancake lands smack down in the middle of the pan.

"Morning," I smile lazily. Our grey and white marble counter top is cooling to the touch when I set my elbows down on it. The leather bar stool twists underneath me as I turn from side to side.

A plate of pipping hot breakfast is slid over to me and my mom hand me our silver cutlery. "Good morning, honey."

I dig into my plate, enjoying the taste of homemade food; I'm going to miss this once I'm off to uni.

"Did you sleep well?" My mother begins the daily routine of morning questions.

"Yeah," I lie through my teeth. I could've crammed in some more sleep into my schedule, if my thoughts last night had not been racing about ten thousand kilometers per hour.

A little while later she sets her own plate down across from me and another prepared for my father.

Just when I'm dunking my last pieces of pancake into the maple syrup feet come thumping down the stairs.

My dad enter the kitchen dressed in a polo t-shirt tucked into some "work pants" as I call them.

"Morning daddy," I greet him.

"Good morning," he grumbles back, still under the influences of sleep.

Dad and I did not have the most renowned father daughter bond in the world. Don't get me wrong, I love him to death, and sure he had always been there to help me with homework and get ahead of the pack, but I felt like that's all we had. I tried to reach out for other opportunities and other topics to discuss, but most of the time they were short-lived. Our relationship was centered around my success and barely anything else.