Salty Licorice

Chapter 20

Avery's POV

My eyes snap open at the screeching sound coming from my right, forcing myself to fumble to turn it off and protect my brain from making it pound worse than it already is. As I'm looking for my phone I hear someone groan next to me, making me check only to breathe in relief at the sight of Marisa holding a pillow over her head rolling over away from me. I grab my phone and see it's my Sunday alarm.

I totally forgot I had to go today, crap and I feel like crap. I start desperately looking around for my bag I left here yesterday afternoon before the dance. Practically scrambling, still not awake but using my burst of fear to accelerate my early morning adrenaline rush. When I find it I grab the blue dress, bra and brown flats rushing into the bathroom trying to keep quiet to not wake the rest of the house. Checking my phone to see it's 7:15 already. I rush a brisk shower trying to get rid of as much of last night off my skin hoping to smell like a 'Child of God' and not a 'Dirty Sinner' that my parents would like to call me. I brush through my hair and look at all the makeup in Marisa's cabinet only to be disappointed when none of it is simple enough for me to use.

I slip into the dress and check the mirror to see it covers my chest and the E on my chest. I slip into the flats nearly falling back into the tub. After righting myself and looking at myself in the mirror, I feel this growing anxiety start to build. I pull at the hem of the skirt to make it seem longer but it's no use it stays brushing the tops of my knees. Next I try to get the bust to sit more comfortably but no matter what I do it still makes me feel uncomfortable and feel almost sick. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to make my anxiety disappear just for the next few hours. I can handle this for the next few hours. I pull my necklace out from under the dress and let the small simple cross rest over my chest like always, but this time on show.

I hear a creak from the door before Marisa is standing there in the doorway. Her face is tired but still showing worried eyes. She's holding my pale tan cardigan in one hand and my for Sunday's use only, small brown crossbody purse.

"Will it help if I put it in a braid or leave it down?" She asks gently.

"Neither, not having to go at all would be the best," I admit hearing my voice break when I speak.

She puts my stuff on the closed toilet seat before opening up the over toilet cabinet to pull out a bottle of ibuprofen. I gladly take two and then brush my teeth before pulling my cardigan on and grabbing my purse and looking at myself once more. I feel my skin crawl trying to get out of here, but there's nothing I can do. I feel Marisa turning me away from the mirror and pulling me into a hug but I don't move my arms or body. My eyes stay open trying to chase my tears back in my eyes before they fall and try to calm my heart. I can feel my hands shaking. I take unsteady deep breaths until she steps back looking at me with firm hands on my shoulders.

"Come on Dad's up with food. Don't worry he knows about last night already. Let's just say you weren't very quiet or cooperative." She sadly smiles at me. "We already picked up your truck last night. It's in the driveway."

I nod my head, taking a breath of relief. Marisa's dad was always pretty laid back and nice even after I've raised hell for him in the past. Sometimes I feel he's more like a father to me than my own.

As we walk down stairs to the kitchen we pass a few family photos on the wall. Younger versions of Marisa or baby photos of her little brother, but more importantly of her mother. I know I don't miss her like Marisa does but she was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever met and I'm not referring to her outer beauty. I take a second to look at the photo of her mother before following Marisa into the kitchen, we see plates on the island counter and we slide onto the stools. I look around for a second before I hear heavy footsteps coming in from the back door revealing a warm eyed man with salted black hair and a full trimmed beard.