loml ~ Neil Perry

Chatper 2

Lakyn's point of view

Waking up, my eyes flutter delicately open as the rays of morning sunshine peek through my curtains, slipping through almost as if they were forbidden to, and highlighting my floral wallpaper plastered all around me.

My nightdress tangled between my legs, I turn over in my bed, sealing my eyes once more and trying to drift back into slumber.

I'd had trouble sleeping the night before, we are coming up on a year since my father left and the memories are all far too fresh.

He left towards the beginning of our junior year of high school, and today is my first day as a senior student at Ridgeway high.

Though I'd always dreamed of attending a preparatory school, of attending college and making something of myself, the world around me has always contradicted those dreams one way or another.

I envy my brother. I envy his friends, and I envy the way men are our superiors, but maybe one day, all of that will change.

I hear a series of knocks on my door, followed by a good morning from my mother.

I groan, rolling over in the dusty pink comforter, the irritation of my nightdress tangled between my legs growing stronger.

"Come eat sweetheart." My mother coos, "wouldn't want to be late for your first day as a big-shot senior."

I'm sure she called Charlie two weeks prior and told him the same thing, except his day was not worth missing by any means, and my absence would have no impact on who people expect me to be.

Every now and then, Neil Perry has crossed my mind. Gorgeous brown eyes, in his suit and tie, just in the nick of time to make my heart flutter.

I can't tear my mind away from the excitement I felt when he leaned in so close to me, that I could feel his breath fanning onto my flushed skin.

I'm well aware it's been a whole two weeks, and we had the briefest of interactions, but I can't help but wonder if I've crossed his mind too.

"Okay mother." I reply, "I'm putting my clothes on now."

I wasn't.

I swing my legs over the side of my full bed, feet touching the ground gently as I push myself to a standing position, an act that took an embarrassing amount of courage.

I make my way over to my vanity, my clothes for the day laid delicately upon its surface.

I usually lay out my clothes the night before, because I find it a challenge to pick out pieces that match in a rush.

The thoughts in my head bounce around as if they're children on a trampoline, topics lazily switching from one thought to another as I pull my white pleated skirt over my legs, followed by a baby-pink cashmere piece that my father gave me for my sixteenth birthday.

Before he left me.

I was so angry when it happened, I had thrown out all of the memories of him like rubbish. This was the one thing I kept as a reminder.

I wear it more often than I should, but the softness of it wraps me in a comfortable hug. The color is easy on the eyes, and it accentuates my figure almost perfectly.

Albeit, these are all poorly written excuses in my journal as to why I hang onto the sweater. It just means something to me.

After sliding my white leather flats onto my feet, I give myself a brief once over in the mirror. Admiring my reflection for longer than a few seconds would be considered vanity, so after I deem myself presentable, I exit my bedroom to complete the rest of my morning routine.