Tell Me You Love Me

3: Time To Say Goodbye To Turning Tables

Hi! I see you're back to read more. Well, here's a newly edited chapter. I am editing YAY :) Which is good. And it's storming outiside. I love stormy weather. it's so peacefull and lovely.

Anyway, here u go

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Bethany's P.O.V

Waking up at eight a.m. on a Saturday is the best. You know that you don’t have school and you feel as if you can just relax into the warm sanctuary of happiness, rainbows and goodness all around.

If this were on camera or in a movie or something, I’m sure I must have looked like a complete goof lying in my bed with the thick, white and blue striped duvet tucked right up to my chin with my eyes closed and a beam spreading from one ear to the other but I don’t care. I don’t care if I walk around like some crazy hippie with people staring and gossiping about me. I’m happy and it’s Pancake Saturday.

Yes, I did just say Pancake Saturday. It’s more or less a tradition in our house. Every second week Mom bakes a huge fest of food for breakfast, for Teddy my little brother, her and me. She does her special secret ingredient scones with home made plum jam, steaming hot with soft, fluffy wiped cream. She does rich, slightly sweet freshly made pancakes with golden syrup and margarine and then for afternoon tea, she bakes up a nice chocolate mousse.

I can already smell the alluring scent of pancakes and scones wafting up the stairs and through the crack under my door and the keyhole, reeking into my room and clashing with the smell of the salty sea outside of a lazy Santa Monica beach.

I open my eyes slowly, rolling onto my back and feeling a warm streak of pure sunlight shine brightly on my face. I sigh contently, feeling like some lucky celebrity.

The walls of my bedroom are painted blue with white clouds painted over the blue paint. My mom, aside from being a florist and a baker can also paint very well. She painted and designed the whole house and every time someone comes over, they always compliment her sense and knowledge of design and food.

The flooring is a dusky brown wooden floorboard with a big beige fluffy rug in the middle which actually looks like sand. As you can probably tell, my room is designed with a beachy theme and all the furniture has little three dimensional starfish and fins and mermaids scattered everywhere. Yes, I am almost seventeen, well, not really. July., but I still love my bedroom.

I suppose when you grow up living in the same old house with the same old bedroom, you become attached to these things.

I can tell Mom’s already been in my room for she’s opened the shutters and window, letting the gossamer curtains dance in the soft breeze blowing through the open window.

The old fashioned, woven fan in the middle of the room spins around slowly but the air conditioner in the top right hand corner is switched off.

I slowly slide out of bed and pull my Australian made Ugg Boots out from under the bed and I put them on over my fluffy socks.

I sluggishly walk to the desk where my Mac Pro sits, turned off and I pull on the pale blue cardigan that sits on the swivel chair.

I walk out of the room and make my way down the hall, down the stairs and towards the kitchen where I see my mom setting the table up with plates, knives, forks, scones and many pancakes. Also, noting the absence of my little brother, Edward or Teddy as we call him.

‘Morning, honey,’ Mom says placing a plate of scones in the center of the table. ‘How’d you sleep?’

‘Alright, thanks,’ I reply and I crash into one of the chairs and I grab a cup, fill it up with fresh squeezed orange juice from a jug in the middle of the table and take a deep gulp of it.