The Right Side of the Wrong Bed || Bruno Mars

Chapter 3

 Faye

The doors of the small closet were yanked open as I stared at it, my arms folded across my chest and a towel was wrapped around my naked body. The real struggle here was not the terrible suddenness of waking up in an unfamiliar house and facing a bunch of complete strangers. It was this, finding something to wear.

When I scanned the contents of the closet, everything simply was black. If not black, they were red or whatever color gothic weirdos wear. I pulled out a shirt and scrutinized it. My eyebrows went up the moment I read what was printed on it, carpe that fucking diem. There were band shirts too, Greenday, My Chemical Romance, Radiohead. Though most of them I was not familiar of, especially those with bizarre, outrageous names such as Slipknot and Led Zeppelin.

“These are mine?” I murmured, doubtful, and wondered where my real clothes went – the brocade coats, skater skirts, and chiffon shirts, the ones I actually remembered wearing. I rummaged further through the closet until I found what I think fits me, a vintage-looking Peter Pan collar black cloth dress,  with pearl buttons, which hung just above my knee. “This is… alright.”

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I revved the car engine to life and buckled up. My hands found the stirring wheel and I gave off a weary sigh, tightening my grip around it. It was only when I realized I had black nails which I thought was beastly disgusting. I didn’t have a car but I sure remembered taking driving lessons… with Kyle.

I pushed the thought of Kyle away – not wanting to stress myself more with the fact that I had no clue where he was – and darted my eyes to the rearview mirror to check on Phoebe who was seated at the backseat. “You ready, Phoebe?” I asked. She was sitting quietly swinging her legs back and forth again like a puppy wagging its tail. “Ready,” she responded.

It was a ten-minute drive to Phoebe’s school, Lakeshore Middle School. I stopped the car at the front of the place and craned my body to the side so that I was looking at Phoebe. “This is your school, right? My GPS says.”

She narrowed her eyes at me again, like what she did when I told her I was having memory loss. “Yes,” she nodded. Without another word, she slung her purple bag pack on her shoulders and reached for the door handle.

“Can you jump out? Be careful,” I said watching her as she pushed the door open and climbed out. Her brown eyes like those of a doll’s, flicked to me once she was out. Her hair was tied up in a ballet bun like mine. “I have ballet lessons this afternoon, Mommy,” she informed.

“You do?” I blurted, my eyes lighting up. I never realized she was into ballet too. No wonder why she had a picture of a prima ballerina posted on her bedroom wall.

“Yes, that means Daddy’s going to have to wait for me,” she said unmindfully swaying her body from side to side. “Where did Dad go, by the way? Why didn’t he drive me here?” That means, driving her to and from school wasn’t really my job, it was Bruno’s. I realized.

“Your father?” My eyes hardened, the light in them was gone. “I don’t know what that git is up to,” I gritted through clenched teeth. “Don’t worry about him.He’s gonna get a knuckle sandwich when he comes back,” I said. “Go ahead now. You don’t want to be late for class. I’ll see you later.” I watched as she milled around with the other kids on their way in. For a moment, she turned to see me and bid goodbye.

“Cheers,” I mouthed.

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head over heels || the go go's

Vogue, in French means “in style,” is a world high-fashion and lifestyle magazine published monthly in twenty-three national and regional editions by Condé Nast. How the bloody ‘ell did I start working here? I don’t blooming know.