All Bets Are Off

Chapter Twenty-Three - Ella Fordman: She Can Have You

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Dedicated to NicoleMarin for the amazing banner to the side. Thanks, lovely! :)

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~Chapter Twenty-Three – Ella Fordman: She Can Have You~

 

 

The next morning, I was so not in the mood.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock at six-thirty, which I had forgotten to turn off for school. As an eighteen-year-old girl on a Saturday morning, that is just about the last thing on this Earth you want to happen, and it was like the gods were conspiring against me.

I turned off the alarm with a huff of annoyance and tossed back over, snuggling into my comforter in the hopes of achieving at least a few more hours of shuteye. It had been a late one last night, and, after only clocking around four hours of sleep, I had certainly not had my mandatory amount of beauty sleep.

And then came the bird.

The annoying water bird right outside my window that decided it would be an ingenious idea to sing the call of its people into my room.

At six-thirty in the morning.

When I was trying to sleep.

“Are you serious?” I mumbled, squeezing my eyes tighter as if it may block out the incessant chirping noise.

It didn’t.

And then the hunger came.

That hunger that won’t be forgotten. One that makes you physically nauseous and demands to be dealt with. After five minutes of agony, I threw off the covers with a groan of frustration, conceding to the fact that no more sleep was going to be had that morning.

            I stood up and made my way to the empty, desolate kitchen, grabbing a banana to tide me over. Once that had been consumed, I threw the peel in the trash and made my way upstairs, grabbing tights and a t-shirt and taking a quick shower. I washed my hair twice and lathered myself in body wash, feeling myself slowly wake up with each hot droplet of water.

            Once I was considerably refreshed, I stepped out and toweled off, before stepping into my clothes. I ran a wide-toothed comb through my hair and then made my way downstairs, where my mother had taken up residence in the kitchen.

            Her laptop sat on the table, booting up, and she stood at the kettle in her pink nightgown, brewing up tea. She looked up with a smile, her blonde curls disheveled around her face. “Hey, hon. You’re up early.”

            “Involuntarily,” I replied, walking towards her. She reached into one of the cabinets and retrieved a second mug, before putting a herbal teabag into it and adding two spoonful’s of sugar.