Cherry soda calamity

🍒eight🍒

I fiddled around on my phone until close to 1, knowing I'd regret it the next day to an extreme.

I closed my eyes slowly, drifting off to sleep. What seemed like a quick blink was soon over, rudely disrupted by the blaring of my bedside clock, signalling it was 6:45,and I was not ready for the day.

I figured I had until 6:50, before my mom started yelling about me sleeping the day away, so I decided to get dressed and lay back down until she came in to bitch me out.

I chose the norm.I didn't really have a distinguishable style. Normally just plain colours. Today I'd chosen a white shirt with black tights.Exciting.

I groggily slipped into my clothes before flopping down face first to the bed. I let sleep close my droopy eyelids, rolling from one side to the other in my bed sheets.

I let the warmth take me under.

I open my eyes when The sun peeks through my window and jabs at me with it's bright rays of "wake the fuck up"

I groan and turn my head, looking at my clock

7:48

Fuck

I was going to be late. It took 20 minutes to get to the school, and it starts at 8.My mother was going to have a stroke. I jumped out of bed, hitting the ground with a thud when I forgot my legs were tangled in my sheets.

I scampered out of them and dashed through the house, rushing to the kitchen to make breakfast for myself, when I saw my mother sitting by the island,still in her Pajamas.

It was a rare moment when I would think of my mother as beautiful. This was one of them.This was her in her natural state. This was her relaxed. Her mid length hair was in a rats nest bun on the top of her head, the brown blob resembling a honey bun. She had light mascara rings under her eyes, making the brown more intense.

Her skin clung to her face half heartedly, the colour off balanced from her lack of makeup. I loved seeing her with out alterations.It was rare and breathtaking.

In moments like these she wasn't mom, but she was Martha.

From what I've been told by her sister Gab, My mother used to be Very much Martha. She was a nightmare for her parents, and a starving artist.

She wasn't poor, or not making money off her work, she just had bulimia.

It still showed now, In her hollow cheeks,in her brittle fingers, in her potent collar bones. In her health nut attitude.

Martha intrigued me really, but It was mom I understood but couldn't rationalise.

I don't know how long i was staring at her, but i knew it was long enough to notice she was wearing pops robe, and long enough for her to notice me.

"Good morning dear." she said calmly, sipping her coffee.