𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝟐𝟏] 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

I pull my blankets off of my body, trying to keep my eyes open. It's too early to be awake but I need to talk to Sam and he usually leaves for the gym before one. It's six PM.

Sniffling, I sit up and roll out of bed. No, literally, I roll out of bed and land in my laundry pile. It reminds me I haven't had a good laundry-thinking day in a while, I'll have to remember to get one in before I go back to Florida with Aslan.

Speaking of Aslan, I feel like a bitch for not hanging out with her enough since she's been here. Then again, she usually keeps to herself anyway. And who the hell wants to spend their time with a sixteen-year-old who's barely mentally stable?

I find a shirt in my laundry pile before reaching for a pair of leggings. I have to get ready fast if I want to make it to Sam's house but I'm running on eight hours of sleep. I need at least twelve to get through the day.

When I was little, I remember thinking about how when I was older, I was never going to sleep. Now I sleep more than the average three-year-old. Not that I'm complaining.

I rush out of the bathroom, a toothbrush in my mouth, and a hairbrush in my hair. My hair that doesn't want to fucking cooperate with me. I pull on my leggings and shirt at the same time somehow resulting in me knocking over my lamp by my bed.

I groan loudly, yanking my brush out of my hair and tossing it at my window. Any day now that's gonna break, there have been way too make hairbrushes and textbooks thrown at that window.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of fucking up my hair, I'm ready. I look myself in the mirror, leaning in as I put on mascara. What? I just thought I looked kind of bland without it, that's all.

I hope I cry so it runs down my face and I look like one of those girls with no lives that were crying over a prepubescent piece of shit male.

Can you tell I'm on my period? Yeah, I can't tell either.

I snatch my keys off of the little wood slab with hooks by the door and slip on my white sneakers. And again, I stop by a mirror. I run my hands through my hair a few times before pulling up my black legging and fixing my red shirt so it doesn't look so huge on me.

Before I can open the front door, my dad clears his throat behind me. I turn on my heels meeting his eyes.

"Yes?" He tilts his head, giving me a look. I roll my eyes, grinning. "Sorry," I say, holding out my pinky. He winks, holding out his own from afar. We hook them even though we're not actually touching.

"Have fun, don't get pregnant, grab something to eat, and..." He clicks his tongue like he remembers something. "I love you, little shit."

"Love you, roundo." I snort.

"Excuse me?" He calls after me when I shut the door. I dart towards the car because I know for a damn fact he's going to come out to beat my ass.

I've always been more of a daddy's girl. It wasn't about my mom being... my mom. Dad and I just always got along better, I think I got more from him than I ever could've gotten from my mom.