Was it even love?

Chapter 3

A/N at end please read it :)
Unedited

After explaining the whole event for the millionth time I went to my old room.

The whole pink and purple colour scheme reminds me of how long it's been since I was last here, when I walked out.

It was after a fight with my mum. I said a lot I shouldn't have but at that moment I couldn't stop myself from blurring it all out, I wanted control over my own life and I wasn't getting that living here.

I walk in and shit the door, printed pictures of me and my old friends are tacked to the wall with curled edges— nothing has been touched in here.

Going through the wardrobe I pull it open, the clothes inside probably won't fit well seeing as they're from two years ago. They'll have to do though.

I find a large tshirt amongst the strangely small party-like outfits, most of which I probably didn't wear much. It's oddly comfortable but I don't remember ever buying anything Nirvana. It didn't fit my whole 'popular girl' aesthetic.

My lack of sleep seems to have finally caught up when I climb into the purple bed.

___

A knock on the door tears me away from my sleep, "Hey do you want to come down for breakfast or breakfast in bed?" My mums voice carries through.

I know she's trying to be nice but it feels oddly weird. I don't think she's ever been this nice. Ever.

I clear my throat, "I'll come down soon."

"Okay I'll start on breakfast then." I hear her footsteps descend and keep lying in bed. I shift to face the ceiling but the slight breeze hitting me makes the look out the window.

It was closed wasn't it? I didn't open it did I?

No. I must have, there is no way possible the windows would be open if I didn't open them. Maybe I forgot. I forget a lot of things. I opened the window. Definitely.

I throw the duvet off my body and goosebumps erupt over my skin. Instead of changing I just put on a pair of shorts and go to the bathroom.

The spare toothbrushes are still kept on the shelf by the sink. The pastel blue paint has lost its colour in some places but I know my dad won't paint it no matter how many times he's asked to.

I brush my teeth and wash my face with cold water to get rid of as much of my ruined make up as I can. It still looks bad but it's better than being a raccoon with lipstick like a clown.

I walk down the stairs more than just the usual two creak beneath me. This is something my dad would have fixed, he can't stand the noise.

"Where's dad?" I ask while walking into the kitchen— smells of bacon and eggs make me realise just how hungry I actually am.

She drops the spatula in her hand, shock on her face. "Oh, well uh, he's out. Yeah."

I've always been able to tell when she's been lying. She can't lie for the life of her.

"I know you better than that." She sighs.

"Lots has happened since you left and I don't think this is the type of conversation you want to be having at breakfast after a traumatic experience." She argues while aggressively whisking more eggs.