Anastasia *on hold*

Chapter 3-Clarise's Inability to Make Eggs

ANASTASIA:

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of eggs. I wasn't opposed to the smell of eggs or anything, but I was opposed to the smell of poorly cooked eggs. And that is the smell that I was awoken by.

Smoke lingered everywhere inside my dorm, and since my shitty dorm room's fire alarm was busted due to a minor incident, I had no idea if I would have the slightest chances of surviving my what seemed to be impending doom.

I got out of bed wearing a giant T-shirt and knee socks, sliding across the wood flooring like you see so banality in movies. I got down the hall before bumping into the wall, tripping, almost falling, but being caught by the sofa mid-tumble.

The whole living area was covered in a thick smoke before I heard Clarise's boisterous laughter, "GOOD MORNING SWEET-PEA!"

I groaned, if it was one thing that Clarise knew about me, was that I was not a morning person. Never have been, never will be. To this day, I can guarantee you that this is the only reason we are not roommates. Clarise gets up at five am every morning, makes a huge noise disturbing the slumber of every other normal human being. Me? I sleep till noon or I swear I will cut a bitch otherwise.

In any way, there was one way to get me out of bed, and that was food. It will forever be my weakness. The saying is always 'Food before Booze' or 'Nourishment before Discouragement.' Either way, don't wake me up unless you have doughnuts.

I felt my lungs getting tight, making me cough and struggle towards a window-or a door-or whatever was closest. Luckily, it was the door. Clarise was someone who was made of money. Honestly, if you brushed her hair, a twenty dollar bill would fall out. She didn't like talking about how much money she had though, which on my side was good I guess...for the sake of my tolerance levels. However, her incompetence with the 'middle-class-almost-poor' lifestyle made her absolutely useless to someone in dire danger. She never had to worry about an over catching on fire or chocking on a big piece of meat, all she had to do was out her feet up and a maid would ask if she needed a foot rub.

I, on the other hand, grew up mostly in a quiet surrounding. My parents are twenty years apart, and my father was never home due to being enlisted with the Army. That left my mom to stay home to be a housewife for awhile while my autistic sister and I attended Elementary. It got harder when my sister entered middle school because that's when my dad had retired from his military service and was trying to win custody over us. According to mom, he'd sue her several times and just wouldn't stop. But that was only her side of the story. My middle school years were awful and I went into depression the October of my seventh grade year. No one knew until I mistakenly told my then ex-best friend's sister (who I thought I could trust) who told my ex-best friend, who told their mom, who called mine. During this part of my depression, we were moving houses because the one we had been living in was sold behind the backs of my now re-married mom. So, we looked for houses but nothing was in our price range. We eventually had to move in with Mom's friends three days before our eviction. Life for my mom and step dad wasn't pleasurable for them since our now "room mates" were strict with how they wanted everything kept. We had to keep our eight dogs outside, where they developed an unseemly incurable flea problem, and the neighbors hated us and our dogs which could never find themselves quiet. These factors making us move again two hours or so away from civilization, throwing me into more of a pool of depression and anxiety. But hey, my life can't be too shabby if you've got a therapist, right!?

Clarise knocked me out of my thoughts, "you okay?" she asked innocently.

I coughed once more, "uhm...yeah."

"You're standing outside of the dorm with tears streaming down your face." She tried to argue.

"I have a Zayn in my eye."