You're The Light Of My Life (A Sting Eucliffe x Reader FanFic)

Morning Like Always...

~Reader's P.O.V.~

Your alarm clock went off at 6:00 in the morning, just like always. And just like every morning, you grumbled certain words under your breath and got up. You sluggishly got out of your bed and trudged to the nearest mirror. You ran your hand through your morning (h/c) hair, which was a mess. You took a black comb from your hair dresser and gently combed your hair. When you were done, your hair was straight and simple, just the way you like it. "(y/n)! Are you finished dressing?!" a deep and authoritative voice boomed from downstairs your house. Well, it was more of a mansion than a house.

"NOT YET!!" you yell rudely back. You hated hearing that voice. If you never heard it again, you would be the happiest girl (a/n: let's hope you are one, but if you're not, then just go with it) in the world.

"Don't give me that tone child!" the voice said sharply. You sighed.

"Whatever!" you yell. You undress from your black pajamas and put on a simple (f/c) shirt and skirt that goes down to your knees. You put on a simple (f/c) bow clip on your (h/c) hair and go to your night table. There, you pick up a picture of your mom, died three years ago. "I wish you were here," you say sadly as your hand traces around the picture. "It's honestly no wonder why you divorced from this jerk." You kiss the picture and gently set it back down.

"(y/n)-sama?" a gently voice knocked on your door.

"Come in!" you say as you looked at your (s/c) self. You never really cared for looks, just as long as you were okay looking. The door of your bedroom gently opened to reveal one of your father's maids.

"(y/n)-sama, your father is waiting for you at the dining room," the maid said politely. You nod without looking at her and continued fixing your bow. "(y/n)-sama, it's urgent..." the maid insisted. You scoffed.

"Of course, everything is important for him," you mutter under your breath and let the maid escort you out of your room and down the spiral staircase. She stopped right outside the entrance to a very large dining room. It was the kind kings and queens from long ago would have, the one with a very long table. Your father was eating his pancakes in an "orderly" manner, as he called it. You roll your eyes and sit down in the chair opposite of him. A waiter then places a plate with a syrup drenched stack of pancakes in front of you. You quietly say "thank you" and he leaves you be.

"You take too long to dress," your father said bluntly.

"I'm here though aren't I?" you spit bitterly.

"I said watch your tone," he reminded calmly but sternly. "Don't be like your sorry excuse of a--"

"Do not talk about Mom like that!" you yell, standing up from your seat. You watch your father angrily as he sighed and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"Must I remind you that you do not have to live here and I do not have to provide you a home, education, and food," he said in a calm tone that made your blood boil, but in the end you knew he was right. You took a deep breath and sat back down.

"What is it that you want, Father?" Just saying that made you very pissed off, but you just held it back, just like always. He didn't notice, or atleast didn't show that he noticed. Instead, he stood up and brushed imaginary dust off of his pristeen white suit that he always wore. You hated that suit; it reminded you of light, and you always hated light, or atleast, ever since your mom's death. You remembered that faithful day, the one that caused you to hate it.

"I just wanted to remind you that you are going to Sabertooth Academy, a school very high in class," he replied. "You best be on your best behavior while going there. It is not cheap you know."

"Like you would care about money," you growl under your breath. After your mother and him divorced, money was hard to come by. Your mother had to take several jobs just to put food on your plate. That's why you never took money for granted and always insisted on helping with her jobs, but your mother always denied. 'It helps build up my strength,' she would always say. But in the end, that didn't matter.

"So, shall you be going?" your father raised his big bushy eyesbrows.

"Yes sir," you mutter and walk away from the dining room without touching your breakfast. Ignoring the gnawing hunger in your stomach, you slung on the already prepared backpack onto your shoulder and slipped on some rough old grey sneakers. Your father insisted on buying you new ones, but this was the only thing you had that reminded you of your mother. That, and the picture of course. Two maids open the large golden doors for you and you walked out of the mansion towards some new snobby school, not knowing what is yet to come.