𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙤𝙮

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚠𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢

not proofread
lower case intended

part eight

i walk into my house suddenly aware of how exhausted i am. i head up stairs, check the laundry room and see boris's sweater is done washing and lazily throw it into the dryer. i walk to may room and plop on my bed, immediately closing my eyes and drifting into sleep. i never remember my dreams, sometimes i wake up with a fleeting feeling of a story, but that story will never be known when open my eyes. i awake when i hear the front door shut downstairs, i look over and check the time on my phone. i guess i was really fucking tired cause it's already 9:43pm. before i can hop out of bed to greet my mother but a nonification just below the time on my phone catches my eye.

boris
hello new girl, i assume your sleeping because i already try to call 3 times. text me when you wake up.

i look at the text with confusion. did we exchange phone numbers last night? i swipe to open the message and text back a reply.

boris

boris?
how did you get my number?
did i give it to you last night?
read 9:45pm

boris
i take your phone last
night while you sleep
and put in my number.
you should really make
phone password new girl.

i stare at my phone in bewilderment. no shot this kid put his number in my phone. i can hear his voice in my head as i read the text. i know he's smirking at his own words. i text him back quickly before i put down my phone.

boris

boris
i take your phone last
night while you sleep
and put in my number.
you should really make
phone password new girl.

you're sneaky as fuck
and i will absolutely be
putting a passcode on my
phone. give me a sec, my mom
got home. brb
read at 9:47pm

i lay my phone on my bed and head downstairs. "mom?", i call out as i get to the bottom step. "i'm in my room sweetie, give me a second!", i hear her voice say from the back part of the house. i smell a freshly lit cigarette and assume im waiting on her to put it out as i plop down onto the couch. i take a look at my bruised knuckles and fold my uninjured hand on top of them. i wait patiently in on the couch before i see my mom coming out of her room coughing, still in her work uniform. "hey lucybug! how was school?", she asks sitting next to me in the couch with a smile. i lay my head on her shoulder and let out a dramatic sigh, "exhausting.", i say honestly. i decide to leave out the part where i punched other student in the face making her bleed, in hopes of a nice normal night with my mother. "how was work?", i ask her, feeling her warm shoulder on my cheek and breathing in her familiar smell of cigarettes and floral perfume. "exhausting.", she says placing her head on top on mine and mimicking my sigh. she laughs quietly and removes her head from mine before kissing the top of it. "how mad would you be at me if i turned on a lifetime movie and made us a box of questionably old mac and cheese for dinner?", she asks me. i lift from my head from her shoulder and smile, "honestly i think that sounds wonderful.", i say getting up from the couch and heading into the kitchen. "honey, i'll make it don't worry.", she says beginning to stand up from the couch. "no mom, sit down, you've been working too long. it's just mac and cheese i can manage.", i say turning back to her with a chuckle. she lowers back on to the couch lazily and turns on the tv, "what would i do without you?", she asks from the living room. "eat questionably old mac and cheese by yourself and only own the lifetime channel!", i call back to her which i hear her laugh at. i hear the tv switching through channels before it eventually
stops on what is undeniably the lifetime channel as i hear a voice from the tv say, "so you've been sleeping with her marcus?!". i laugh to myself. damn marcus you're caught. i pull out a box of mac and cheese from the moving boxes in our kitchen. i place a pot with water on the stove and wait for it to come to a boil before i add the mac and cheese noodles. after the noodles are cooked i drain some of the water and put the yellow cheese powder in the pot, stirring it with a plastic knife. i cannot wait till we unpack the boxes with the plates and bowls and spatulas. i grabbed the pot off the stove with the single dish towel we have out and grab two plastic spoons as i head back into the living room. i see my mother already passed out, shoes still on, curled up on the couch like a little kid. i debate waking her up to eat but decide that leaving the leftover mac and cheese in the fridge when im done with it is a better option. i set the pot of the coffee table in front of our couch and carefully take off her shoes, making sure not to wake her. i grab the blanket on the floor that she used the first night we moved in a draped it over her. when i have mom all squared away and tucked it i grab the pot, placing it and the dish towel on my lap and watch the movie eating. the movie was about some wife who figures out her husband has been sleeping with the nanny and conspires to kill them both, i've no doubt seen this one before. or maybe not, i can't tell. to me all the movies on this channel have the same plot line in a way, but that doesn't mean they aren't a guilty pleasure for mom and me.