She wake up, and looks around. The clock on her side table ticks at a steady pace. Her room is small and poorly lit, and smells like dried acrylic paint and cinnamon. A little dog rests in the corner of her room on a small plush pillow. The young lady's eyes trace the layout of her room, and the objects placed about. Her bed is against the wall with a dresser that sits the same heighth as her bed. Her alarm clock and it's never ending tick sit on it, accompanied by a lamp and tissues. The middle of the long dressed holds an aquarium with six fish in it, blowing bubbles and bottom feeding. At the very end, a short bookshelf sits there filled with books and her jewelry. On the wall opposite her bed, there sits a TV Stand with a small flat-screen that she never seems to even use. A record player and a stack of papers sit in front of the unused television and Playstation-2. A short coffee table sits next to the TV Stand, covered in arts and crafts supplies--canvases, paints, markers, stickers, etc. Then comes a tall book shelf with books and knick knacks covering each of the 6 shelves, carefully placed and collecting dust. The dog bed sits in the corner between this shelf and her pink and green wardrobe. Her clothes are exposed to anyone who pays her a visit and the cabinets are falling off of each cubby hole. Next to that is a plastic storage drawer full of socks, her hamper, and finally on the wall her bed is against, the door out of her room. Her walls are covered in art and posters and anything she felt needed a place up on that blank canvas.
She sits up and yawns while stretching, waking up the little dog happily sleeping on its little pillow. She smiles at the puppy, and then looks at her bed sheets; green with white polka dots. There are numerous paint and marker stains on bother her comforter and fitted sheet. She knew her mother was going to kill her when it came time to change her sheets. Doesn't matter though, she always got in trouble for things, everything actually. As she debated just how much she really needed to get out of her bed, she checked her phone. A few messages from a boy she was fond of, a few more from her best friend, another one from a guy who lost his English homework, and one from her mother stating that weekend's plans. Every morning is the same, millions of messages, but none from the only person that matters. The feeling is always pushed off as she replies to her friends and family, doing her best not to even think about him. It was months ago when he left... or rather, when she told him to leave. She thought she could handle it. That his lack of presence would be better than his lack of communication. But she found that not being able to even say hi to him hurt far worse than being ignored by him. He didn't realize what he was doing to her by ignoring her though. College and highschool don't exactly mix very well, and arguments happened quite often. She thought telling him she didn't love him would make it easier for him to let go, and maybe her too, would believe her terrible words. But here they are. He's in therapy and she hurts and deprives herself of basic needs.
She wished for an out. Not exactly an out from life, but an out from her current circumstances. Her family life. Her mind. Her freindships. School. She's cracking, but no one knows it; she hides it well. Straight A honor students, with college acceptance letters and good reputations aren't supposed to be upset right?
As she thinks without a single distraction, she rolls out of bed and goes through her clothes. It was impossible to find something she hadn't worn a million times. She made do with the mediocre circumstances of her wardrobe and living conditions. She has no reasons to be unhappy in her life. She has food on her plate, a roof above her, parents that love her, but there's something missing. Maybe it's the presence of her parents, or maybe it's the feeling of warmth she once had in her heart.
She'd never try and fill it with alcohol or drugs, her parents would know. It's tempting though. She debates the pros and cons of just going out and getting oh so very intoxicated, and kissing a boy she has only just met. Would it make her a bad person? Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't. She'd never know though, because she'd never try. She has too much to do, she doesn't have time to party or drink or smoke or kiss a boy.
Her outfit is plain and simple. A pair of skinny jeans with no holes, and a button up flannel. She slips on her black combat boots, checks her hair in the mirror by her bed, and gets ready to feed the chickens and other animals. She closes her eyes and takes three deep breathes, and prepares for the world outside of the safety of her own very small world.
