*DISCLAIMER*
Towards the end of this chapter, there are a few paragraphs that go into "detail" about the printing process of turning film into tangible photos. However, I am no photographer nor am I an expert in the field of photography, whatsoever. In times like these when I don't feel the need to really do in depth research, rather I am just a bit lazy, I turn to good ol' Google for tips and advice. So if any of the information is inaccurate (as I'm sure some of it, if not all of it, will be), please dispel your knowledge for a few minutes and just try to immerse yourself in the writing :) Thank you!
CHAPTER 7
AGAIN
The next morning, I am irritated once again to find it still dark outside when I awaken. This polar twilight is really going to mess with my sleeping cycles. I change into the first clothes I can find and make my way downstairs. Lorraine sits at the kitchen table, reading a book with a cup of piping hot tea by her side.
"I'm going out with a friend today," I say sternly.
Lorraine peers up at me from under her glasses and averts her attention away from the novel.
"With whom, if you don't mind me asking?"
I blink heavily and sigh.
"Nayland Ashby."
My mother's face lightens and she smiles widely, exposing her ultra-white teeth.
"How are things going between you and him?"
The way she says it inquires that there is something bigger between Nayland and I.
"Fine," I reply indifferently and head into the kitchen, trying to ignore where her thoughts are heading.
"He comes from a fine family," Lorraine says from the table. "And aside from the fact that he's handsome, his mother-"
"Where's the camera?" I cut her off, desperately trying to find a way to shut her up. I turn around and cross my arms over my chest.
Lorraine purses her lips and thinks about it.
"I think the only working camera we have is in your father's study, but I'm sure he won't mind if you borrow it."
"Thanks," I mumble as I trot upstairs to the third floor to retrieve the stupid camera. The thing is outdated and has many buttons and knobs that I vaguely remember how to use when I took Photo I freshman year. I sling the strap around my neck and the camera weighs me down; it's a lot heavier than I remember it to be.
When I reach the bottom of the staircase, there's a light honk from outside and I hurry to grab my olive-green jacket from the closet.
"Have fun, Elaina!" my mother shouts before I shut the door on her.
I mutter profanities under my breath before hopping into the passenger's side of Nayland's car.
"Hey," Nayland says as I shut the car door.
"Hi," I breathe, the hint of irritation still tingeing my voice.
"S'everything alright?" he asks in his undeniably attractive accent.
I look at him and smile.
"Yeah."
I turn my gaze out the window as he pulls out of the long driveway.
YOU ARE READING
The Cycle
HorrorEverything in sixteen-year-old Laine Caverly's life isn't as dreadful as it seems. She's fatally ill, incredibly sociably awkward, and her parents question her status as a teenager. Still, she's normal. But once Laine's best friend is found dead in...
