The Heart That's Inside

chapter FIVE

"and in the end, we are all just humans.. drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness"
- F. Scott Fitzgerald

The morning sun peeks in through a crack in the curtain, trailing tiny streaks of light across my face. I open one eyelid, squinting around the room. Confused for only a moment until I finally realized where I was, home.

It was definitely a lighter feeling waking up relaxed, not worried about the following day. It's nice to know you don't have to tip toe around someone, you could just be yourself. I stretch out as far as I can with a big yawn. I throw the corner of my comforter off to the side, and sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes until I can see more clearly.

My hair was cascading down in front of me. I place my hands around it, and start gently wrapping it into a long ponytail with the scrunchie from my wrist. I was never without one, and you could always see the tiny outline from where it last sat on my arm. I turn, flipping open my phone like I do every morning. The screen lights up with emptiness, no messages.

It wasn't like I was expecting her to call, or take my side, but it's been two whole months since the fight. I sigh heavily, I missed my mom, and she choose who she loved more. It's the way it's always been, ever since I was younger, and especially after she left my father.

I've seen lots of boyfriends come and go for years until she met my stepfather. I did end up liking one of them, his name was George and he drove a really cool Harley motorcycle. He was always super nice, and didn't treat me at all like the others did. He was a lot younger than my mom though and boy, was my dad mad at about that one.

I stand up and head over to my dresser; everything was where I had left it. My dad never touched anything in my room, I guess he always knew I'd come home. I smile, continuing to dig through my drawers until I find my favorite jeans, the ones with the holes in the knees he always makes fun of.

"Did you buy them like that, or did you make those yourself?" he laughs, it never gets old. I roll my eyes as I slip on one of the only shirts that fits my growing belly, and throw a long bulky black sweater over that.

I swing open my door, already smelling breakfast forming, eggs and bacon. I take a deep breath in. Our morning tradition, he always made sure I had something to eat, even if I couldn't hold it down.

For as long as I could remember, my dad did everything for us, for me. I learned to ride a bike, throw a ball, and play hockey. I even learned how to cook, fold clothes, and how to stitch. He's been a single dad of three for most of my life, but he always made sure his kids were taken care of and knew the basics for everything. It was something I admired the most.

I walk out into the hall, taking a few steps towards the stairs. They were long and curvy, with the ugliest of grey carpeting. I run down them, feeling the scratchiness under my feet. I jump into the living-room, turning left to make my way into the kitchen. Though it wasn't a very big place, it has been my home for almost eight years. I walk up behind my dad, giving him a big hug, he laughs.

"Well good morning sweetheart," he smiles.

"Hey dad, that smells good," I point towards the frying pan.

"Anything for the birthday girl!" he beams, turning towards the calendar, pointing the greasy egg flipper towards it.

"Really? My birthday?" confused, I look for today's date.

Scrolling my finger along until I find it. I push my face forward, there it was, in big bold letters. "Happy birthday Ellie!" scrawled across the tiny box, dated for January 15th.