All The Memories That We Made [Completed]

Aching heart

My body still feels sore. I groan as I roll on my side, my body aching from exertion. Then, heaving a sigh, I get up.

No point in staying in bed.

I change out of my clothes and get dressed in a plain black shirt and dark blue shorts. Jamming my feet into the old sneakers I had worn yesterday, I walk out of my room, shutting the door behind me. The cool air comes out of nowhere, blowing heavy strands of hair on my face.  Brushing  the brown strands of hair from my face, I groan before whipping out a hair brush from my handbag and feverishly try straitening my hair.

Taking two steps at a time, I climb down the stairs, trying to untangle my hair. I stop in front of the mirror and check myself out.

Not bad.

My skin looks pale, and my dark hair just makes it look paler. But I don't exactly mind that much. Frowning, I tuck a couple of strands behind my ear and peer closer at my reflection more closely. No red eyes.

Good.

Abandoning my handbag on the table, I make my way into the kitchen. A strong aroma of crispy fried eggs and toasted bread hits me. Smiling a little, I slump into a chair, taking a sip of my coffee, I turn the T.V on. Nothing good. I change a couple of channels before giving it up as bad luck.

Stuffing the rest of the toast in my mouth, I push my plate away and get up, just as Mum enters the kitchen, wearing a baggy pale pink printed shirt over pale blue shorts. She gives me a warm cheerful smile before taking my plate and refilling it with her own eggs and toast.

'Good weather huh?'.

I shrug before pulling the curtains back and examining the pale grey sky, filled with millions of fat grey clouds.

I turn towards her, 'Looks like it will rain'.

'That's good'.

I squint at her, 'No it's not. I'll end up drenched and the drive back home is fifteen minutes'.

Even as I say this, my heart sinks. I can't take the car. I'm suspended for three months. Oh god.

She, on the other side, doesn't notices the ugly expression on my face. Taking a big sip of her mango juice, she says calmly, 'You can always take an umbrella'.

I can't help groaning aloud at her remark, and finally, she turns to look at me and notices my troubled expression.

'Oh Sarah', she sighs and gets up. I don't move. 'What's wrong?'.

Wouldn't you like to know.

I shake my head and step back, a sick feeling rises inside my stomach. 'Don't ask me now'.

The anger comes back, 'Don't ask me at all'.

She lowers her arms and takes a step back, 'I won't hug you if you don't want me to'. She takes a couple of steps further back. 'See?'.

Her eyes are soft and warm again. 'Just tell me what is wrong. Maybe I can help you'.

'Everything is wrong. Mum'. A tear falls out of my eye. 'You can't make everything alright'.

She takes a step towards me, unaware that she is doing so. 'Is it about the car?'.

So, he told her. She knows.

I shake my head, and try to focus on her. But I feel sick.

'I'm sorry'. The voice that comes from my mouth barely resembles my own voice. My voice used to be loud, dripping with sweetness, more like a laugh than anything else. Now it's so soft that I myself hardly hear it. It sounds as if strangled.