Bikes & Blood

𝐈𝐈𝐈.

The plush, grey couch dug into the side of Amara's face as a hushed groan spilled from her mouth. Her neck and shoulder ached from the uncomfortable position she had been sleeping in. That or the fact that Amara's feet throbbed within her boots. Amara's forehead creased as a tired frown crept its way across her face. Amara's decision to leave unpacking for later taunted her as she pushed herself up and off the couch.

Amara rubbed her hand down her face, ever-so-slowly turning her head to give the room a once over, eyebrows furrowed as she squinted in the harsh morning light. With a dismissive shrug of her shoulders and a slight twinge of pain within her feet, she rose from the plush couch; the soreness in her feet ached with every step. The wooden stairs creaked beneath her feet as Amara made her way up the staircase and to the open hallway. A huff slipped past Amara's lips when her father rounded the corner with a cheery smile across his face. His granite-grey eyes looked her up and down quickly as he bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

Amara rolled her eyes as the scowl upon her face deepened. "C'mon, spit it out." She ushered with an exasperated wave of her hand.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, fighting the grin that threatened to grow across his face as his eyes danced with delight. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Right, because the grin across your face says otherwise."

"What grin?"

Amara narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed by the knowing glint with his own. "That one," she says, pointing to the somewhat goofy grin that lit up his face.

He chuckled softly and continued on his path down the stairs, pausing on the last step as he looked back over his shoulder at her.

"Breakfast should be ready by the time you're finished."

Amara nodded her head before she made her way to the open doorway of her bedroom and the unpacked bags that sat upon the unmade bed. Crossing the room, Amara unzipped the large black duffel bag and sifted through the contents. Her eyes landed upon the familiar clear bag filled with her toiletries. Grabbing the clear bag and a change of clothes, Amara stopped within the doorway as though she had forgotten to grab something.

Shaking her head when nothing came to mind. Amara crossed the short distance between her room and the bathroom with a few quick strides, pushing the white-painted door closed behind her with a gentle shove of her foot. Amara dropped the clear bag atop the countertop of the white sink before she moved towards the shower, pushing the curtain aside so that she could turn on the tap. Amara left the water running as she walked back over to the sink. Unzipping the small toiletries bag and pulling out the few things she needed before placing them on the edge of the bathtub.

Amara looked around the room quickly, double-checking that she had closed both doors to the bathroom before she bent down and untied her shoelaces. A sigh of relief escaped Amara's mouth as she pulled the Doc Martens from her feet and discarded them upon the tiled floor. Her jeans, shirt, socks and underwear followed closely behind as Amara tossed them carelessly to the cold tiles. The warm water from the shower encased her almost instantly as Amara stepped into the bathtub and beneath the showerhead, pulling the curtain across with a single sweep of her arm.

***

Amara walked into the kitchen with a grin across her face. The smell of freshly made pancakes filled her nose as she sat down at the wooden table. The cool seats pressed into the skin of Amara's legs where her black tennis skirt didn't reach. The olive-green, long-sleeved shirt revealed a small triangle of skin from her belly button to the waistband of the skirt. Small buttons adjoin the shirt from the triangle cut at the hem to the neckline; a simple decoration more so than that of any use when it came to the shirt.