Fighting for Love

chapter 1 (REWRITTEN)

Beeeeeeeeeeep!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Went my alarm clock signalling yet another day. Sighing, I took a few minutes to dispel my disoriented thoughts before the constant beeping of my alarm became too unbearable.

With another heavy sigh, I decided that it was time to begin my day since there was no need to prolong the inevitable. Even though I wished more than anything in the world to stay in bed and wallow in self pity I knew more than anyone else that you don't always get what you want. I chuckled at the fact that I have no problems pitying myself but when it came to others I hated it more than anything in the world. How ironic. 

Slamming my hand on my alarm clock with unnecessary force, I then continued to push the covers off myself, swinging my legs to the side of my queen sized bed then I proceeded to quickly trod to the adjoining bathroom resisting the urge to look at myself in the full body mirror which stood adjacent to the door. 

I wasted no time with carrying out my bathroom routine, and 15 minutes later, I was leaving my bathroom with a towel wrapped securely around my breast and one holding up the mess that was currently my hair. 

I headed for my walk in closet packed with clothes and shoes that I no longer wore. Sighing yet again I felt unsure of what to wear since I felt like a totally different person to the one who bought those clothes.  While I managed to find a light grey dress which looked decent enough to my standards, I decided to pair it with my favourite black working jacket and a pair of black heels while I contemplated the idea of donating my clothes. 

I quickly, dried my unruly hair and threw it in a messy bun deciding against fighting the task of untangling my hair since I knew that it would take forever and make me late for work. 

Only after I was fully decent did I permit myself to examine myself in the mirror, and the woman that stared back was not one that I recognized but I came to terms with just that fact. Once I ensured that I my appearance was presentable, I ignored the dull throbbing often associated with the knowledge of just how lifeless I have become. 

Sighing, I turned to the night stand next to my bed which held my cell along with a picture of the woman who gave birth to me. As I allowed myself the rear opportunity to glance at the picture I felt the throbbing within my chest intensify and tears gathered in my eyes in a matter of seconds but I refused to let them fall. 

I felt like I didn't deserve the privilege of calling her my mother since I was the reason that she wasn't here. There was always a constant reminder of that fact being shoved in my face from family members at every turn from the time I was born. The only one that seemed to think I wasn't at fault was my older sister Monique and I just think that the reasoning was fact that she saw the good in everyone. Shaking my head, I allowed myself a few more minutes to stare at the face that was familiar yet so unfamiliar at the same time. At least we shared something in common, the talent to carry a note. Letting a chuckle that held no life slip pass my lips, I placed down the frame and grabbed my phone and headed out of my room. 

 While heading to the kitchen, I checked the time on my phone which showed 7:30 am. Knowing that I was right on schedule, I decided to make scrambled eggs, bacon and some toast. 

I loved cooking for the simple fact that it kept me busy, which allowed myself a much needed breather from depressing thoughts which often threatened to send me spirally out of control. 

Just as I finished preparing breakfast and fixing myself a glass of orange juice my house phone decided to ring. 

Knowing full well that only one person who could be calling at this time in the morning; I snatched it off it holder before it went to voice mail,