Mon Amour | Rafe Cameron

VINGT ET UN

〰︎♡〰︎♡〰︎♡〰︎

Callas sleepy trance was interrupted by a loud beeping that enveloped her ears. She had set an alarm for 6:00am hoping to wake up and leave before everyone arrived.

She slowly rubbed her eyes, seeing as it was still dark outside. Paranoia slowly crept into her mentally exhausted tangled web of thoughts as she saw the Twinkie parked a decent amount of distance away from her.

She clutched the linen fabric in her fist, quickly becoming aware of the blanket that was bundled over her. She didn't know who put the blanket over her as she didn't remember doing it herself.. but she just hoped the pogues wernt mad at her anymore.

She threw herself back into the hammock with a sigh, squeezing her eyes shut hoping to somehow mentally prepare herself for the excruciating long day ahead of her at the country club.

She sat back up, pulling her phone out from under her and squinting her eyes at the bright light illuminating off of the screen.

'No Notifications'

She sighed. It's not like she wanted anyone to text her anyways.

She moved from the hammock to the dock, moving in the slightly creaky bored, placing her feet in the water.

She threw her head back, inhaling the fresh scent of salt water. Her feet swirled under the surface depth of the ocean as her gaze fawned upon the ongoing body of water ahead.

Why did life have to be so difficult?

She stood up, carrying her shoes in her hand as her feet padded across the wood. She placed her shoes back on her feet and began her walk to the country club, hoping the day would end fast.

//

By the time she had arrived at the country club, it was swarming with rich older seniors who spent their Sunday mornings golfing with a 'cup of joe.'

She stepped into the back, clocking in as she caught a glimpse of herself in the quad wide toaster designed to prepare several servings of toast on mornings like these.

She sighed seeing her still batters face, wishing more than anything that they would just disappear. She walked into the bathroom with the outfit specified for weekends.

It was for some reason more sleazy than the one to be adorned on weekdays, excluding irrelevant holidays. It consisted of a tight black cropped shirt, accorded with a just as grey tight mini skirt. The usual outfit on weekdays was a semi tight- black dress, mid thigh length, with quarter length sleeves. She preferred that much more than the little coverage she was receiving with the deep v-line neck shown on the crop top she wore. It was all apparently for the "image" of the country club and to draw in customers. Disgusting.

She threw her grey apron over top of her figure and threw her hair into a low bun with the loose pony bob that hung off her wrist. She shifted the stray hairs of her grown out curtain bangs behind her ears and avoided looking at her figure too long for her own sake.

She had pushed away the feeling known as hunger that had attempted to wrap itself around her, in fear of even thinking about food. She could eat right now, but would do anything to avoid the argument with herself and guilt after finally eating again after the almost week she hadn't. She was doing good not fulfilling the selfish feeling her stomach ached to replenish and the feeling accompanied with it was not yet overbearing meaning she could get away with skipping a couple more meals.