People say we're products of our parents. that all of their good traits are passed onto us, that we pick up the bad traits along the way.
But what if our parents have no good traits? What does that make us?
Are we all bad?
Kinsey couldn't speak on...
An incessant ringing filled her ears as she opened her eyes wide, the sun that intruded through the small gap in her white curtains burning her brown irises as she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling before she began her day the way she began every day. With a loud groan as she pulled her silk pillow over her head, muffling both the sound of her alarm and the way it made her feel. In the sixteen years of her life, she had established the perfect routine, every morning without fail Allison would barge into her room, turning the alarm off for her as she continued to try and wake herself, until inevitably, Allison had to forcibly remove the girl from the bed. Then, and only then could she begin her day. Even in the summer that the brunette found herself under the roof of the Martin's her routine hadn't changed, only Lydia was the one pulling the girl out of bed so that the two could do whatever she had arranged for that day. Typically, it was shopping. As the sound of the muffled alarm continued Kinsey stayed with her pillow over her head, waiting for her door to open and Allison to begin talking to her.
A few minutes, passed, longer than the brunette was used to waiting. She knew that Allison would come in soon, there was a chance she had gotten caught up in styling her hair for school, or her head was dug into the deepest depths of her closet to find something that Lydia would deem acceptable for school, it wouldn't have been the first time she had run late on the routine that the two of them established in all of their years of living together. So she waited a few more minutes, and then a few more. Until she couldn't take the sound of her alarm any longer. Kinsey stretched her hands out of the sheets that she'd swaddled herself in, slapping her hands on her alarm until the dreadful noise had come to a stop. It appeared that for the first time in all of the years Allison had pulled her out of bed, today was the day she decided not to, on a day where she felt especially unmotivated to pull herself out of bed.
Kinsey sat up in bed, rubbing her bleary eyes before she truly took in the day and her sun-filled bedroom. She took a deep breath as she looked at her alarm clock on her bedside table, but to her surprise, it was off. After incessantly ringing in her ears, it was off. The brunette leaned over, reaching for the alarm clock, expecting to find it unplugged, maybe she had hit it too hard when turning it off, it wasn't as if she was used to the task, it was one made for Allison. But it wasn't, it was plugged in, ready to work, and it had. Now, not so much. A confused Kinsey sat up in her bed again, looking at the room around her with a knitted brow, only then did she realize that it wasn't her room at all. She'd had a few bedrooms of her own in her life after all of the moving, but the room she found herself in now wasn't any of them.
The brunette scanned the room, her eyes landing on a picture frame on the dresser across the room. Immediately she ripped the covers off of herself, jumping up to look at the picture. It was her, there was no denying that, a picture she recognized too, it just wasn't one she had ever placed in a frame, or even thought of doing that with. It was a picture of her and Peter from the summer, both of them happy and smiling as if they were a normal father and daughter pair. She stared at it for a few moments, trying to comprehend what was happening, she wasn't in her own bedroom, there was a picture of her and Peter on the dresser. But wherever she was, she had never been there before. Kinsey stood leaning against the dresser with her hand running through her hair, as confused as ever, her eyes scanned the room again until she was looking at the walk-in closet. She wondered. If this was somehow her bedroom, it had to have her clothes.
