Once upon a time, a girl made a vow never to give her heart to someone undeserving . . . for the sake of her happiness and heartbreak.
Lydia Hayes has had enough grief in her life. After the death of her mother, she was torn. As for her father, he...
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"That soft pink matter Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh Close my eyes and fall into you My God, she's giving me pleasure"
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Waking up was surprising. I'd somehow managed to get a restful sleep despite the storm. Then there's the shock of waking in a bed that isn't yours. I don't have to think about where I am. The scent of sandalwood and pine is stronger than ever, and from the angle I'm at I can get a clear view of my window from beyond.
I rub away the remaining sleep in my eyes and tug Miguel's hoodie closer to my body. Due to the shattered window, it got quite cold in his room last night. I grabbed the first hoodie I saw hanging at the edge of his bed. The black cotton is soaked in his musk. The Champion logo above my left breast is missing a few strands of thread and there's a hole ripped at the sleeve. Nonetheless, this has to be the comfiest sweater that has ever caressed my skin.
After a few minutes of sitting and doing absolutely nothing besides reminiscing, I swing my legs over the mattress and pad to the door. I hesitate before turning the knob. The hallways of his house are adorned with minimalist decor. There are picture frames of flowers, scenery, and miscellaneous objects, but none of his family. A couple plants hang against the wall and on tables. A single orchid sits atop of table just before the staircase. I gently touch the petals, lean in and smell the aroma. I shake off the memories of mom before they surface and saunter down the staircase.
The sound of pots and pans clattering and the sizzling of what can only be detected as bacon fills the silence. That and the soothing voice of Frank Ocean on a record player. I hum the lyrics of Pink Matter as I approach Miguel. He's working on the bacon and french toast with his back to me. Black jean clad legs with a skin tight black long sleeve and combat boots. His outfit is clear that he's ready for school. At least it's Friday.
"Good morning," I whisper beside him. He jumps a bit, not expecting my arrival, but recovers by smiling at me with those straight white teeth.
"Good morning mi bella princesa." My cheeks redden, I'm not sure what he's said, but I have a feeling it's a sweet nickname he's gifted me with.
