Breaking "Bad"

S e v e n

Dedicated to KanyeInterruptedMe because her works are fúcking good. Check her out! xD

[Edited]

~Hailey~

For the rest of the day I stayed cooped up in my room, studying as hard as I could to keep away the guilt.

It worked for several hours until my brain was just so fried that I couldn't do anything except lie face down on my bed. Summoning up all my energy, I glanced down at my phone and noted the time. It was quarter past six in the evening.

My eyebrows shot up. It looked like I'd done more work than I'd realised.

As if determined to disturb the peace, my stomach growled. I was also hungry. Very, very hungry. Since coming home I hadn't even stopped to have anything to eat which was stupid of me because now I was paying the price. Shoving my face further into my pillow, I groaned.

"I'm such an idiot." My stomach responded with another growl which I took to be an agreement. 

Half an hour later, the smell of lasagne made its way into my room, causing me to pull a face. Why would my parents be cooking? Just as suddenly as the thought came, I felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dropped all over me once I realised exactly what day it was.

It was sit-together night.

God.

So, my parents had this stupid routine. Once every couple of weeks or so we were all forced to sit down 'as a family' and eat together. Each time we did, I was subject to scrutiny -- 'Was I getting the top grades?', 'was I still invited to the awards evening the institution is holding at the end of each year?' And my personal favourite: 'How come we haven't received a personal message detailing our daughter's excellence?'

Yes, I was aware that I was eighteen and now in university, but they didn't seem to care about that small fact at all. 

The reason as to why they were so desperate to get evidence of my exemplary behaviour is because they wanted to show me off to their workmates and peers. As long as they got the facts and were able to do so, nothing else mattered, including that small fact about lecturers rarely making parental contact. 

Deciding to get up and face the music, (seeing as I couldn't avoid it forever), I began to prepare myself for the onslaught I would face.

Taking a deep breath, I fanned out my bed-hair and picked off imaginary flint from my jeans. I even sprayed on some perfume in case my clothes smelled funky (I hadn't bothered to change when I'd gotten in), and put on some mascara and lip gloss. Often, my mother had criticised me for not wearing enough make-up, telling me it was unlady-like and that I needed it to enhance my 'dull features' - yes, that's what she'd said. I'd listened, of course and now the habit had kind of stuck. 

"Stupid mother," I said to myself out loud, pleased that she couldn't hear me. 

Of course my mother was very pretty which was the icing on the cake. She had beautiful auburn hair that flowed down her back; cascading like a waterfall at the worst of times. Her green eyes sparkled when she smiled (which wasn't very often) and her skin was smooth, almost flawless. I say almost, because I'd seen her with the odd pimple once or twice which had made me snigger each occasion.