Saving Bagel ↠ Editing

Chapter 3: C for Character

Slowly starting to awake, I blink my eyes once or twice, before rolling onto my other side to bury my face in the pillow, trying to ignore the dampness of drool against my cheek.

"Hm. Mm."

I hummed, unable to close my eyes without random thoughts interrupting my attempt to sleep.

Jacoby's eyes- oh so deliciously green, huh?

And did you see his hair? So curly and black-

"Muh." Yuck, I can literally taste my bad breath.

In frustration, I throw the heavy blankets off of me and to the floor, slowly but surely crawling out of bed and to my dresser.

I pull on a pair of yoga pants, quickly throw my tangled hair into a messy bun, and stumble my way to the door, and begin walking down the hallway.

My eyes fluttered to a close when I walked, and I had to rub them back open with my knuckles. During this, I somehow stumble over something small and furry.

In a rush I began to fall, but I flailed my arms and pressed my palms to the wall to keep from falling.

I managed to keep upright.

Meow.

Meow. Of course it was a meow. It almost always is, the other times it's just me being my clumsy self.

Damned orange cat.

"What the hell Fluffles," I mutter underneath my breath, bending over to pick him up, and cuddling his purring body to my chest.

Walking through the living room and to the kitchen, I set Fluffles down by his food bowl in the corner upon seeing Dads figure at the kitchen table.

He was bent forwards drastically in his chair, and in his paint-marked hands gripped a fanned newspaper. In his mouth, he kept a red pen inbetween tight lips, and his eyes were desperate as they quickly scanned the pages. The back of the paper bled with red ink, neatly typed below the underlined marks are unknown words and low-paying amounts; most minimum wage.

Confused, I begin to open my mouth to ask, but then it hits me. Dad lost his job. Dad lost his fucking job-

I hate to be the one to say it, but we're completely screwed. I know that dad knows, but he's still fragile, and still in denial.

I try to force down the realization hitched in my throat, but it's lodged and won't come out. All at once, I can't swallow, I can't breathe. The room is slowly getting smaller, and the room begins to spins as I shut my eyes to keep from getting motion sickness.

Something inside of me snaps, and my stomach lurches. I clutch at the sharp pain in my side with one hand, and try to rub away the sickness with the other. My knees begin to go weak, and fingers tremble and suddenly, only one word plays again and again through my mind- seizure.

Then the panic sets it.

I pray and pray, but nothing happens.

Dear god, why me?

I find it hard to breathe, and I struggle for air as my body breaks out in sweat. Through all this time, dad has yet to notice me still.

And just like before, I reach out a hand to steady myself until the dizziness subsides, which it does- eventually.

Blinking back the spinning of the room, I swallow the urge to vomit, and straighten my shoulders, feeling like my temples were about to burst. I wince, and rub them, tapping him on the shoulder twice before he finally turned around and noticed me.