There is a buzzing noise. The troubling sound cuts at my thoughts as my eyes slowly open.
The clock placed upon my nightstand tells me the hour and minutes that dictate when my day starts. I challenge this by allowing myself a solid fifteen. But the light that pierces through the navy-colored drapes brings the second buzz that startles me. My past self-overly prepared-has set an alarm for instances like this. My lungs become extensive as I breathe in the polar air. In praise, I extend my arms stretching my body as the rosebud sheets slide off my chest. My mouth slopes down as I release myself from the position with a sigh.
I don't listen to the life advice my mother gave me as I ritually grab the smooth device from my drawer before turning the alarm off. My fingers whisper against the cold surface for what feels like three minutes but it was really ten.
My legs swing to the edge of the bed as I detain my feet above the rug covered with fur. I know he sleeps during the day but the man under my bed might pull me into his satanic world. Mustering the courage I push my feet on the floor and wait a few seconds. He seems to be slumbering this morning.
Like a ballerina, I drag over to the bathroom attached to my boudoir. The heavy oak door alarmed at my presence squeaks as my cold hand pushes it open.
I take my time selecting a playlist that puts me in a good morning mood. The shower water that was previously turned on steams up the room impatiently waiting for me to join. I don't like looking at my face through the steam. So I select the same boring playlist and step into the shower. The water is cautious to not wet my nightcap that covers my hair, or wig. As I complete my eight-step routine the water gradually grows cold. In a hurry, I turn the water off as I apply my oil and softening cream. I tow the white towel from the rack as I pat my skin dry.
My routine out of the shower is what I call boring. Teeth, skin, hair, makeup. I don't have to use my brain to complete these daily tasks although they do excite me. I take my time completing makeup figuring my skin could use a little extra concealer just for the fun of it. I pay attention to the time as I have done a full makeup look with nice false lashes. I blink at myself a few times in the mirror making faces with each blink. I feel pretty and my surroundings notice this too as the energy in the room shifts. The black cap on my head is pulled off exposing my wig placed in two neglected plaits. My manicured fingers run through them as they detangle the dark brown hair. Tugging open a drawer under my countertop, I place the straightener on the marble slab. The object beeps to life as I patiently watch it heat itself up. My fingers prick the sleek insides before I quickly draw them back. I've burned myself too many mornings to keep redoing the same events.
My mother used to curse at me for my absentmindedness. In private school, we weren't allowed to wear makeup yet I always came stumbling out of the bathroom late. The scent of my freshly burnt hair filled her wide nostrils. I always covered up around her since my button-down exposed my new cleavage and my skirt was hemmed two inches too high. Just enough to catch the attention of the English teacher's pedophilic eyes and grin as his thin lips moistened. I don't need to wear the skirts anymore and the dress shirts were no use anyway, seeing that most of them were handed down to my little sister.
Standing in front of my mirror I find myself wearing a new outfit consisting of a white skirt and sheer white tights, a green sweatshirt that is definitely not mine considering it is a size too big, and some high fashion boots. My hair sits on my back as I grab my small purse and position it on my shoulder. I give myself a once over and satisfied with my looks I leave my room.
In the kitchen, there is a scent of breakfast waiting for me. Seems Dakota is waiting for me as well.
"Goodmorning." He speaks with a sore throat as his back faces me.
YOU ARE READING
marigold | min yoongi
Fanfiction"Don't thank me," The man flicks his wrist confidently checking the time on his watch. I glance at it as well, noticing it's made out of shiny material and most likely very expensive. It resembles a watch that my horrid father would most likely wear...
