In disguise

Chapter 3 (Aemen)

"Hi Mrs Thompson!" I greeted the old lady in front of me with an attempt of a fake smile. A fake fake smile.I wonder how weird that must've looked.

"Where do you think you're going after ruining my flowers?" She screamed at me with a surprisingly loud voice for a 60-year-old lady. Of course she stopped me for that. Her undying love for gardening and flowers would be the death of me one day. It was a habit of hers stopping me from almost every day because 'I ran over her children'.You could actually see the steam coming out of her ears and her nose flaring. I honestly wonder how this lady married an actual human being instead of a plant. Or simply got married. Or lived.

"I am so sorry Mrs Thompson! But... I need to get home before my mum starts worrying! I promise I'll be careful next time." Before she could respond, I ran with all forces I had left and heard her now distanced-but loud-screams. No wonder why her plants grew so much.

Well,that was close.

A bit less urgent now, I ran at a normal pace toward my apartment. I simply couldn't afford an actual house; and besides, it would probably grab people's attention. That's the last thing I wanted. It wasn't such a big deal, and I liked my flat. I quickly opened the door and slid inside, careful not to make any noise.

My apartment was fairly small. Once inside, you had a small version of a kitchen to the left-with a fridge, hobs and a small cupboard-and a bathroom on the right. The main area was a small living room with seating and a small table, which is more that enough for me. My bedroom was separate from the rest of the apartment with two sheer curtains. My bedroom only consisted of a bed, with two bedside tables on each side: one of them with a lamp, and the other- this one with a drawer-with my laptop on top. My wardrobe was to the left and there were two windows.

I skipped past the 'living room' and dropped my bag on my bed. I immediately took the wipes from the drawer to take the makeup off. God knew how much I hated wearing it. Not only make-up in general, but the fact of having to wear it every single day so people don't recognize me. It makes me want to pull my hair out. But I wouldn't. My hair is one of the only thing i keep the same about myself. It is too important and precious to me to be changed, and it will always (hopefully) stay the same.

I quickly changed into some comfortable clothes after having a shower, and heated up leftover food that I made the other day. I brought my laptop into the living room and continued looking for jobs. Now that I was eighteen, I had to start earning my own money someway or another, and no, I wil not retort to Wattpadian ways and sell drugs. I hate anything that has to do with drugs. After reviewing some of them, I checked my inbox for any reply from other jobs that I might have applied for. I'm used to seeing no replies, or having to face rejection from every job I apply to. As I prepare myself for an empty inbox, I am surprised with an unexpected email. Preparing myself for the worst, I open the e-mail and quickly read through it.

Dear Cara Miller,------------