Late (p.w)

seventeen - calvin klein & mini skirts

for the past week all i did was sit around doing nothing, talk to cassidy and jared a little on the days which they would come visit, then go back to sitting around till twelve.

and i must say, being alone with my thoughts has not been the greatest. i'd constantly jump back and forth with my stance on harry.

on some days i swear i was fine, that i didn't care, and that he kissed with too much force anyway for me to enjoy. then on other days i'd wonder what i did wrong, why he left, and i'd crave his touch, his soft lips, i'd wonder what it'd be like if he were to kiss me for a little longer, what it'd by like if he were to slide his tongue between my lips, to have his tongue tangled with mine.

unfortunately, i'm having one of those days.

i begged and pleaded with my mom for me to switch duties with her, and for me to do all the behind the counter work, while she serves. she was hesitant at first since i don't know her pristine and efficient way of doing things, but since she thought i was still upset over frank, who by the way has gotten worse and has gone back into the hospital, she allowed me.

"whitnee," my mom calls while hitting her hand on the counter,"i can't do this on my own, make yourself useful." she says slightly irritated.

"yeah, okay." i mumble as i pick up a dirty dish and begin to scrub it. i wince slightly when i open the tap because i turned the hot handle a little too far. my hand starts to tingle so i turn the tap off and stick my hand in the freezer and idly lounge around, disobeying my mother's wishes.

i think today is the day i'm going to tell my mom that dylan, harry, and zayn aren't coming anymore. i feel horrible for lying to her and giving her a false sense of security. although if she were to know there's no telling what she'd do. the frequent thought of her closing the cafe keeps running through my mind, but she can't do that, the place is doing so good, or at least better than it was right after the robbery, and whether it's safe or not she can't possibly close it entirely. that'd be for us bad financially and spiritually.

i take my hand out of the freezer and my fingertips immediately start heating up, and the warm temperature spreads down to my palm so i stick my hand back in.

"shit." i curse under my breath.

"since when did you start swearing?" i hear my mom question, while walking behind the counter to put dirty cups in the sink.

"since whenever i felt like it." i answer her honestly. my stance on swearing still remains the same, i don't swear unless necessary, or if i'm quoting someone or something. this time would be one of those necessary times, but even without burning myself i've happened to start a habit for it as of late.

"whitnee, you haven't cleaned one dish here," my mom nags," i don't know what to do with you, do you still wanna do this?" she asks while raising her voice with every word she utters.

her saying that begins to make my blood simmer. the only thing i want is to be here. this is the only place that makes me feel the slightest bit better and my mom has the nerve to question me on that?

"because you can leave if you don't care." my mom continues. the sourness and bitterness laced in her voice makes me wonder how she's able to let those words escape her mouth without her gagging on the taste.

"why are you being so rude, that's the last thing i need." i say choking on my own words.

"i'm not being rude, i'm telling the truth. obviously something is up with you." my mom says raising her voice.

"frank" i reply bluntly.

"no no no, he's been sick for a while and you've been perfectly fine till now. what is this about? is it about that boy? dylan?" she interrogates.