Ivory
My alarm clock buzzed in my ear and I woke up with a start. I sat upright and stared down at my gray quilt. My nightmares had gotten worse; much worse. The scenario of a car in the pouring rain skidding with every second seemed to haunt my dreams. I shook my head around to pull myself back into reality and I clicked my alarm off. I rubbed my eyes with my hands and stretched before falling back into the comfort of my bed.
"Happy Birthday, Ivory." I mumbled to myself.
I jumped back up at my own words. Eighteen years old. I could hear the rain gently tapping on my window and my thoughts seemed to swirl around the room. They gathered as one and then it hit me. Today I was legally free. Today was the day.
How could I have forgotten if I had planned so well?
I quickly hopped out of bed and checked the clock sitting on my desk. 2:30 A.M it blinked, and inside I silently cheered. Today was the day I was leaving for good.
I gazed around my plain room and tried to remember what it had looked like when my father was alive. I could almost picture the bright pink walls and the millions of Barbies I had stacked on the shelves. Pictures I had been most proud of painting had been hung and my bookcase was full of children's books. My curtains had sparkled and my bed had been custom designed for a princess. I smiled and welcomed the feeling of nostalgia, but I had to hurry to make it out.
My mother would be awake at any time to make sure I was still here, safe and sound in my bed.
I scurried around my room, looking for the things I had packed no more than a week ago. I had checked my bags twice up until this day so I wouldn't have to do it the morning of departure. I had a backpack and an enourmous rolling suitcase full of lots of clothes, tolietries, makeup, a laptop, and money. My mother had gone on a business trip when I had bought the luggage case with its thief proof lock, and so far she hadn't had the slightest clue of what was up my sleeve.
I set my bags on my bed and flew into my bedroom's bathroom. It was just as plain as my room, but it was scrubbed clean daily. I looked at myself in the revealing mirror and wondered how I'd look if I was still blonde and curly. Since I had a naturally clear complexion, my mother stopped cutting my hair so short. She let it grow and grow and grow, and now it was down to the end of my back. My bangs weren't so uptight and neat either, but my hair was still black.
I hated the black.
My mother wasn't allowed to tattoo eyeliner onto my top lid like she had wanted, but instead bought me liquid eyeliner once a month. It was waterproof and very expensive. She had taught me how to decorate my eyes at around the age of 10, but it took me a few years to get it perfect. Today, I carefully did my cat-eyes a little thicker than usual. I blinked at myself, and with the way I had done it I prayed I looked much different than before.
After I brushed my teeth, I got dressed quickly into a large, gray hoodie and I tugged on some black tights. The diets my mother had pushed me through had taken a toll on my figure. I had a small waist and I was skinny all over, except for my chest. That was the one thing my mother could not understand, how she was only a B cup and I was close to a D cup.
It gave me a laugh everytime.
I wrapped my Rapunzelhair up into a bun, something I'd never been able to do before, and I gathered my bags. I took one last look at my room. My heart felt very heavy with the feeling of leaving it, but there was nothing else I could do. My mother had gotten rich off of my father's life insurance, and I had my entire life savings on me. What I needed, I already had. The only thing that was left was freedom. It was time to go.
