Cherophobia

Chapter 1 Didaskaleinophobia

^Winifred is pictured above

Chapter 1

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"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."

-William Shakespeare

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After what seemed like only minutes, but was really hours of restless sleep I threw my covers off. Grumbling to myself irritably as goosebumps covered my body upon getting out of my warm bed and into the crisp morning air that'd entered my room through the window I'd left open.

Quickly grabbing the nearest notepad of the many I've collected over the years, I scribbled down the first few words I think mean something or could become something with meaning later on that came to my mind upon waking.

I then proceeded to do all the not so glamorous things, quickly brushed my teeth and made sure I had all the proper piercings in my ears and all my rings on. Then squirting some tinted moisturizer in my palm and using it to cover some of the tiredness that seemed to all but seep out of the pores of my face. Then I went on to swipe on a quick layer of mascara during the few spare moments during which I allowed myself to mentally prepare for another day of curious glances and my painstakingly perfected resting bitch face.

I went to close the window and felt a swift breeze spread tingling coolness over my face as the moisturizer hadn't fully dried yet, pulling me out of the half-asleep state that the methodicalness of my morning routine allows me to maintain.

Opening my suitcase and grabbing a few of the items I remember having most recently washed. I slipped my legs into a pair of well-worn denim shorts, before finding my black sweater, which had once upon a time been ripped so badly I decided to make cropped, and now all the edges frayed and the hem was uneven in such a way where you couldn't quite tell if I'd let someone's cat had used it as a scratching post, or if I overpaid for it to just come this way at some trendy boutique. It left maybe an inch or two of my stomach exposed along with a few spots along the torso and collarbone where the material had frayed so much it resembled a spider web that my pasty skin shone through.

Not bothering to even spend a second on attempting to mess with my frizzy mess atop my head, as I already managed to find myself running late for yet another first day at another new school.

And yes when I say yet another new school, I do mean exactly that.

To explain in the quickest way possible, though the explanation is still a mouthful, ever since my mom left, my dad decided that just about every year, sometimes making it to two, though also sometimes only making it a few months, the two of us would just randomly pick up and move.

I don't know why, sometimes I think it's because he's looking for them, other times I just think he's lost it. And I've come to my own conclusions, whether it's true or even remotely accurate I don't know, but since I know he would never tell me, he might not even know for sure himself why I have to justify it with my own idea.

I think he resents my mother for leaving me and taking away my older brother in doing so, and from the little I really know about my dad, I can tell he would've done much better if left with a son, and definitely would've preferred one too. Not that I blame him, I mean what heartbroken man abandoned by the love of his life wants to be left with a little girl that looks so much like her to take care of when he could have a little boy to raise.

Dismissing the thought that often enters my mind on the first quiet morning in a new town as I rushed downstairs, making a conscious effort to stomp in an attempt to wake my dad up so he'd know I was leaving and it was safe for him to get up, no chance of an awkward morning confrontation between the two of us.