Love & War | Brad Simpson ✔️

3. "Why don't your hair extensions match your hair properly?"

Living with the devil is worse than I had ever imagined.

First of all, she's a snorer. It's not really loud but it's certainly loud enough to keep me awake, even when I put my earphones in on full volume. When I casually brought up the fact at breakfast, she immediately denied it so the next night I recorded it and she still wouldn't believe me. Apparently, I'm making it up but the bags under my eyes from lack of sleep say otherwise.

Or maybe that's because I have to sleep on the floor. Okay, so my mum's given me a mattress so my new bed isn't technically the floor but it still isn't comfy and I will definitely be acquiring some serious back problems at this rate.

Secondly, her stuff grows daily. I mean, she had a lot of stuff the day she first moved in but I swear to god more stuff has accumulated over the past couple of days. But with the floor now taken up by my new bed, there's no bloody room for it. It takes me ten minutes to battle my way through her mountains of clothes every morning just to get to the door.

Thirdly, her hair extensions are everywhere. I think they're actually living creatures because I'm convinced that they've been breeding in my room. I found one in my underwear drawer yesterday. I wouldn't mind if they actually made Brittany's hair look nice but they just hang there on her head, begging to be let free.

All wild animals should have the right to freedom.

Fourthly, she's always on the phone. I don't know who she's talking to but I'm guessing her bratty friends. It wouldn't be as bad if her voice wasn't so whiny and grating. Plus, all she talks about on the phone, as she lounges across my bed, is utter crap. She goes on and on about the most pointless of things, like the hundreds of so-called 'hot guys' who are so massively desperate for her to sleep with them - none of whom I have ever seen or heard of in my life, but yeah, they're totally real - and about how annoying I am to live with.

Whilst I'm sat there.

The fucking cheek of it. Talk about the pot calling the kettle an annoying cow (her words exactly). Clearly, she's never met herself.

Anyway, that's what she is doing right now. Chatting on the phone with one of her cronies about the latest episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians that she watched today because she managed to persuade my mum to let her have a day off work. Apparently, she is really tired, even though she's only worked three hours in the cafe over the past two days and she spent most of those three hours moaning about working rather than actually working.

"... Yeah, I know, it was sooo hilarious, like, why would she even say that?... Oh my God, I know, right!... Oh my God, tell me about it... Oh my God, she's such a bitch... Oh my God, yeah, I hate her..."

Does she not have anything in her vocabulary apart from Oh my God? Does she not know any other words?

Then she lets out her really annoying, high-pitched giggle that makes me want to rip my hair out. It is the most horrible, most irritating noise I have ever heard in my whole entire life. It's worse than her normal talking voice. I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to the sketchbook in my hands.

I've always loved drawing. It started off just doodling in the corners of my homework books at primary school. Then for my tenth birthday, Tristan bought me a sketchbook and some proper artist pencils. I think it was my mum and dad who actually bought them and then they just said they were from Tristan, but I didn't care. It was the best present I got that year. Any year, in fact. I guess it just went on from there. I began drawing the teddies in my bedroom, then Millie's pet hamster, then the back garden, landscapes, portraits, the random crap that goes on inside my mind. Anything. I just draw whatever I feel like. I find art very therapeutic and calming, and it helps me express myself when other methods fail.