Prison Of Glass

11 | white flag

Ana

I stumbled on another piece of clothing on my bedroom floor, groaning as I hit my toe on the bedside table and let out a curse. My room was currently drowning in a sea of clothes. When was the last fucking time that I actually bought normal office wear? My interview was in an hour and I still wasn't dressed!

I held the cigarette at the tip of my fingers and placed it on my lips, taking in a long drag, trying to calm my nerves. I blew out the smoke and closed my eyes and sighed in frustration.

I finally noticed a white piece of fabric hanging at the edge of the wooden structure. I raced to my wardrobe and put out the cigarette in the ashtray on my bedside table. I took the shirt from the hanger out and noticed that it was just what I needed. "Thank fuck." I sighed. Suddenly, it hit me that I wasn't wearing a bra. Fuck. I looked at my room hopelessly, magicly wanting it to clean itself and get the bras back from laundry. I checked my phone for the time, and boy was I late.

I looked down at my boobs. Eh, they aren't that big anyway, I shrugged and hastily put the shirt on, pairing it with black pants and a black blazer.

I studied my hair in the mirror, which didn't need much other than some brushing. I put on some perfume and a little eyeliner and some lip balm. I blew out a breath looking at the mirror, picked up my bag and went out the door.

I rushed down the stairs, hoping that maybe a croissant was left from breakfast. I reached downstairs and skimmed through the kitchen, searching for something light to eat. I froze when my eyes fell on the patio.

Chloe, mum and dad were sitting around the kitchen patio which has a beautiful view into our huge garden, food filled on their table, laughing and talking like the closest and happiest family in the whole world.

My heart ached as my throat clogged up when all the emotions surged through me and my face fell.

They were the perfect family, the family that loved each other, had fun together, laughed together, they were happy.

Time seemed to freeze when my father looked my way, his ocean eyes, way too similar to my own, looked straight at me.

Too many unspoken words. Too many complications and too much drama, that's what I had with my father. I don't remember the last time I had an actual conversation with him. Well, it's not that we talked that much, but still.

I held my stare, he held his. I have no idea what we were trying to prove here, but we made no move to look away, thinking of it as a sign of retreat.

The clock on the wall above ticked, making me instantly aware of how late I was. Even then, I calmly turned away from my father. His burning gaze imprinted on my back.

I let out a deep sigh as soon as I shut the car door. Resting my head on the seat, but really wanting nothing more than some cocaine. Squeezing my eyes, I turned on the ignition, already working on excuses for my impossibly terrible time management skills.

◂♚▸

I was panting by the time I pushed open the door of the small institution. A pretty looking lady sat on the front desk, as I approached her with a confident smile, clutching my laptop bag tightly. "Hi. I applied for a job here, you called me here for an interview?"

She looked up at me, peeking at me through her cat eyes glasses and assessed me then smiled. "Hey, could you please tell me your full name?"

"Anastasia Laurent?" I said tentatively looking around the place, it was nice. Kids lurked around the small lobby, chatting with each other. I saw two or three people walking around the classes who I guessed worked here as well. Working here won't be bad at all.