UNKNOWN GUEST

#137 Normalcy

This morning felt... different. For the first time in what felt like forever, I woke up with a sense of peace. After finally opening up to Mom and Dad about my struggles, my nightmares, and the traumas that had haunted me for years, I had a genuinely restful night of sleep. 

No headphones to block out phantom noises. No locking my door out of instinctive fear of the high-heel witch. And for once, I hadn't bothered with a long-sleeved shirt to bed, my scars hidden only by the darkness. It was freeing, in a way I hadn't felt before.

I stretched lazily in bed, the soft morning light filtering through my curtains, and allowed myself to linger in the comfort of my blankets. Last night had been a turning point—a bridge, maybe, from the fractured pieces of my past to something whole. Something better. Sure, there was still a long road ahead, but after years of pain, nightmares, and isolation, I felt ready to begin healing.

Those years I spent in the past, thrown into events I had no control over, had shaped me in ways I was only beginning to understand. I had seen things that would send most people running for cover: alien invasions, pirates who lived for chaos, and supervillains with terrifying visions of power.

 It was overwhelming then, and the scars they left behind—both physical and emotional—weren't easy to ignore. But now, back in my rightful time, as a 17-year-old high schooler, I felt like I had a chance to shape my life, my future, into something more hopeful.

The smell of something... odd wafted into my room, interrupting my thoughts. My brow furrowed as I threw on a T-shirt and stepped out of my room. I followed the scent to the kitchen, where I found Mom standing at the counter, a determined expression on her face as she worked on... something.

"Good morning," I greeted, my voice still scratchy from sleep.

Dad turned from where he was standing at the fridge, holding a carton of orange juice. "Good morning, James! Come on over and witness Chef Natasha's latest culinary masterpiece." He flashed me a wide grin, clearly amused.

Mom rolled her eyes, a small chuckle escaping her. She looked at me, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she gestured toward the table. "Grab a seat, you two. Breakfast is almost ready."

Dad shrugged and took his seat at the table, his grin never fading. I sat across from him, watching as Mom brought over two plates—each piled with scrambled eggs and pasta. She set them down with a flourish, then looked at me expectantly.

"Go ahead, taste it!" she said, her voice filled with a mix of eagerness and nervousness.

I picked up my fork and twirled a bite of pasta onto it, giving her an encouraging smile. The first bite wasn't... terrible. It was edible, but let's just say Mom's talent on the battlefield clearly didn't extend to the kitchen. I swallowed quickly, clearing my throat before speaking. "It's good, Mom."

Her face lit up with a proud grin.

"But," I added with a smirk, "you might want to let Dad work his magic in the kitchen next time."

Dad burst out laughing, raising his hand for a high-five. "Absolutely."

Mom narrowed her eyes at both of us, but there was a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, come on. I'm just starting!"

I softened my teasing with a smile. "Honestly, Mom, it's great for a first attempt. You're already better than I expected."

She chuckled, shaking her head, and sat down to join us for breakfast.

After we finished, I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. Mom and Dad walked me to the door, standing together like they used to when I was younger.