Phobia

Do You Have A Boyfriend?

It was a new day and I was beyond tired. I hadn't gotten any sleep the night before since I didn't want to start walking again. Because you never know if it'll happen again. I was laying in bed beside Tiarna when my phone finally died at nearly seven in the morning. I gave a long sigh, swinging my legs off the bed, trying not to wake her up. I slipped my slippers on, feeling the cold air sweep around my ankles. I had to grab my sweater off the header of my bed as the cold air soon hit my torso in a large gust. I suppose we had left the window open and being under the blankets for so long listening to music seemed to have distracted us from it. I slowly walked towards the window, pulling it down. I stood with my back to the window and taking in my room as if it was new or forgein. There was my desk filled with papers and sketches, my bed, a few book shelves, a closest, the door to the washroom and a few other knick-knacks laying about. My carpet was a dark blue, nearly black, which complimented my light blue bed skirt. I smiled, looking at the dimly lit room, with a little light shining in from behind my white curtains. I had many posters and drawings up on my walls. My walls were white, but you wouldn't even know that if you just looked at it for the first time. I also had a wall that was completely black for my darker likings.

I walked passed the bed to the door, slowly opening it and closing it after me so I didn't wake up Tiarna. My room was right beside the stairs, my father's across from mine and a bit to the left and finally my brother's room to the left of my room. At the end of the hallway though was another bathroom, for visitors and others. I turned to the stairs, still wrapped in my sweater, and walked down. Chris seemed to already be gone so I would be the only one downstairs. Monday was often a busy day for my family, my dad has work, my brother has track and field and I often leave to stop for breakfast at our local Pancake House (though ironic enough, almost never actually have pancakes. What's with that?) Taking the last step and turning towards the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks to see a familiar girl. She had lovely brown hair, wavy yet curly, and it reached the middle of her back. She had a black blouse on along with white pants and soft pink shoes. She wore glasses and the entire outfit complimented her caramel coloured skin. She turned around and smiled widly, holding her arms out for me to hug. I was frozen though. I hadn't seen my Aunt Elan since my mothers passing. Aunt Elan was always busy, traveling. She was amazing with children and I had always loved her. When I started having issues, it was her I would turn to. She'd always be there for me, take me seriously.

Though as she stood there, I only saw a stranger. It wasn't her fault, either. I had pushed her away since she reminded me so much of my mom. My heart felt like it was ripping apart as I looked at her. Her and my mom were very similar, and I've always suspected that that was the reason I was so close to her. When she was a child, she had been adopted, I think it was around the age of two. Her parents had passed and were really close friends with my grandma and grandpa, so they took her in. I felt my legs wobble, tears threatening to fall down my face. I saw my dad sit behind her, drinking what I would have assumed to be his third coffee this morning. He drank a lot when he was nervous, afraid, or anxious. I'm sure he was all three in the scenario. Though my question was, what was she doing here? I had been in and out of therapy, week-long sleep-in wards to help. Though not once had she shown up at my house and greeted me. She would only call, and tell my dad that she missed me and that she felt bad she couldn't visit more often after what had happened.

She left her arms fall to her sides when she realized I wasn't going to move. She looked confused and worried. Though all I could do was stand there, staring at her face. My eyes darting every now and then to her and my dad. What was he doing home? Today was one of the busiest days, and yet he's staying home? I could go to my psychiatrist on my own. I have many times, it wasn't a big deal. I'd tell them what happened from my perspective, and the perspective of my family and friends. Then we'd talk, they'd probably up my medication and send me home until our next meeting. Granted, I enjoyed going there because of how sweet everyone there was, but it usually got boring really quickly. It was a routine, and it never changed. Same thing, just different scenario.